CHAPTER 4
The stairs to the office remained unchanged from pre-millennium; grungy and poorly lit, but only a little dirtier as Cordelia and Wesley became more proficient with a mop. Not Angel though, being a vampire and more used to sewers he seemed not to notice accumulating dust and grime, unless it was happening inside his home- then of course the roof came off.
Nabbit lugged the case up the first flight in an absent way that had Wesley half convinced it was in fact a well camouflaged mutant body part. “That demon was cool. Wow, the way he swelled up was just… so, so cool. Reminded me of the incredible hulk ya know. I have all the comics, been collecting them since I was kid so I’m kinda an expert on the subject.”
Hiding a smile Wesley agreed, “Yes, I see your point now you mention it.” Then added silently to himself that of course generally speaking the hulk wasn’t trying to rip the heads off the good guys, but still there were definite physiological similarities. Speeding up a bit, Wesley led the way with the now loquacious Nabbit still chuntering on behind him.
Nabbit wasn’t finished, was in fact still juiced from the excitement now the sheer terror was fading, “And the way you saved, Angel… Wow and double wow, I could never have done that in a gadzillion years.”
Blushing high on his cheeks with embarrassed pride, Wesley brushed it off with a graceful gentlemanly shrug, “Thank you, but we are a team you know and Angel, despite his supernatural abilities does sometimes stray too close to the proverbial fire and then needs yanking back.”
“That’s what you guys do?” Nabbit was impressed and a tiny bit envious.
Nodding Wesley smiled again, forcing his lips into a depreciating curve and struggled manfully not to let his chest swell, or his head for that matter. Mainly because they were now almost at the office door and Cordelia could spot an over massaged ego at a hundred paces, not to mention always feeling the need to bring things distressingly back into perspective.
Opening the shuttered glazed door with some relief and hoping that Cordelia was feeling sprightly enough to be seated at her desk, Wesley frowned, disappointed to find it empty. Unaccountably worried the ex-watcher turned rogue demon-hunter and now associate of Angel Investigations headed straight for the stairs down to the apartment below cage hardly aware of David Nabbit following on his heels.
The staircase was wide and struggling to keep up, Nabbit flicked Wesley a searching look before getting up the nerve to ask, “Is there a problem?” Being a nerd had a way of making a guy sensitive to nuances.
Edgy, Wesley already had his hand on the heavy door ready to slide it back when he answered, “I’m not sure yet… Cordelia!” Wesley’s voice echoed in the dim recesses of Angel’s sanctuary before he’d even fully entered.
“Kitchen,” was the short and impossibly relieving holler. Feeling like an idiot, Wesley pulled back from his sprint in time to stroll casually through the archway, sending a probing gaze over the weary but stunning woman standing attentively over a bubbling pot on the hob. The smell permeating every square inch of the homey range and tabled area was disgusting to put it mildly.
A denim skirt with a writhing dragon printed to curve over one curvy hip led the eyes up to a summery yellow halter-neck, teasingly highlighting still golden skin as a background to dark streaming locks of brunette hair, left loose to cascade down said back.
Unconsciously imitating Angel, Wesley pushed his hands in his pants and ignored the smell, not hard with such a vision of carefree health and beauty even if it was from behind, “You’re obviously feeling better?” he asked neutrally, hiding the relief and then couldn’t resist adding, “I hate to ask but what on earth is that you’re concocting?”
The horror in his tone had Cordelia whipping around to hold the stained wooden mixing spoon threatening aloft, “Hey, I do not concoct… I, uh dabble…,” dark head tilted, the spoon waggled as she paused before hitting on the words she wanted, making her smile triumphantly, “with innovative new ways to cook boring old, emphasis on old, apples.”
His stomach clenched, Oh God, she’d used the last of the apples, “Oh, well in that case I look forward to trying it,” Wesley lied as best he could and moved deeper in to prop up the white refrigerator door, arms crossing over a plaid shirt and tan jacket, both of which had seen better days.
Turning back Cordy tossed him a scowl, not in the least fooled, “Better than just plain old stewed. Trust me, you’ll love it.”
From experience those words were the death toll to any appetite Wesley had. “Aren’t you going to ask how it went?” he asked desperate to change the subject before she insisted on a tasting.
“Sure, that was next. Where’s Angel?” her over the shoulder sweep took in the hovering Nabbit but had no luck finding tall, dark and broody. Eyes widening Cordelia promptly high-jumped to the wrong conclusion and the spoon hit the counter with splatter, “is he wounded or something. Geeze, Wes you should have told me-“
“Angel is fine,” the Englishman interrupted raising an elegantly boned hand to halt her before she could stride past him; brows rising over the wire rims of his spectacles that she’d think otherwise. “In fact it went well. If you don’t count the fact that our host morphed from Kermit the frog to a giant troll like creature in a blink of an eye, then nearly ripped Angel’s head off. Thankfully I-“
“But Angel’s okay?” interrupted an anxious Cordelia, no-nonsense hands planted on her hips. For some reason it was important she get confirmation of that fact before relaxing. After her parents Cordelia had been determined never to depend on anyone ever again. But even before all of this, fate, it seemed had disagreed and her damned emotions weren’t listening either. Losing Doyle had been the dam buster and so far she hadn’t been able to cement over the cracks and halt the trickle.
“Yes, I told you he was,” frowning unhappily at the interruption coming as it did at what was for him a crucial point, Wesley sighed and reluctantly gave in to the demand thrumming out of hazel eyes staring unwavering and expectant right at him. His hand dropped. “Angel has gone to consult the Oracles.”
Stunned Cordelia belatedly snapped her hanging jaw shut. The Oracles, why? A horrible idea of why flitted into her mind. He’d guessed about the visions that much she was sure of and that was bad enough. Anxious temper lit in her belly, if he dares…
Off to the side and still with only one foot in the kitchen proper, Nabbit was nodding excitedly in agreement, dark hair flopping around his flushed peter pan face, “I can’t believe there are actual Oracles. Wow, I wish I’d known, just imagine it…”
God, is this guy for real? Impatience reared and bypassed the newly revealed layer of compassion that came with the job of being Angel’s seer. She flashed the man an impatience glance, “I don’t have to and from what I’ve heard you’re not missing anything,” finished with that abrupt dismissal Cordelia turned back to Wesley, hands splayed up; the picture of annoyed incredulity, “Why? I mean they haven’t deigned to see him the half dozen times he’s tried before. What’s changed?”
Taken aback, Wesley frowned at her waspishness then leant back and re-crossed his arms before replying dryly, “Well, I imagine it has something to do with the time machine of Gundry’s we’ve found,” his blue gaze turned introspective and lips pursed before going on to add, “but I have to admit Angel seemed more determined than usual to impose on them.”
Cordelia blinked twice and watching her carefully Wesley admired her poise, “Time Machine?”
His smile was rueful; all too aware how outlandish it sounded, “Yes, I know impossible to believe isn’t it, but so far the signs point to it being genuine.”
Then of all the things she could have focussed on, she confounded him by explosively pointing out, “Uh, hello, the oracles are ancient foretellers of… whatever. What would they know about time travel? No, there has to be another reason.” And boy! Wouldn’t she like to be a fly on that particular temple wall.
If this has anything to do with the visions… then that’s *it* and the worst I’ll do is stake him. So what if I hate the visions, if anyone’s gonna get rid of them it’s gonna be me and include some serious getting stuff off my chest and right into their smug, know-it-all faces! The linoleum floor was a blur under her feet.
Watching her pace the small confines, gnawing on one thumbnail it took a second for Wesley to follow where she was going. “They are a link to the PTB’s and besides what else could it be? It’s the only slim-to-nothing lead we have.”
***
“We can’t help you,” the woman said seemingly without a trace of regret.
“It is not our place to intervene. So, we will not,” the man added with even less compassion. Of the two he was the first Angel wanted to throttle. If these were supposed to be the good guys then he was pretty certain he was never going to fit in. Nor want too.
And they say vamps feel nothing. What would it take to wipe that half smirk off his face? His jaw clenched thinking it was a tantalising question and if this meeting didn’t turn out the way he wanted it, then tonight was possibly the night they’d all find out. Angel no longer cared who they represented. There were no humans here, nobody who’s opinion he cared about and the need to unleash his increasing frustration and fear for Cordelia was intense.
Both gold and blue painted figures stood coolly impervious to the frustrated rage consuming the vampire standing before them, an emotion strong enough to send streaks of furious energy rebounding off walls made entirely of grey veined white marble.
They’d stated their position and now it was time he made his clear too; fair’s fair, “I really don’t care what your place is. Cordelia didn’t get a choice, so you don’t get one either. If it makes you feel better here’s you damned gift.” Reaching inside his coat Angel then tossed something tiny fisted in his large hand.
The claddagh ring landed with a metallic ring on the cold stone floor before their sandaled feet, both oracles followed its path until it came to rest and then the woman bent to pick it up, sliding Angel a surprised glance when it lay on her open palm.
“This trinket once meant the world to you didn’t it? Yet, it now means so little that you can part with it as easily as if it were nothing?”
The ring had left a cold imprint on his skin, closing his fingers to dispel it, Angel answered her without hesitation; “It’s a ring, a piece of metal. I’m more concerned with saving a life right now.” He wasn’t being a martyr and memories of sitting in the dark, that ring taking pride of place on his desk while he brooded endlessly about Buffy, seemed a lifetime ago.
Behind the black swathed pair a tunnel of towering archways led ever deeper into their emotionless realm, every steep curve and perfect line a statement of simplicity and in this case, freezing resignation.
The man less impressed than his counterpart picked up the ring from her hand and made a show of dropping it to the floor, “It makes no difference. We will not intercede again. Now leave us.”
Angel intercepted the hand that with one negligent wave would banish him from their temple, their merciless arrogance doing more to unravel a hundred years of abstinence than a river of hot pulsing blood could ever do.
“Don’t push me,” he warned then let the hand go. Shocked, the pair eyed him warily now, realising for the first time that his uneasy deference of the past was absent this visit.
Shifting, angry and restless Angel, settled narrowed eyes on the woman, sensing she was the less intractable of the two oracles then asked pointedly, “So, you *can* help me but you won’t, is that it?”
The voice uttered so flatly was deep, dark and throbbed with seething menace. His patience never good when lives were at stake was severely stretched already, since getting in here had been a feat in itself and took long enough to have drained it dry.
In response there were two reluctant nods, with both still eyeing the so called tamed beast that had suddenly freed itself from the cage to prowl their tiny and hallowed slice of reality. Their protection lay in refusing admittance, redundant since they’d already let him in and now it seemed he refused to be banished.
“I have to ask you to reconsider,” he gritted out aiming for civil and missing by several yards. Her gaze flickered, unsure and he forced his body to relax muscle by muscle, adding, “please?” The iridescent white glow suffusing the temple hurt his demon’s sensitive eyes but his gaze never left the woman’s.
There was a pregnant pause and then in response she sighed heavily enough to set ebony ringlets bouncing and added to the movement by shaking her head, “We cannot act directly. The last time was out of our remit and I- we nearly lost our place here. You will have to look elsewhere.”
Angel wouldn’t accept that and he shook his head. There *was* no one else could help him. His mind raced, they were foretellers, that was their job, so perhaps forcing them to admit Cordy was in peril would weaken their resistance? “It’s true that she’s dying isn’t it?” Even asking the question had a pain blooming inside; enough to have his voice a mere whisper in comparison.
She wavered as a spark of emotion flitting briefly over a more humane expression, “Yes, she does not have long.”
It was too much and against his will self-control snapped. The human face contorted like quicksilver to reveal thick ridges and ivory fangs as he advanced until coming to a stop, dark and stormily intent with only inches between him and them. A looming testament to demonic rage, conspicuous and horribly out of place in the stifling, emotionless void of the temple.
“Then why did you give them to her in the first place? I stood here and you told me… another door. That’s what you said.” Almost incoherent the question steeped with accusation came out as a strangled, inhuman roar and scraped his throat to burn rawly.
Into the still echoing shiver of that pained explosion, the man interjected, “Doors shut,” with a cool smile; unknowingly warping the symmetrical and jagged lines of blue adorning his cheekbones; ignorant of the fact that topaz eyes traced the shimmer of taut golden flesh recalling how a single hand, gripping the face hard enough could crack cheekbones like gossamer thin sea shells.
“Not this one,” lashed back Angel demonic eyes drilling into the ancient seers, stilling the urge to dig his fingers into those merciless eyes and rip his goddamned face off. “I’m finished with you, all of you. Stop sending her the visions because I won’t act on them. How’s that for non-intervention.”
Bitterness was rife along with an unhealthy dose of loathing. No wonder they needed slayers and watchers, only they’d miscalculated with him; their new toy. Especially if they thought he’d accept that while he could save any dumb blonde in the street who’d gone in a dark alley with stranger he was helpless to save one of his own who fought side by side with him…
The man blinked, his expression turning stupefied with unpleasant shock for a moment before recovering. “You can’t refuse, that is your role. You are the champion.”
Melting back to human as he backed away Angel shook his head ironically, dark eyes equally artic; “Do you think that matters to me? Soul or not I’m still a vampire.”
Seeing them continue to stare blankly as uncertainty deepened, he quirked a brow then added with a shrug of wide shoulders, “Hell, who knows maybe I was just bored and Doyle intrigued me. You sought me out, remember. It wasn’t me knocking at your door. Think about it.”
That possibility stated so coolly shook them enough that the woman grappled with her wits and stepped forward, black draped body stiff with annoyance at this unexpected curve in their plans. “But your redemption, will you give that up with so little done to make amends?”
Angel didn’t respond at first, deliberately walking a slow circle around the now stiff pair, scenting a new fear as it occurred to them that if he wasn’t one of the good guys anymore; that could mean… Then finally he leant in to whisper, “Ask me another.” A dark and slightly savage satisfaction tinged the mirthless smile flashed at them, white teeth and all.
Right in that moment he meant every word. This so called journey of his was much more complex than he was making out and his ambivalence would sometimes depend on whether he was feeling any type of attachment to humanity. Not helped by the fact that taking orders had never been his forte which was essentially what the visions were.
It had been okay when he thought he’d been working for a force for good, but if Cordelia died because of the visions then Angel was switching sides, to his own. Bloody vengeance *was* his speciality even if he was a little rusty. Practice makes perfect. It wasn’t going to come to that though, he wouldn’t let it.
Another pause, deeper and deathly silent, fell as the oracles digested that implicit threat. Sparing a swift speaking glancing at her consort the woman swallowed and conceded, “In that case maybe there is something we can do, but there will be a price. A token if you will, of your commitment.”
Satisfied, Angel focused on her and put the other one out of his mind. “That’s more like it. Go on, I’m listening.”
Stopping directly in front of her with his dark head lowered, tensely Angel waited, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she wanted of him and ready to pray he could complete whatever task she set. Cordelia’s pain wracked face swam before his mind’s-eye, an unnecessary boost to his determination.
“There are some that might argue that you’ve earned a reward, but be that as it may or not and since you are so insistent I will give you a choice, vampire.”
Confusion coupled with alarm had Angel stiffening. There were choices and then there were impossible choices. Were they playing him, the only reward he’d earned was his own personal hot-spot in hell?
The pause was deliberate and the man replied first his distaste evident, “You can either have a permanent soul…”
“… or remove the visions from your friend,” the woman finished then held up a starkly warning hand when Angel went to speak without thinking. “Bear in mind that a cure for her is already within your grasp.”
Brows lowering Angel frowned. More riddles, just what they didn’t need. Then his expression cleared realising it didn’t matter since they’d offered him what he’d come for. “Find another door. Cordelia gets left alone. Try texting,” he suggested dryly, swept by giddy relief. He’d done it, Cordelia was safe.
***
The drive back to the office and home was done with dawn chasing the Plymouth as it speeded down the deserted road, tail-lights acting as red beacons in the twilight as Angel took the last corner with reckless abandon, hands almost crossing on the wheel and tyres squealing. Parking up without bothering with the usual camouflage he vaulted out and sprinted the few yards to the buildings stone entrance; beating the rising sun by minutes.
Stopping outside his door with a hand already reaching out to open it Angel stopped and drew back, puffing out a breath. All the way here he’d been consumed with the problem of how to tell Cordelia he’d arbitrarily had the visions taken from her; now home he was still no nearer an answer. As for her reaction; shrieking harpies came to mind as it was pretty much a dead cert she was going to be mad enough to spit nails. Or, and even more likely, sharpened steep-tipped stakes.
Not so long ago she’d been willing to kiss anyone, him included, in an effort to get rid of them the same way she got them. Everything would be hunky-dory if her perspective had stayed that way but somehow in the intervening months she’d started to identify the visions with her own self-worth. Dangerous and untrue, the problem was how to convince her of that with the timing stinking like it now did.
“Just tell her the truth. That she’s more important to you than the visions,” he murmured to himself, dreading the confrontation as he slowly grasped the handle ready to slide the barrier aside.
It was a good idea, except for the part where she accused him of being selfish and then raged that not *everything* around here revolved around him and what *he* wanted. He could see it in full technicolour; hazel eyes flashing, cheeks blood red and hair electrically on end, swishing as she paced with hands that gesticulated wildly, alternating with a stiff finger stabbing the air inches from his chest.
Along with the dread was some shame too. He was a vampire; she was a human and little more than a girl. Where was his detachment when he needed it? Damned if he knew. All in all his earlier satisfaction had lasted no longer than it took for him to realise she might never talk to him again, or contrarily, only when she wanted to flay him with her acid tongue between bouts of frigid silence.
His spine quivered. Coward. “She’s gonna kill me.”
Steeling himself Angel quietly drew back the doors only to whip up his fearfully lowered head when the sharp, coppery tang of blood hit the back of his nostrils. Instantly he was hit with a myriad of sensation, chiefly guilt at the hunger and then panic, wondering why it was there. “What the…”
He lunged deeper inside, head lashing from side to side in a panicked search while an awful fear crashed down, “Cordelia, Wes?” The deep call reverberated in his ears and was still ringing when he spotted them on the couch. Or rather Cordelia was lying on the couch with Wesley kneeling worried, dejected and afraid beside her with one slim hand in the hunched Englishman’s grasp.
At the foot of the couch stood David Nabbit and another man the vampire dimly recognised; Charles Gunn the street hoodlum from Cordy’s last vision. Sweeping scan for danger finished Angel strode over, tossing the coat carelessly aside and not taking his gaze off Cordelia’s waxen face.
Nabbit gasped seeing the vampire appear from nowhere while the tall brawny street-fighter stiffened into a battle ready stance, unnerved at the speed he closed the distance. Wesley simply looked up with red-rimmed eyes. The ex-watcher had been praying Angel would come home soon while afflicted with dread about his reaction when he did.
He’d been weeping Angel realised guts clenching with growing horror, “What’s wrong, what’s happened…?”
“She had a vision not long after I got here,” Wesley stood with difficulty his knees stiff from his vigil, his face was fixed in utter solemnity, “She collapsed before she could tell us anything.”
Angel stared. A vision, God no! He couldn’t have been too late, even his ill-fate couldn’t be that tragic could it?
Taking Wesley’s place beside the deathly still girl Angel picked up her limp hand in his large one, the fingers dainty and delicate but far too still without even a flutter to give him any hope. Disbelief fought with dazed grief and horrible suspicion. This couldn’t be happening. “How long?” he asked hoarsely, having to swallow twice before he could continue, “how long has she been like this?”
Discomforted by the stunned emotion blazing from a creature he firmly believed was incapable of any type of feeling. Gunn turned his head to stare fixedly into space, trying not to think how closely it resembled what he’d felt killing his sister. He shouldn’t be here, wished he were anywhere else, but leaving now seemed… wrong. Next time he was strangling his damned curiosity before giving into it.
Eyes moist and struggling with a closed throat of his own Wesley answered, “I’m not sure, perhaps an hour.” A glance at a mutely nodding Nabbit reassured him his sense of time was accurate enough.
An hour, just before he finally got to see the oracles. Don’t think about that yet. She looked peaceful in a way, as if she were sleeping. His thumb traced the line of a brow, sweeping whisper-light down one high cheekbone and stopping where her jaw met her ear with fine wisps of soft hair sliding to meet the tender stroke.
The two men watching shuffled their feet, looking down and then away; both knowing they didn’t belong there. Wesley went to help when Angel picked her up only to stop when the vampire vehemently shook his head.
“I can handle it,” he said in a rasp unable to meet the equally grieving eyes of the human. Refusing any help in carrying her gently to his room, her slight weight nothing to someone of his unnatural strength
Cordelia was his responsibility. Unwillingly to him a tear tracked down his cheek leaving a wet and icy trail. Turning towards his bedroom, over-bright brown eyes caught another pair, recognising the wary distrust of the young stranger. It didn’t slow him down one iota. Who cares why he was there; all that mattered was the unresponsive woman in his arms. She was warm but her pulse was too thready, the heart-beat slow and deep as if conserving what it could before stuttering to a stop.
Halting just inside the door Wesley watched with a heavy heart as Angel lowered her to the bed then tugged the comforter up to drape it dreadfully carefully over her body, covering the summery yellow top that had so briefly brightened the passing night.
To his eyes the vampire moved slowly as if in pain, lingering before letting her go completely as if he could keep Cordelia with them just by physical touch alone.
To Angel it seemed that her face was even paler against the deep burgundy of his bedding. Seated next to her with her hand still tucked in his and gazing sombrely down, he felt more tears threaten and gritted his teeth, willing them back. After a century who knew better than he that tears were useless? He ran a hand over the stinging closed lids.
Shutting the sight of her lying there didn’t send her way. Just as he’d know it would that bright smile rose up to haunt him, memories spilled up from a deep well he hadn’t known existed in his mind; Cordelia flirting in the Bronze, confident, assured and determined that he wouldn’t ignore her; then later here in LA, filled with relief when he gave her the job that had led to this utter deathly stillness.
She was slipping away from them, fading before their eyes second by second, a grain of sand at a time. Panic surged bringing with it a stubborn refusal to let fate take another loved one from him.
Vaulting up the vampire began to pace never leaving the bed by more than a few feet, eyes locked on its precious cargo, “She had a vision?” he asked without looking at Wesley stood in the shadowed doorway.
“Yes,” was the simple answer said tiredly with a ring of defeat.
Unbidden a large hand swept the contents of a dresser violently away as Angel gave in for an instant to the savage impulse to rampage. “I told them no more visions!” His voice thundered, somewhere between human and demon.
Jumping Wesley sucked in a breath watching wide-eyed as the vampire he’d come to consider as a friend slammed his back into the wall, fisted hands pressed to his temples, fighting to retain control of his once notorious temper. The urge to cross his fingers and hope Angel won the battle was instinctive and based on the fact that a violently enraged demon was the last thing they needed right now.
This wasn’t helping and he knew it. Railing, screaming, cursing and the dumb need to smash things could wait for another day. Hauling back on the reins of his seething emotions, Angel shook his head almost juddering with the effort it took. It took longer than he liked but it worked.
The hands dropped and he stared at the bed. “How could it be too late?” Angel was muttering unaware his useless pleas were being said aloud. “They said she didn’t have long but…”
They hadn’t lied but they’d been economical with the truth. God, he hated them. Forget them for now, concentrate on Cordelia. He had so much he wanted to say to her and now he might never get the chance. He could tell himself he’d never had the words before but the truth was that he’d been too scared to voice them, convinced that if she knew how much she mattered then someone up there would realise it too and steal her away from him.
Stupid, so very stupid. Dropping his head back to haul in an unsteady breath Angel opened his eyes and began walking back to the bed, his tread soft and face anguished, talking to her as if she could somehow hear and understand, “I was going to tell you… explain how the visions don’t make you who you are.”
The deep voice was rusty and Wesley jerked to attention, listening while the lump in his throat got bigger and grew spikes. Oh God, I can’t bear this. Angel baring his soul was almost too much and his head swam dizzily as grief sharpened. Men do not cry. The pitiless litany was decades old and just as uselessly untrue now as it had been as a five-year-old, locked away alone in a dark cupboard.
The mattress dipped under Angel’s weight but Cordelia was too far gone to notice the slight shift as she turned into him. “I know you think that the compassion and the strength you’ve found are all bound up with them, but it’s not true. They were there all the time it’s just that you didn’t need them before now.”
Vision blurring Angel blinked and tucked a few stray strands away from her face, leaving the pads of his fingers resting against the pulse in her neck, willing it to kick up a beat and for her to wake up. “When you wake up I’m going to find a way to make you understand that-“
His voice wavered so he stopped hearing a sniffle from behind followed by an awkward clearing of a throat. The pressure in his chest was like a vice. Sucking in another choppy breath he didn’t need, Angel kept eyes burning with unshed tears on her still beautiful face, “Then I’m going to make sure you know how important you are for you, to me… to us. I don’t need a seer, I need you and I promise you won’t have to worry about the visions ever again.”
Leaning down so his lips hovered over her smooth forehead, Angel traced her features from innocently curving lashes to full lips that even now pouted. This close Cordelia’s moist breath washed over the skin exposed by the v-neck of his sweater and her skin was fragrant with a scent uniquely hers.
Pain flared and spread. Everything about her was so familiar she might have been his own reflection. The saddest part was he’d never let her see how absorbed he would get in watching her; helpless not to analyse how she moved, looked and expressed herself. Learning off her and taking it all in like arid desert sand.
Dropping that last centimetre Angel smoothed his lips in a lingering caress, murmuring against her skin, “I’ll never give up or leave you alone in the dark. I’m going to get you back, I promise.”
Then fired with a ruthless determination not to let fate snatch another loved one away Angel leant back up, rubbing both hands over his face, scrubbing those tears that had slipped out away before turning his head, “Wesley, come in and shut the door.” His voice was surprisingly firm. Wesley’s leaden heart picked up.
As soon the as the door was shut Angel stood, staring across the distance, gritty resolve stamped on his sometimes hard features. “The oracles said I have a cure for Cordy within my grasp. Between us we have to figure out what that means.”
***