Part 7
Wesley descended the hotel stairs wearily, lost in thought. A week ago he had been ready to give up, mark Angel off as another one of his failures. But Cordelia had brought hope back into his research, his cause. Maybe she could succeed where he had failed. He yawned and rubbed his shadowed jaw, exhaustion from the long hours he had been working outweighing his enthusiasm.
Wesley’s research had been so valuable, it had been key in explaining Angel’s “curse”. The only thing that eluded him now was the cure. He hoped that the answer lay with Cordelia’s arrival, if not he feared the worse. That Angel could never be saved from the curse, from himself.
As his mind worked on the ever present problem that dogged him night and day, Wesley’s unfocused eyes were caught by a figure madly pacing in his office. He glanced at his watch as he stepped from the last stair, it was early, too early. Something was wrong.
Cordelia didn’t wait for the greeting he attempted as he opened his office door. “Have you seen him?” her eyes pinned him as she stepped forward. “I’ve been waiting in his “lair” all night,” she said with angry sarcasm. “He never came back! The big jerk!” she continued her pacing. “What if he’s….what if I… ugh! This is all your fault, you know!” she accused with a huff before sinking down in his chair and resting her head in her hands.
“I assume you are speaking of Angel. You’re concerned that he is not here in the hotel?”
“Well, yeah!” her hand flew a sharp motion to the blackened window, indicating the rising sun.
“Cordelia, Angel often leaves the hotel,” he tried to conceal his own worry at the information, making the fact seem more ordinary than it was. “Sometimes he is too far to return safely. He can take care of himself,” he spoke the words softly, soothingly, hope growing and spreading through him at her concern.
“You don’t understand,” she said despairingly as she looked up at him. “I…it must have been your stories yesterday. You made him sound so….and his face….it must have been the stories. I must have wanted to see him like that. Imagined him that way for a minute.”
Wesley let the information, the hint of what it meant wash over him for a moment, keeping his excitement in check, calming his voice before he spoke, “Like what, Cordelia?”
“It was so stupid, Wesley. I think I hurt him, really hurt him,” her anger now seemed to fade into sadness.
“Cordelia, what did you see?”
She rolled her eyes, embarrassed of herself and her reaction the night before. She blew out a slow breath, “Just for a minute, his face…it looked… human, beautiful,” she breathed the last word.
Wesley’s pulse jumped, his adrenaline raced. He had to stay calm, level headed. It was the only way it could work.
“I was so shocked that I backed away from him, staring and gasping like some idiot. You should have seen the look on his face, Wesley,” her heart began to break for Angel. “He looked so hurt. I think he thought that I was disgusted with him after I got so close, touched him like….” she trailed off, not wanting to admit out loud that she had gotten so close to him.
Wesley was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, deciding his next move.
“I’m so worried about him, Wesley. You know him. Would he just leave like this? Will he be back?”
He didn’t know Angel at all, not really. Sure he’d studied him, read about him, heard the lore of the sudden and mysterious return of his soul. But those were things written in books, whispered in dark alleys by those who feared him. Angel, the man, the vampire, was a virtual stranger to Wesley. No one had ever gotten close enough to get to know him, until now. Now, after Cordelia’s worry, her obvious rendezvous with Angel the night before, Wesley was beginning to feel as if the only person in the hotel who really knew anything at all about the true Angel was the woman in front of him.
Little as even that knowledge was at such an early stage. “Cordelia, Angel is a very complicated vampire. I’m sure he doesn’t blame you for seeming shocked by his appearance. It can all be put in the clear tonight when he returns. Everything will be alright.” And he truly believed that now.
Cordelia stood and walked to the darkened window, looking at it as if she could see outside. She took a calming breath. “He’s not, ya know. Complicated. That’s where I think you’ve all misjudged him,” her voice was not accusatory, simply stating a realization, sharing what she finally was seeing in Angel with Wesley. “What he wants, needs is so simple, so normal.” It was a need she recognized in herself time and again.
“And what is that?” his voice was as quiet as hers.
“Acceptance. He’s been rejected at every turn. He can’t be a vampire, not a pure vampire because he’s good, because he has a soul. But he’s not human. He can’t even pretend he is because of the curse. And in Sunnydale, if that whole story’s true, well, big rejection there. I mean, he was just trying to do good, wasn’t he?” she looked at Wesley for verification of what she had interpreted as Angel’s existence, of what had happened in Sunnydale.
“It’s true. Angel has faced rejection at every turn. There is no wonder he hides himself now.”
Cordelia turned her gaze back to the window, thoughts and emotions battling in her mind, in her heart. Why was she so concerned about him? Was it pity? Curiosity? She couldn’t put a label on the way her heart broke for him, the way her mind fretted and worried over a way to help him, the way her body had reacted to him the night before. She should be worrying about her father, about her own situation, but she couldn’t. Not when she knew Angel was in pain. And that she had been the cause of it.
Wesley put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, wanting to help her. “Why don’t you get out for a while. Take your mind from the problem. Everything will be clearer tonight when Angel returns.” Wesley turned at the sound of footsteps crossing the lobby. “Gunn,” he called as he turned toward the office door.
Gunn entered the office with his usual unhurried manner, crossed his arms and leaned casually against the doorframe.
“Cordelia wishes to go out today, I thought you might accompany her.”
“No,” he said without hesitation and turned to leave.
“I can’t very well send her out alone, Charles.”
“Then you go,” he shot back.
Wesley followed him to the lobby. “I’m needed here.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Cordelia snapped at the two men from the office door. Not really wanting either man’s company. She looked up as Fred bounded down the stairs with a smile. She was clothed in one of her many girlish dresses, her feet bare and her eyes wide. If Cordelia had to spend the day with anyone in the hotel, Fred was much higher on her list than a moody, reluctant Gunn or Wesley who seemed more interested in his stupid research than anything else in the hotel. Including Angel.
She pushed down her ever present anger and disappointment in Wesley for his inaction when it came to Angel and his problem. “What about you, Fred?” she raised her eyebrows in question at the other woman. “Want to get out of this place for a while?”
“No!” both men turned to Cordelia in unison.
Cordelia watched the smile that was widening on Fred’s face fade at the men’s sudden answer.
“Fred cain’t leave. So don’t be rubbin it in her face,” Gunn warned.
“Cordelia, Fred has had a trying experience. She doesn’t venture out. Ever,” Wesley explained more diplomatically than Gunn. “We think this decision is best,” he motioned to Gunn who nodded his head in agreement.
“Good grief! Is hiding the solution to every problem here? Is that the way you help each other?”
“We ain’t hidin her, Barbie” Gunn took a step closer to Cordelia.
“Merely protecting,” Wesley added.
“My name is Cordelia, not Barbie. And how can…” “There really is no need…” “You look more like a Barbie than a C…” The three voices rose as the argument escalated until a sharp whistle silenced the room. All three looked toward the stairs.
Fred took her fingers from her mouth slowly, fidgeted, then straightened her shoulders. “I’d love to, Cordelia.”
Cordelia smiled as Fred’s hand shot up, silencing the two concerned men who stared up at her. “This isn’t a cave and that world out there’s not the hell I was in. I can’t keep hidin’ here forever. But thanks,” she smiled at Wesley and then Gunn. “For worryin’ about me so much.” She took the rest of the stairs quickly then, excitement in her eyes. “Where we goin’?” she grinned eagerly at Cordelia.
“Not sure, but shoes might be a requirement,” she looked down at Fred’s bare feet.
“Sorry,” Fred blushed. “It’s been a while.”
Cordelia smiled a reassuring smile and Fred ran up the stairs. Both men turned simultaneously, their accusing and hurt eyes fixed on Cordelia.
“She’ll be alright,” she tried encouragingly. They didn’t seem to buy it.
Fred was back in an instant, tucking money into her pocket as she ran down the steps. “I bet tacos taste great when they’re still hot from the oven. Can we get tacos for lunch?”
“Sure,” Cordelia turned when Fred reached her and the two women headed for the door. Both noticed the dark figure following behind and stopped, turning to face Charles Gunn.
“I’m goin,” Fred asserted herself bravely, making Cordelia proud.
“Not alone you ain’t,” Gunn’s stance dared her to argue.
Cordelia twined her arm with Fred’s and urged her to the door, whispering conspiratorially, “We’ll go shopping, lingerie section. He’ll be gone in an hour.”
Fred giggled and Gunn shook his head, flashing Wesley an angry glance before following the two women. It was definitely not the day he had planned.
Wesley watched as they left before returning to his office. It was then that he noticed the envelope on his desk, Angel’s familiar script letting him know that instructions lay inside. It was a common way to communicate with Angel. Both left notes more often than spoke.
He opened up the letter and read carefully. Smiling at the requested task.
***
The offices of Wolfram and Hart bubbled with daily activity as Clinton Chase paced nervously in front of Lindsay McDonald’s desk. “I don’t understand! Haven’t you found her yet? You’re supposed to be good at this sort of thing!” he accused with anxiety heavy in his voice.
“Patience, Mr. Chase,” Lindsay said smoothly, convincingly. “Give us a few more days. I’m sure we’ll have a solid lead by then. Now,” he rounded the desk, prompting Clinton to still. “My company has secured a room for you at a much nicer establishment, four star, a gift from us for your patience in this trying matter. Rest assured that we’ll find her.”
Clinton ran his hand through his hair, “Thank you. I can’t tell you what your help means to me. I’m sorry for my outburst. It’s just that she’s my little girl, she’s all I have now.”
“No need for apologies. It’s completely understandable.”
The two men shook hands at the door and Lindsay directed his secretary to see to the details of Clinton’s room and comforts.
With Mr. Chase safely ushered out, Lindsay began to close his office door before spotting Lilah making a beeline for him. He pushed out a great breath of frustration and didn’t bother closing the door as he stepped back into the office.
“So,” she purred as she entered, closing the door after a quick glance at Clinton. “The golden boy can’t find the vampire in the haystack after all?” she teased, mocking his failure at the impossible task.
“Found him two hours after my first meeting with Mr. Chase,” he reached into a drawer and tossed a folder onto the top of the desk.
Lilah swallowed the rest of her sarcastic comments she had prepared on the way over and opened the folder, thumbing through the surveillance pictures and detailed information.
“He’s been hiding out in an old hotel downtown,” he walked up just behind her, pointing at the picture of the building.
His nearness gave Lilah a little thrill that she quickly dismissed. “And this must be the long, lost daughter,” she pulled out a picture of Cordelia standing alone, looking out from one of the balconies of the hotel.
Lindsay took the picture from her hand, “Yeah,” he stared at the image.
“Oh please,” Lilah’s face morphed into slight disgust at the way his eyes lingered on the image. “Don’t tell me the damsel in distress type is what gets you off.”
Lindsay tossed the photo to the desk, trying to cover up his thoughts. He ignored her dig. “I reported what we found to the Senior Partners as soon as I had all the information. They wanted to go in immediately, snag the vamp and bring him back here.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is he’s been MIA since last night. None of our detectors have sensed him in the building since then.”
“You think he knows?”
“No. He’ll be back.” Lindsay sat down in his chair, his eyes went to the picture of Cordelia before he knew what he was doing.
“And then what? You swoop in and save the girl?” she laughed and dropped the file to the desk. “Give it up Lindsay, you never were the hero type, we don’t breed those here, remember?” she turned and sauntered out of the room, but he never looked up.
He waited until he heard the click of the door before picking up the photo. He stared at it for a long while before he reached out with his other hand, his fingers gently stroking the image of the beautiful brunette.
***
The day had been an interesting one. The lingerie shopping had only reinforced the fact that the women were definitely not going to shake Gunn’s trail of them. He just simply planted himself near the desk, enjoying a flirt session from one of the sales girls.
So, they accepted him as their companion instead of their guard and in no time, and to Cordelia’s shock, he was eating tacos and cracking jokes that made Cordelia feel as if she should smile politely and Fred laugh so hard she almost choked, twice.
They decided on a movie for the afternoon. A comedy. Cordelia had sat quietly as Gunn and Fred laughed, talking to the characters as if they were real. But, as it had all day, Cordelia’s mind drifted. She couldn’t even engage in the discussion about the movie on the truck ride back to the hotel, she hadn’t remembered a single scene. Her mind had been on one thing, Angel. And it was starting to tick her off.
So, she had politely stayed silent as Fred and Gunn chattered on about just what was the best, all-time comedy ever made. About his beaten-up truck and what it meant to him. About how much Fred had enjoyed getting out of the dark and dreary hotel.
Cordelia looked around the cab of the truck, remembering a time that she would not have been caught dead in such a thing. She smiled slightly at herself. She was glad she had changed.
Her smile faded as she thought of the price with which that change had come. Her father’s tragic actions, her mother’s abandonment. It was the first time during that day that her mind had turned to her family, her father.
She wanted to talk with him again, make sure he was alright. After all, he was her father. And as Angel had said, she was not a prisoner. Even if the best thing for her now was to keep her distance from him for a while, she still had every right to be in contact with him.
She would talk to Angel, or Wesley, or Gunn. Which ever one who would listen to reason. And she would talk to her father. Soon.
With that worry taken care of she looked out the open truck window, watching as the sun hung low in the sky. She tried to push out images of Angel rushing back to the hotel as soon as darkness fell.
Why should she care if he came back? She had a room to stay in, a very nice, very plush room. She had all the mad money she needed to explore L.A. each day of her extended stay. And she would be speaking with her father very soon; she was sure of it. So, why should she feel this way?
Sad.
Alone.
When they arrived at the hotel, Fred burned Wesley’s ears with every minute detail of their day while Gunn tried to seem uninterested in her excitement. Cordelia simply smiled a greeting over Fred’s shoulder to Wesley and headed for the stairs.
Two steps up, a strong hand gently stopped her. “Thanks,” Gunn said as she turned her attention on to him. “For today,” he clarified. “You were right. About Fred. It was good for her.”
Cordelia smiled at him, “Not just for her,” she stared at him for a moment, watched the comprehension dawn on his face when he realized that she had seen what the day had done for him. He gave her a nod and what could be considered a pleasant look. And with that, she knew she had been accepted into his tight circle of people who never realized they were his friends, his family.
He didn’t speak to her, but watched as she continued up the stairs, thinking about his initial misjudgment. Wondering how she knew the day was just what he needed; the distance from the hotel, the movie, seeing Fred smile and laugh.
Cordelia reached her floor, started down the hall before pausing and turning back to the stairs, climbing another flight. When she reached Angel’s suite, she knew she wouldn’t find him there since the sun still had not completely set. She wasn’t even really sure why she had gone in. To wait for him? To snoop? Although she suspected both were true, the latter took more precedence.
The room was how she remembered it. Dark. Somber. Depressing. But with the last rays of sun still outside and the light from the candles she found scattered around, she realized that there were signs of life in the room. Dismal as they were.
There was a small mattress in one corner of the room, an old rickety chair in another, and stacks of books littering half of one of the walls. The rest of the room was in shambles. Cordelia went to the mattress and sat down, picking up one of the books nearest to her.
She recognized the language, French, although she couldn’t comprehend one line. She closed it and picked up the next. It at least was English. Poetry. She read for a while, then placed the book back down. She stood up, slowly circling the room, taking it in. Thinking. She looked at the stack of books again; noticing what at first sight seemed to be some sort of journal. She hesitated, then stepped purposely forward, picking up the leather-bound book.
What she found inside made her breath catch in her throat. The sketches were beautiful, artistic. The first was of the moon, high and full, shining over the balcony of the very room in which she sat. And even though it was simple pencil and parchment, it was real, breathtaking. Cordelia turned the page carefully, reverently. The next few drawings were just as stunning. Another night sky, a moonlit landscape, Wesley hard at work in his office with a furrow in his brow, Gunn on the hunt.
But then there was a change, beauty to nightmare. A pair of eyes, wide with horror, as if they were looking at the devil himself. She turned the page, pulled deeper into the nightmare. Each drawing was the same, sometimes different eyes, different points of view, but always the same. Stark terror. Torment.
Cordelia swallowed an unfamiliar lump in her throat. This was his life. His existence. His view of the world was the landscapes, the moon, his friends working hard at his side; it was breathtaking, inspiring. But the worlds view of him held no beauty in his mind, only terror and fear.
When she was to the center of the sketchbook, and when she thought she couldn’t stand to look at another nightmarish scene, she turned the next page and saw herself. Gone were the horrified eyes, the faces twisted in terror. She was alone, walking head held high down the lonely dark street outside. Somehow he had managed to incorporate a fearless look in her eyes that she knew had not been there the night she had come to him. She touched the picture, her heart wading into unfamiliar territory. Was this how he saw her? Beautiful? Brave? She had never felt that way. Not like the person in the picture anyway.
She closed the book. The last image too powerful to attempt to look at any others. Walking to the balcony, she pushed aside the heavy drapes and watched the sun sink into the horizon.
When the door to the suite creaked open, she didn’t turn. Why should she? It wasn’t him.
“Cordelia?” came Wesley’s voice.
Cordelia didn’t turn, didn’t answer for a long moment. “Who is he, Wesley?”
Wesley paused longer than she had, searching for the right answer, the true answer. “I don’t know,” he was closer to her now that he had crossed the room. “I think that is a knowledge that eludes even him,” he added.
Cordelia stepped back from the balcony, allowing the curtains to fall together. She turned to Wesley, “He thinks he’s some kind of monster, or animal. And by the looks of this room he’s living out the delusion,” she looked around the suite with sad eyes.
“We should leave. If he does come back tonight. He may not be…..,” Wesley sighed, “predictable. It’s best we let him come to us. When he’s ready.”
Reluctantly, she stepped forward and left the room.
With Wesley’s short goodnight, she found herself in her elegant, comfortable room. Her mind turned to the animalistic den upstairs. A twinge of guilt hit her for accepting her accommodations after seeing how Angel forced himself to live. She closed her eyes, remembering the way she must have looked to him the night before, so like the images of fear in his book. She never wanted to be that to him, just another pair of accusing, condemning eyes that saw only a glimpse of hell when they looked at him. She felt something sting her eyes, she willed away the tears. She wouldn’t cry for him. Tears wouldn’t do him any good.
But what would?
A quick shower later, the sunset long gone, Cordelia found herself pacing restlessly, wondering when he would return. If he would return. She picked up a magazine only to throw it back to the nightstand. She took long strides to the dresser, picked up the brush, ran it through her hair once, twice before tossing back down.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing Angel out of her mind. What was this? Was she pining over a vampire? Maybe it was guilt over her first assumptions about him. Maybe it was the way her body had jolted to life when her fingers had caressed him, wandered over his nonexistent wound.
Pushing the memory of his taught, muscled frame from her mind, she tried to focus on his face, remember what he was. But even the lines, bumps, and glaring eyes that labeled him the demon he thought himself now seemed somehow to soften with the knowledge of his deeds, his artistic heart. Poetry and French literature softening the harshness of his face, defining the soul that lay inside.
Fresh air. That would help her clear her mind. Think things through. Remember the reality of her situation.
She walked to the French doors, pulling both open in one sweep. The scent overwhelmed her. Great long planters lined the edge of the balcony. In them, small vines sprouted up and spilled over the sides, some of the longer ones stretched up and lay atop the ledge. White, fragrant blooms, half open in the darkness, peppered the fledgling plants.
Stuck in the soil of the center planter was an envelope. She recognized Angel’s handwriting from the note he had left with the phone just nights before.
Taking the few steps it took to reach the planter, Cordelia leaned down, picked up the letter, and opened it.
Cordelia,
An apology for last night. They’re called Moonflowers. This is what should greet you every night. Not a monster in the shadows.
Angel
Cordelia read the short note several times before closing it. She looked to the shadowy corner, wishing he was there.
An apology.
She had teased him about his life, groped him in the pretence of checking his wound, and acted like a stuttering idiot when her desire to see him human had gotten the best of her.
She was the one who owed him the apology.
Leaning down, she smelled the aromatic blooms. He wanted to fill her nights with beauty instead of monsters. This time tears did come to her eyes, and she welcomed them. How could a monster be responsible for this?
“Where are you?” she whispered as she touched one of the blooms.
***
Angel stared at the mirror on the wall behind the bar, straight at the empty space where his reflection should have been. He’d never wished that he could see himself until now. He wanted to see the thing that had made Cordelia gasp and shrink away, curse at it, put a face on his hatred.
Turning up the bottle in front of him, he drained the contents. It had taken a lot, but he’d finally had enough that he was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol.
Reaching into his pocket, he placed another twenty on the bar as a shrill voice began to screech out a Bette Midler tune from the stage behind him.
A green demon passed in front of him, stared down at the twenty and then up at Angel. “Look tall, dark and deadly, I think you’ve had just about enough.”
Angel’s amber eyes turned up to the demon’s red ones, a menacing growl rumbling deep in his chest.
“Alright, crumb cake. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya when you’re passed out in the alley and the tequila sunrise bites you in the butt. Literally.”
Angel watched as the bar tender/owner opened another bottle and sat it in front of him, hovering in the spot for a moment.
“If you ask me….”
“I didn’t,” Angel warned and took a huge gulp from the bottle.
“Sorry,” the other demon threw his hands up in surrender. “It’s none of my business. It’s just not everyday that I get a vampire with a soul in here.”
Angel’s response was quick, he lunged at the demon, but before he reached him a sharp pain shot through his head. He recoiled back to his barstool, the demon never flinched.
“Non-violence policy. Had it put in a while ago. Really cut down on the remodeling.”
“Who told you?” Angel shook the pain from his head and focused back on the bottle.
“About the soul?” the demon laughed. “You did. Or at least your aura did. Thought that I was mistaken at first, but the more you drink darlin the clearer I see it.”
“Thanks, Lorne,” a customer shouted as he left the bar, taking the demon’s attention for a moment as he waved and smiled a ‘you’re welcome’ back.
“I’ve watched you reading all night. I didn’t sing. There’s no way you could have known,” Angel never looked up, but his voice was a clear warning. He couldn’t afford for the demon world to know about him, about the soul.
“Honey, you don’t have to sing. The singing just loosens the outer shell so I can see more of what’s inside. That tequila has loosened you to transparency.”
Angel took another drink from the bottle and looked up. “So, what do you see?” He’d meant to sound sarcastic, threatening, but his voice came out hopeful. He wished he had just stayed quiet.
“On the outside? A vampire. In true ‘vamp’ form tonight I might add,” Lorne referred to his demonic visage, unused to a vampire who didn’t use his human appearance in the club.
“It’s the only form I’ve got,” Angel took another drink and stared back into the mirror.
Lorne looked behind himself, then back at Angel. “You won’t find the answer to your little problem there anymore than you will in that bottle.”
“And I suppose you have the answer,” Angel said dryly.
“Me? No, honey buns. I’m just the Glenda to your Dorothy.”
Angel stared at him for a moment, “Huh?”
Lorne leaned over and collected the now empty bottle, “Wizard of Oz? Judy Garland?” He leaned his head back and belted out a line, “Soooomewheeeere, over the rainbow!”
Angel simply stared at him.
Lorne closed his eyes and shook his head in utter disgust. “Why do I even bother?” he muttered. “You already have the answer. In here,” he pointed toward Angel. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got a Langor demon waiting to be read. Does a great Diana Ross, right down to the Divatude if you know what I mean.”
Angel sat and stared at the mirror long after Lorne walked away. He didn’t have the answer. He wasn’t sure if he even knew the question. Was there a cure for his curse? Why did he have a soul? Why did Cordelia Chase affect him the way she did?
He wondered if Wesley had followed his instructions. Suddenly he felt very foolish about the flowers. They seemed a silly and inadequate apology for the way he had lurked in the shadows outside of her room. Scared her half to death with his closeness.
He had to get control of himself. He had never obsessed like this over Fred when she came to the hotel for shelter. Cordelia was no different.
What a lie.
At first he had blamed his reactions to Cordelia on her beauty. But deep inside, he knew it was so much more, that she was so much more. And the way she had touched him the night before…. It was as if she could chase away his demon. That if he could have her trust, her friendship, her love, nothing else would matter.
He laughed bitterly in his mind and stood, leaving the bar. Love. She could barely look at him. Love? He wanted to go back to her balcony and push the flowers over the ledge, rip the note up before she could see it. It had been so impulsive. But he had just wanted her to know that there were other things in the night besides monsters.
***
Wesley placed his glasses on his nose, “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he answered the persistent knocking at his suite door.
Cordelia marched into his room as soon as the door was open. “If I want anything, all I have to do is ask, right?”
“Pardon?”
“You said that if I need anything, that I should ask you and you’ll make sure it’s done, taken care of. You said that,” she stated the fact as if she were trying to convince him of his own words.
“Well, yes. Of course.”
“Alright,” she took a deep breath of satisfaction. “Here’s the list. I need as much of this stuff as you can get tomorrow and I’ll need your and Gunn’s help with some of the painting of course.”
“I don’t understand,” Wesley looked at the list, reading some of the contents. Then he looked to the woman in front of him, a purpose glinting in her eye. “You’re not satisfied with your room?”
“Of course I am. Are you kidding? It’s beautiful. This is for Angel.”
Wesley stared at her, stunned into silence.
“He’s not an animal, Wesley. And it’s time he stopped living like one.”
“Don’t you think that is for him to decide?”
“I don’t really care if it is or isn’t. That room up there is wrong, the image he has of himself is wrong.”
Wesley looked back to the list as if trying to decide.
“Wesley, he can’t live in the darkness forever. Pretty soon its going to swallow him up. Make him the monster he thinks he is.”
He looked back at her but still said nothing.
“Help me pull him out?” she asked softly, waiting for his answer. She couldn’t do it without his help.
Wesley took a deep breath and slowly pushed it out. “Alright. If Angel does not return tonight, Gunn and I will meet you in his room at daybreak. We’ll have to work fast. I can’t possibly predict his reaction if he finds us there after sunset tomorrow.”
Cordelia leaned up and kissed Wesley on the cheek, causing him to blush. “Thanks,” she smiled and left the room.
***
Angel sat against the wall of the sewer. The sun would be rising soon. He just couldn’t go back, not yet. He had promised himself that he would stay away from her, remain the hidden host he had always been. But he knew that he needed a little more time to prepare himself mentally, emotionally. If he went back now, he couldn’t stay away.
What was wrong with him? Everything in him, beast and man, screamed his need for Cordelia. Her presence, her touch.
Touch.
That is what it had been. It had to be. No one, human or demon, had touched him in decades. At least not like she had the night before, with such care and concern it made him forget what he was for one small moment. That’s what was affecting his senses, his judgment. He didn’t care any more for her than he did the others. She was a human in need and he was helping her. Nothing more. He’d stay clear of the hotel. Let things blow over for a couple of days. Pretty soon, when he knew for sure she would be safe, he would send her on her way.
A growl escaped him unchecked at the thought of her leaving. He shook himself and stood. He needed to find shelter for the night. A couple at the most. He would return after that. Things would be clearer then.
He would not torture himself with fantasies that could never come true.
