Part 6
This is nice Angel thought. This is really, really nice. But…. Angel had never been so conflicted. He’d never been so content and so unsatisfied AT THE SAME TIME.
On one hand, the situation couldn’t get much better. He was, after all, lying in bed with Cordelia. She was leaning on his shoulder, close enough so that the smell of her hair filled his senses. Then there was the solid weight of Connor, sleeping soundly in Angel’s arms. All that AND Cordelia had consented to watching “Roman Holiday” on AMC.
On the other hand, the situation could be a lot better. Connor could be in his crib, or better yet, with a babysitter. Instead of Audrey Hepburn’s lilting voice, they could be listening to a little mood music, courtesy of Mister Marvin Gaye. Oh, and Cordy could be naked. That would make this situation infinitely better.
But it was what it was. There’s nothing I can do to change it. I just need to except that this is as good as things are going to get. After nearly two hours of this, Angel’s disenchantment was growing, overriding the muted pleasure he’d had from the press of Cordy’s breast against his arm. He should be enjoying this…but it’s not enough.
Cordy gasped and clutched at Angel’s hand as they watched a stoic Gregory Peck say goodbye to the princess he’d fallen in love with. Angel felt his pain. I’ve certainly been there and done that. It sucks. But whatcha gonna do?
It’s not like Angel wanted to be Gregory Peck this time. It’s not like he wanted to walk away from love, from a chance at happiness. AGAIN. But what other choice do I have? Cordelia wants a life, she deserves a life, that I can’t give her. She’s already sacrificed so much for me. I can’t ask her to give up more. Plus, there’s that whole part where she might not even like me like that.
The screen faded to black and Angel turned to Cordelia, just in time to catch her quickly wipe at her eyes. And she told me “Rudy” was the only movie that made her cry. Angel decided to take the higher ground and not comment on her tears.
“So you were right,” she said after a minute. Her voice still sounded a tad sniffly to Angel’s sensitive ears. “It was a really good movie.”
“I knew you would like it,” Angel told her. “And you wanted to watch that Pajama Jammy-Jam on MTV.”
“Hello, I already said you were right,” she sat up so she wasn’t leaning on him. “That guy?”
“Gregory Peck,” Angel filled in.
“Yeah. He was actually pretty cute. The two of them looked so good together. I don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get?”
“I mean, couldn’t they have found some way to be together? I, I don’t understand.”
Angel sighed. “Cordy, they were two very different people—”
“Who made each other happy,” she interjected. “Her face, when she looked at him, you could tell she…I don’t care how different they were. They were meant to be together. That’s so obvious.”
“She put what was right before her own personal happiness. It was noble of her,” Angel defended.
Cordelia snorted. “It was stupid. What’s more right than following your heart?” She looked down at the sleeping baby on his chest and then back up at him. “If there’s one thing in this world worth fighting for Angel, it’s love.”
He didn’t know exactly what to say. Cordy had never really been asked to fight for love. It’s not as easy as it sounds. There’s the fear—that’s inherent when you’re offering yourself to someone. Making yourself vulnerable like that. Risking it all. Then there’s more fear. And self-doubt. And did I mention the crippling fear?
At least Gregory Peck knew how Audrey Hepburn felt about him. Try fighting for love when you have no idea if the woman loves you back.
But Angel liked that Cordelia really believed that, that even with all her bad luck in the romance department, she felt like love was worth the risk. Maybe she’s right. Maybe not trying and not knowing is worse than the rejection. Maybe now’s the time to finally do something.
Angel’s hand rubbed down Connor’s back as he tried to gather his courage.
“Cordelia?”
“Yes?” She must have sensed something in his tone because her voice suddenly got lower.
BRRRING!
The noise shocked them both. It seemed to echo off the walls of Angel’s bedroom. Cordy was off the bed like a rocket, determined to answer her cell phone before it woke Connor up. Angel exhaled slowly. Maybe now’s not the time. He reached for the remote and turned the TV off, moving as little as possible so as to not wake the baby.
“Hello?” Cordy said into the phone, moving toward the other side of the room. “What? Oh hey Marissa. I can barely hear you.” Cordy looked over at Angel on the bed. She raised one finger, indicating she would just be a minute. He nodded. It didn’t really matter anymore. That phone call was a sign.
“No Marissa, I can’t talk louder. Well because the baby’s sleeping and Angel will kill me if he wakes up again.” She smiled widely at him. Angel didn’t contradict her.
“Shut up. I do not sound like a housewife,” Cordy complained. Angel ignored the sweet surge he got when he heard that.
“Yeah, I looked for you before I left. When? A little before midnight.” Cordy paused for a moment to listen. She was making a strange motion with her hand. It looked like it was supposed to be a quacking duck.
She wants to play shadow puppets? Oh, wait, I get it, she’s saying her friend talks a lot. See. I’m not a social retard. Little slow on the pick up, but I always get it in the end.
“So what does he do?” Cordy asked her friend. “Really? For Paramount? Wow. Speaks four languages? His own plane? Geez.”
Over the drone of Cordy’s one-sided conversation and the gentle hum of Connor’s breathing, Angel’s vampiric hearing picked something else up. It was Lorne, coming up the hotel stairs and humming. I know that song. It’s the one about being dirty. It’s by that girl, the one Gunn likes, who always looks so…dirty.
“Three cases of Dom Perignon? And four cases of Crystal? Wow,” Cordy was still talking. “Yeah, I’m sorry I missed that. Oh he was there? Of course I think he’s hot—those brown eyes of his make me quiver. Did you? God it seems like ages since I’ve even been alone with a guy.”
Suddenly Angel got an idea. Even if coming over had been her choice, Angel wanted a chance to make it up to her. Now I might not have a plane. But if Cordelia wants to be alone with a guy who speaks four languages and has brown eyes—I’m her man. Minus the plane. There wasn’t much Angel could give Cordelia. But he could give her this.
He shifted the baby to his left side, picked up the collapsible crib from where it rested against the wall and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Cordy whispered, her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “I’ll be off in a sec.”
“I’ll be right back,” Angel told her as he shut the door behind him. He walked quickly down the hall to Lorne’s room. Since his hands were full, he knocked his forehead twice against the door. It took Lorne a long time to open it.
“Angel. Light of my life. Apple of my eye. Cream in my coffee. Fuzz on my peach.”
Angel wasn’t sure why, but that last one sounded dirty.
“Hey Lorne, can I come in?” he asked, already stepping through the threshold.
“But of course,” the demon said, stepping to the side.
“So how was your night?” Angel politely asked, eyeing Lorne carefully. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were pretty glassy, but other than that, he didn’t look any worse for the wear.
“Well I somehow ended up with a Neelock demon’s panties. How do you think my night went?” Lorne nearly doubled over in laughter. “But I’m sure you’re not here for naughty stories. What can I do for you?”
“Listen.” Angel silently debated what he was about to do. Sure Lorne’s drunk. But he’s not “falling down drunk.” “I was wondering…could you watch Connor? He’s down and he should be out for a while. I have—”
Lorne cut him off. “A-ha! I thought I heard someone of the female persuasion inside Casa De Angel. Finally putting that permanent soul to use, are we?”
“Look Lorne, will you do it or not?”
“Sure, why not,” he agreed, taking the crib from Angel and setting it up. “I’m just glad you’re finally getting some action. To tell you the truth crumbcake, I figured you’d be too busy mooning over your Seer to go out and meet anyone new.”
“How’d you—”
“Oh please,” Lorne huffed. “It was more obvious than the homoeroticism on ‘Smallville.’ Anyhoo, I just thought you’d spend a lot more time doing the dance of the unrequited for the lovely Cordelia. So,” Lorne asked, reaching for the sleeping Connor, “who is the mystery woman? Do I know her?”
Angel smiled. “Yes.”
Lorne’s eyes went wide. “Really? That client from Beverly Hills, the blonde one?”
“Nope.”
“Wait, don’t tell me, the girl from the coffee place?”
“Wrong again.”
Lorne thought for a minute. “It’s not that skinny waitress who used to work at Caritas is it? Cause I should warn you, I spent some ‘time’ with her once and the next morning I was itching EVERYWHERE and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone and…wait a second. It’s not…I mean, it couldn’t be…Cordelia?”
Angel didn’t say anything, but the wide smile that spread across his face told Lorne he was right. The Pylean just stood there, blinking.
“Well why the hell are you just standing around in here?” Lorne exclaimed, slapping Angel on the back of the head with his baby-free hand. “What, you’d rather play ‘Twenty Questions’ with me when you and Cordy could be making beautiful music together? Go. Now.”
Angel turned to leave.
“Wait. Stop.” Lorne put the baby in the crib and grabbed the unopened bottle of champagne on his dresser. “Here,” he said, presenting it to Angel. “It’s chilled, I brought it back with me. I was saving this for morning—you know, a little hair of the dog to fight the hangover? But you need this much more than I do. And glasses, you need glasses…”
Lorne went over to the pile of boxes by the window. He rummaged for a moment, and returned with two gleaming champagne glasses. “I rescued these babies from my burned-out shell of a club. Enjoy.”
“I…Thanks Lorne.”
“No problem Powder-Puff,” Lorne said, pushing Angel out into the hall. “Oh and Angel-heart? For God’s sake, try to be cool.”
Be cool. Be cool. Be cool Angel chanted as he strode purposefully back to his room. Cordy wanted to spend the evening with some suave super-stud. That means no stuttering. No getting caught staring. No, absolutely no, drooling.
When Angel walked back in, Cordelia was over by the window, looking down at the street below. She turned when she heard him.
“Angel, where’d you—Woah. What is that?” she asked, gesturing to the bottle in his hand.
He shrugged. “Exactly what it looks like. You, uh, yesterday you said you wanted a guy to surprise you with champagne and strawberries.” Didn’t I just say NO STUTTERING.
Cordy looked at him quizzically. “Where’s Connor?”
“With Lorne,” Angel said simply, putting the glasses down and setting to work opening the bottle. The cork didn’t fly too far and Angel managed to fill the glasses without making too much of a mess. Yeah that’s right. That was coolness personified. I’m Joe Cool. I’m James Fucking Bond.
Smiling now, Cordy moved to sit back down on the bed. “You know, I never figured you for a champagne and strawberries kind of guy.”
Angel handed her the glass. “Actually, no strawberries. And I can’t vouch for the champagne either—it’s Lorne’s. Best I could do at the last minute.”
Cordelia waved off his apology. “Strawberries are out of season anyway.” Angel walked around the bed and sat down gingerly on the other side.
He turned to her and raised his glass. “Cheers.”
Cordy flashed on of those huge, blindingly bright smiles. “Cheers.” They both took a small sip.
Angel made a face. “Not exactly Dom Perignon, is it?”
“I think it’s nice,” she told him, taking another sip. “But why—not that I don’t appreciate it—but why do all this?”
“I don’t know.” Because I love you. I’m doing this because I love you, you silly stupid girl. Angel put his glass on the nightstand before he had a chance to spill it all over himself. “We both know you could be at that party right now. You should be there. But you’re not. You gave that up and—”
“Angel, I…I wasn’t having that much fun at the party.”
“I’m sorry,” Angel told her. He meant it. More than anything, he just wanted Cordelia happy. Even if her happiness often seemed to directly conflict with his. “I’m sorry this night didn’t go the way you wanted.”
Cordy chuckled softly to herself and took a sip of champagne. He could see her swirl the liquid around in her mouth, before finally swallowing.
“The weird thing is, Angel, I think it did. End the way I wanted, I mean.” There was a TING as she put the glass down on the nightstand next to her. She turned to him, not surprised to find him staring at her intently.
“Maybe it’s the champagne talking,” she said, catching the disbelieving look Angel shot her. “Okay, okay, maybe it’s the 3 Sour Apple Martinis from earlier AND the champagne talking. But that party tonight, it wasn’t what I wanted.” Cordelia paused and the mask of confidence seemed to slip just a little.
“I don’t think that life is what I want,” she confided, sounding slightly upset. She turned back to the nightstand but she didn’t pick up the champagne. She just ran her finger in lazy circles around the rim of the glass. “It’s like, like somewhere, when I wasn’t paying attention, everything just…changed. Does that make any sense at all?”
“Sure.” It made perfect sense to Angel. I could write a book on what it feels like to have your dreams change without you even noticing. Okay, maybe not an entire book. But a damn good article. Something for “The New Yorker” maybe? About a guy who’s too busy saving the world to notice that he’s falling in love with his best friend.
Cordy cleared her throat. “Lately I’ve been coming to these conclusions, and they were…I don’t know.” She ran both hands through her hair in frustration. “They were scary. And I wasn’t sure. But tonight, it just got…clear.” She paused. “How ‘bout that? Did that make sense?”
“Yeah.” Cordelia gave him a disbelieving look. “Okay, no, not really.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t want my own TV show, or a Golden Globe,” she told him. “Despite the fact that the visions are causing premature aging and you pay me slave wages, I want to help people Angel. I like knowing that I make a difference. You and I, and Wes and Gunn and Fred, all of us, what we do matters.”
Her rant was really picking up speed now. “So I don’t want fame and public adoration. And I don’t want caviar and canapés. I don’t even like caviar. I like Gunn’s Strawberry Pop-Tarts. I like Taco-Bell runs with Fred. I like high-fat omelets with tons of extra cheese.”
“And, Angel, tonight I…” she started and then seemed to hesitate. It was odd to see her like this. Cordelia was rarely hesitant. “Tonight I didn’t want Dom Perignon or small talk or sleazy producers copping cheap feels.” Her eyes flicked anxiously around the room before finally settling back on him. “I wanted Dick Clark on TV, and, and baby snuggles, and…you.”
“Me?” Angel squeaked.
“You. This,” she gestured to both of them. “Us.”
Cordelia looked nervous. Looking at her, perched next to him on the bed, all Angel could think was how unsure and young she seemed. It was a rare reminder that Cordy was not yet 21, that there was still some girl inside the woman. He didn’t get those often.
Angel was struck by her innocence. She shouldn’t look innocent, not after all she’d seen and been through. Certainly not in the outfit she was wearing. But with her bare feet tucked under her, the fancy dress hitched up over her knees, and most of the polish and shine rubbed off, Cordelia was a picture of artless purity.
“So…you see, this night, it did go the way I wanted. I am where I want to be.” Cordy started twisting and untwisting a lock of hair. Finally, finally she looked at him. Her eyes were afraid, but unflinching. She breathed in deeply, like she was gathering courage. “The only question is, are you?
Angel froze. He’d dreamed of this. Wished for it innumerable times. But he’d never expected it. And he had absolutely no idea how to react. What’s the protocol for dying of happiness?
Because right then, in that moment, Angel was happier than he’d ever been. This was happening. This was Cordelia. Beautiful brilliant Cordelia, sitting on his bed and telling him that was where she wanted to be, along with everything that implied.
Beautiful brilliant Cordelia who was still waiting for his answer. What do I do? What do I say? Calm down. Take it slow. Slow was good. He didn’t want to rush this. He wanted this moment to be perfect. He didn’t want to ruin this.
Angel reached out, taking her trembling hand out of the knot she was twisting in her hair and clasping it between both of his. He couldn’t help but glance down at their joined hands. Her skin kissed by the sun, his glazed in moonlight. The light throb of life through her fingers, warming the borrowed blood in his. Their hands were so different.
They were so different. It shouldn’t work but it did. It should feel strange, but all it felt was right. Angel held Cordelia’s hand in his and something inside of him shifted. Nerves, fear, worry…it all faded. This was happening and this was good and this was right.
“Angel?” she said, and he heard the hitch in her voice. Angel wanted to laugh. Cordy knew him better than anyone. She could read him like a book. Except when it came this. Them. He wanted to laugh, but he wouldn’t. There would be time for laughing later. “Are you where you want to be?” she asked again.
He looked up from their hands. “No,” he said simply.
Cordelia’s breath caught. She started blinking rapidly, forcing her mouth into a tiny, tight smile. She tried to tug her hand back, but Angel kept it in the firm grip of his left hand. With his right, he took both of Cordy’s ankles and slid her legs out from under her. Then slowly, so slowly, he pressed down on her shoulder, so she was lying on her back. It was only then he let go of her hand.
He looked down at her and she looked up at him, her eyes glassy and confused. They went wide when Angel suddenly moved, sliding over so he was on top of Cordelia. He kept most of his weight off, balancing on his hands, so their bodies barely touched, his brushing like a kiss over hers.
“I wanted it to be more like this,” Angel told Cordelia smugly. Then he leaned up farther so he could watch her face when it sunk in, when she realized what his words meant. It was a beautiful thing.
She exhaled harshly, in pure relief. Her eyes scrunched closed and Angel only watched, intently, as one tear escaped and rolled onto her cheekbone. Color that had drained out of her face rushed back in. And then her eyes were fluttering open and they were shining and it was for him and all he could do was watch.
“You…” Cordy started and then she stopped. She shook her head and looked pained, like she couldn’t believe that she, Cordelia Chase, was flubbing the most important lines of her life. “I…you…” Her brow furrowed, her annoyance with herself apparent.
Angel grinned. “Were you expecting someone else?” he said, the way she had earlier. Cordelia let one broken laugh escape. Angel, balancing on one hand, used the other to wipe at the tear with the pad of his thumb.
“Angel,” she attempted again, but got no further.
“Shhhhh,” he soothed. “I know,” he told her.
Cordy saw that yes, he did know, and only then did she smile, entrancing as it always was, but this time, so much more. She was laying herself bare for him. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and Angel saw something mischievious spark in her eyes.
“They say how you spend New Year’s Eve determines the next 365 days of your life,” she kidded.
“I have heard that.” Angel nodded thoughtfully, pretending to consider her words. He glanced over at the red illuminated numbers on the clock. “But it’s 12:30. It’s not New Year’s Eve anymore,” he pointed out.
“Angel,” she pouted.
“Well, better late than never I guess,” he mumbled as he leaned down and kissed her.
