Part 7
“S-Sleep together?” Cordelia whispered, her breath seeming to escape her. She couldn’t find it, and she was beginning to see spots of color behind her eyelids when she blinked. “You can’t be serious!”
Dr. Van Buren’s expression was unmistakable. “Of course I’m serious. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.” She stared down at both of them, crossing her arms, trying not to be afraid of the growing darkness on Angel’s face. She knew she might have pushed them both too hard, but she had no choice. There was a time schedule to maintain here, one that meant the difference between life and death.
She had wavered more than once on her recent decision to keep Angel in the dark about the new circumstances of his curse. It was important that his moment of perfect happiness be genuine and not contrived. Dr. Van Buren would take no chances, not on such a short notice. If he felt forced in declaring his love for Cordelia, if he tried too hard, the elements that powered the altered gypsy curse would recognize the illegitimacy and deny him his soul. That could not be allowed.
No, she thought emphatically. Her only recourse now was to put them in such close, constant proximity that eventually they would give in to the pressure, throw caution to the wind, and declare their love for each other. She knew that at that point, there would need to be some revelation on her part so they would actually consummate the relationship, but she had yet to work the details of that out. Now, though, it was up to her to manipulate them into moving in together.
Bringing herself back once again from the precipice of insanity, Dr. Van Buren assumed her most martinet glare. “Yes,” she nodded forcefully. “I am definitely serious.”
“But having sex would ruin everything!” Cordelia wailed. “We’re just starting to get along again, and we all know that sex is bad. Really, really bad! We would be even more confused with each other, and—”
Dr. Van Buren interrupted her with a haughty set of raised eyebrows. “Who said anything about having sex?”
“What?” Angel asked, the first word he felt safe in uttering since her startling proclamation. This woman was certifiable. If she thought he could survive living with Cordelia, sleeping with her, she was crazy.
She stared at them as if they were missing a few screws. “I didn’t say anything about having sex. I said ‘sleeping together.’ There’s a distinct difference, despite our culture’s pollution of the words into a hackneyed euphemism.”
Both Angel and Cordelia felt the pressure around their hearts contract just a little bit at the Doctor’s clarification. That relief was followed by an immediate feeling of disappointment. They both resolutely shoved that aside. They knew they weren’t meant to be. It wasn’t worth it to dwell on it.
Dr. Van Buren was continuing her explanation, utilizing reverse psychology from her bag of tricks. “No, having sex at this juncture would definitely hinder your ability to repair your relationship. That wasn’t what I was suggesting at all. What I was suggesting, no, demanding, is that you move in together. That you spend every day, nearly every hour with each other until you are able to deal with these feelings of lust as if they were no more than breathing. Or talking. Or sleeping.”
“I still don’t get it,” Cordelia said skeptically. “How is that going to help? The time we spend together already is charged with anger or tension. How will seeing him more often make any difference?”
Dr. Van Buren nodded. “I, too, believe that the problem you’re facing stems from the amount of time you spend together. But I believe it isn’t enough time. You see each other nearly every day, and during that time, you work yourselves up into an emotional, lustful frenzy that results in some sort of negative confrontation. Then, you separate, reevaluate, and come back together to start the cycle over again. The problem is that you don’t deal with the lust, you just release the unresolved sexual tension via anger.”
They just stared at her.
She continued. “To truly work through these issues, you need to have the element of escape taken out of the equation. I believe, that when you are faced with feelings of lust and are living together, you will have no choice but to deal with them. You will have to learn how to cope with these feelings in order to release them and get on with your lives. In order to maintain the balance of your relationship that is so important to you.”
Angel’s frown had lessened somewhat as he let himself be drawn in by her argument. She did make some sense. They did manage to get themselves all worked up around each other, then escape to stew in their own juices. By the next time they met, they were either back to indifference or so torqued up that they could barely function. Neither option was preferable.
But nearly as quickly, Angel realized how easily he’d acquiesced to this obviously evil woman’s demands. She expected him to share the same room with Cordelia and not touch her? To breathe in the heady intoxication of her scent and keep his hands to himself? To watch her sleep beside him and not slake the demands his body was sure to make? He clenched his jaw and forced down the angry growl growing in his throat. He may have to follow this woman’s orders, but he didn’t have to like it.
Next to him, Cordelia sighed. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to get out of this one, but she didn’t know if she was going to be able to keep her hands, and feelings, to herself if she moved in with Angel, or he with her. It was scary to think about what might happen if they lost their inhibitions for one reason or another.
To give her some time to process the myriad of emotions swirling in her mind, Cordelia asked, “What exactly do you have in mind?”
Dr. Van Buren smiled at what she determined was Cordelia’s acceptance of the situation. “As I understand from Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, Angel lives in the same location as the agency, correct?”
Angel refused to answer, only glaring at her. Cordelia frowned at his silence, then answered in the affirmative.
“Then it seems entirely logical that Cordelia move into the hotel. Her apartment is close, but not close enough. I would like the two of you to spend as much time together as possible. I realize that you will need some alone time for your own sanity, but that alone time should be relatively short. It is important to keep the intensity high in these first few days to give you plenty of opportunities to learn how to live with these feelings.”
Angel felt the anger pervade nearly every cell in his body as she continued making plans for them. His insides were a churning mass of unreleased rage, a lava that burned at him to be released. He was angry with Cordelia for tempting him, angry with Dr. Van Buren for her machinations.
But most of all, he was angry at himself. Angry for being so weak around Cordelia. Angry with himself for falling so deeply in love when he’d vowed to himself he never would again. He’d said after Buffy that it wasn’t worth the pain, but somehow time had lessened the impact. He’d made himself vulnerable again, his feelings an exposed, angry wound. Now, Dr. Pain and Torture was prodding a hot poker into his already tender emotions. He was starting to feel like a caged tiger, restless and wary.
Dr. Van Buren continued, briefly noting the dark clouds swarming over Angel’s face but steadfastly ignoring them. “These are the rules. You are to keep the same sleeping and waking hours. I understand that as a vampire, Angel stays up later. You should each adjust your sleeping patterns and meet somewhere in the middle.”
She began pacing, as if she were a general giving marching orders to her troops. “Second, you are to sleep not only in the same room, but the same bed. Finally, you are required to kiss each other both good morning and good night.” She stopped and turned, frowning at them as if she’d caught them with their hands in the cookie jar.
“And I don’t mean a peck on the cheek, either. I mean something like what you showed me earlier. Something with feeling. Something guaranteed to force you to deal with the more elemental feelings. These instructions are to begin immediately. Do I make myself clear?”
The couple nodded reluctantly. In a fit of irritation, a last ditch effort to save himself from total emotional annihilation, Angel asked, “And if we don’t?”
Dr. Van Buren smiled her evil little smile. “I have the full backing of Mr. Wyndham-Pryce on this situation. I have already informed him of the circumstances, and he is willing to back me up one hundred percent. If you should entertain thoughts of abandoning this portion of your therapy, you will find yourselves out of a job.”
Angel’s teeth gritted at her answer. He clenched his jaw, tense, as he tried to hold back the part of him that wanted to rip her throat out savagely with his teeth.
***
Yanking a suitcase out of her closet, Cordelia slammed the door shut with a muttered curse and flung the luggage on her bed. Immediately, she stalked over to the bureau and began pulling clothes from the drawers, not bothering to keep them in a neat pile. She was whispering under her breath the entire time, every action punctuated by some part of her irritated diatribe. She didn’t notice the tears trickling down her face.
She had thought she could handle moving in with Angel. She’d sat in Dr. Van Buren’s office and kissed Angel, losing herself in it, but she’d thought she could put her feelings aside and do as the therapist demanded. But then Angel had to go and make it all weird on the way home. He had to say something that would break her heart and raise her ire all at once. He just HAD to, damn him.
Trying not to think about the car ride home and its disastrous details, Cordy finished emptying her dresser of anything remotely packable and moved on to the closet. Pulling out items furiously, flinging hangers across the room as she did so, she cursed him a million times over. Stupid vampire. Stupid, dumb, irritating vampire. Stupid, dumb, beautiful vampire. Stupid, beautiful sexy vampire.
Beautiful, sexy vampire who doesn’t love me, she thought, pausing mid pull at the door of her closet. She retrieved the unseen garment slowly, staring off into space, and clutched the soft fabric to her chest. She backed up and sank down onto the edge of the bed, the torrent of tears she hadn’t noticed before now feeling like trails of fire down her cheeks.
That’s what it all came down to. Angel didn’t love her, but she had to sleep with him and kiss him anyway. It was like forcing a drug addict to take a hit of marijuana every day, but not take any more. She raised a corner of the soft sweater to her cheek, wiping away the tears and darkening the lavender wool until it was a muddy royal purple. She stared blurrily at the item in her hands, the wadded it up in her fists and let her face fall, her tears flowing freely as she sobbed.
It was as if the floodgates of her pain had opened, and with them came the memories of the drive home and the pain of Angel’s response to their latest assignment.
He’d stalked out to the car, boots clomping and duster swirling, until he’d made it to the car and wrenched the door open on his side. He nearly forgot to unlock her side, but at the last minute, he reached over and yanked up the lock, then scrunched back on his side of the car.
Cordelia had been at a loss. In the session, he’d almost seemed to agree with Dr. Van Buren’s assessment of their situation. How could she have missed the downward spiral in less than ten minutes into this glowery, scary Angel? He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t make eye contact, would barely acknowledge her presence.
Warily climbing into the passenger seat, Cordelia sat carefully, adjusting her clothing and fastening her seatbelt. Not once did Angel turn to look at her. He merely waited in stony silence until she was settled, then put the car into gear and moved off. Again, she was baffled. It was as if he were angry withher somehow. But that made no sense at all.
She waited a few more blocks in silence before she gave up because she couldn’t take the pressure.
“What’s with the silent treatment, Angel?” She asked, trying to put a smile in her voice, hoping he’d take it as a joke.
He didn’t. His jaw twitched and he kept his eyes on the road, acting as if she weren’t there.
That made her angry. Okay, so this wasn’t exactly what either of them wanted. But, hello! She was being tortured here, too. It wasn’t like he was the only sacrificial lamb.
“Hmph. Fine, whatever,” she grumbled, crossing her arms and slouching down in the seat. “Don’t talk to me. Be an ass.”
This time he did growl. “I don’t want to talk about it, Cordelia,” he said, his tone menacing.
“The hell you don’t,” Cordelia shot back. “Whenever you get like this, you do want to talk about it. You’re just convinced that if you ignore it, it will go away. Well, I’ve got news for you this time, grr guy. I’m going to be in your bed tonight so we have to work through this before then.”
He was silent again, but she knew it wasn’t because he was refusing to speak. She knew he had to find the right words to express what he was feeling.
She’d had no idea that those words would be so painful.
A few minutes later, he broke the silence, his voice gravelly in the stillness of the car. “This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard of in my life. This woman is nuts if she thinks this will make us actually improve our relationship,” he scoffed. “C’mon. I can hardly stand to be in the same room with you. Does she really think that more of you will help me out?”
They were back at the hotel, and he pulled the car up to the parking space with a lurch, nearly pulling the gearshift out of its housing as he thrust the car into park, then ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.
Her jaw dropped at the crushing words. He really loathed her that much? He couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her? God, was she really that horrible? Almost immediately, the suffocating pain of his anger towards her turned to anger of her own. She responded in the only way she knew how.
“Well, excuse me for living, Angel,” she spat at him, her eyes flashing. “If I’d known you hated me so much, I would’ve left your pathetic, sorry, unfeeling dead ass a long time ago, visions or not.”
She wrenched the passenger door open and threw her feet out. Before standing, she shot over her shoulder, “I’ll be back to ruin the rest of your life in two hours. I hope you can bring yourself to stomach my presence by then.”
At that, she’d pulled herself from the car and slammed the door with enough force to make the window rattle. She’d walked over to her car with steps echoing like gunshots, her eyes burning with tears of hurt and anger.
Those same tears were still flowing here a few hours later as she tried to pack up her belongings to move into the bowels of hell with the man she loved. It was true. She did love him, but he obviously didn’t love her. It was undeniable that he lusted after her; their kiss awhile ago was evidence of that. But love? She laughed humorlessly. Angel didn’t love. He couldn’t afford to.
***
Angel paced his suite like a caged animal, the growls rumbling from his chest only adding to the effect. He hadn’t listened to his words before he spoke them in the car earlier, and he never would’ve imagined that Cordelia would have taken them so totally the wrong way anyway. Now, of course, he could see how his words must’ve sounded to her. She thought he hated her. She thought his hatred grew with every day, that he couldn’t wait to be rid of her, despite his physical attraction to her.
She couldn’t be further from the truth. Somehow he had to explain it to her. Seeing the pain in her eyes, the pain at the perceived rejection in his words was enough to make his heart wrench. He loved her, damn it, more than he’d ever loved anyone before, and it killed him to see her in pain. To see her in emotional pain that he had caused made the guilt ten times worse.
The only problem was that he couldn’t exactly declare his love to her. If he did, what would they do then? They couldn’t sleep together because of the curse. And it was undeniable that both of them were very tactile beings. Even as friends, when their relationship was completely platonic, they touched each other regularly. He caught her when the visions came. They brushed hands or arms on a regular basis. He guided her through a doorway with his hand on her lower back. She’d touch or slap his arm playfully as she laughed at him.
Dr. Van Buren was right on that account. Touch was like water to their relationship. Without it, they withered up and died.
No. There was no way that they could knowingly declare their love for each other and stand to stay at arms length. The frustration would eat them alive until they resented each other. She deserved to be loved completely, to have her young body tingle with the pleasure it was created for. If anyone was ever created for pleasures of the flesh, it was Cordelia. Her body was perfect, the epitome of beauty, and she deserved to be worshiped in a manner befitting her beautiful features and personality. Angel would never be able to keep his distance; even now, the thought of it tore him up in knots.
His one ray of hope was that they could find the balance they’d once had. That they could find a way to get back to the easy friendship that had made them both into better, stronger people. If that meant shoving his love and lust for her in a tiny box, so be it. He needed her, even if it was only as friends. He couldn’t risk losing her.
He had to smooth things over with her, and quickly.
Part 8
Dragging several suitcases on wheels behind her, Cordelia struggled into the lobby of the hotel. Her face was freshly scrubbed, her eyes dry. The only telltale sign of her sob fest was a slight puffiness around her eyes, but even that wasn’t noticeable unless one looked closely. She hoped that no one would.
Seeing Gunn lounging on the couch in the lobby, she grinned widely and dropped her things.
“Gunn!” Her smile was wide and genuine. “Where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages!”
She walked over to him and hugged him tightly.
“I been around, girl,” Gunn said, his handsome face in a broad smile. “Heard you’ve been having some trouble, though. English tells me you and the vamp ain’t been getting along so great.”
The sparkle went out of Cordelia’s eyes as her smile wobbled. “It’s been kinda hard, but we’re working on it.”
“Well, good. Wouldn’t want you to get fired, or anything.”
She frowned. “Wes is a big ol’ goober for pulling that on us. I mean, we’ve been through a lot, right? Firing me would just be vicious.”
Gunn nodded in sympathy. “Yeah, maybe. But he has your best intentions at heart, ya know.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
They were silent for a moment. She finally looked back up at him after a bit, then smiled again. “Wanna help me carry my stuff upstairs before you go?”
“How’d you know I was gonna go?” he asked.
“Because its after midnight. You almost never stay this late.”
“Just waitin’ to see you, Barbie,” he grinned. “That your stuff?” he pointed to the foreboding pile on the stairs.
She nodded, and together, they managed to cart everything up to the second floor. At the top, she stopped him and said, “I can take it from here, Gunn, thanks.” She placed her hand on his upper arm and gave it a light squeeze before leaving with two of the suitcases. She’d come back and get the others later.
“Hey, Cordy,” he said, stopping her halfway to Angel’s room.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“You know it will all work out, right?” he said.
Her smile was soft, her eyes sad. “I hope so, Gunn. I hope so.”
Gunn watched her go, then turned and headed back downstairs, bounding down two steps at a time. He found Wesley engrossed in some research in his office.
“Is she situated?” Wes asked without looking up.
“Yup. All her stuff is upstairs and she just went into his room.”
“Good,” Wesley said, nodding succinctly.
“Are you sure this therapist knows what she’s doing?” Gunn asked, sounding skeptical.
“Yes, quite,” Wesley said, confident. “In fact, I just spoke with her at length after Angel and Cordelia left. It seems that she’s managed to circumvent Angel’s curse. She was sketchy on the details, and Angel walked in before she could fully explain it to me. But it sounds promising.”
Gunn grinned. “A little freaky deaky would go a long way in working out the kinks between those two.”
Wesley grimaced. “Please, Gunn. While I tend to agree, I don’t want to think about it.”
“You don’t think about Cordelia naked?” Gunn asked in disbelief.
Wes got a deer-in-the-headlights look and a blush to match. “Well, ah,”
Gunn’s grin got wider, and he clapped Wes on the back hard enough to make the other man choke. “S’okay, Englsh. We all do it, you know. The girl’s a hottie. Can’t be helped.”
“Can we please talk of something else?” Wes sounded as if he were strangling.
“Sure, why not?” Gunn said goodnaturedly. “So, ah,. . . ever seen Barbie in a bikini?”
“Gunn!”
His laugh echoed off the walls of the lobby.
***
The atmosphere in Angel’s suite had changed significantly since the massage the night before. Gone were the candles she’d placed all over the room, and the scent of vanilla had diffused along with them. The table had been secreted away, the towels placed in the laundry. His room looked like it had so many other times she’d been in here. Masculine, dark, and filled with the unique scent of Angel.
Her heart clenched in her chest as she caught sight of the bed nearby. A movement in the corner both distracted and frightened her at the same time. Angel emerged, his shadow slowly separating from the darkness engulfing him. His eyes were sad, his face in classic brood mode. Her heart softened as she saw him, even as her mind screamed at him for his thoughtless words in the car. She knew, deep down, that he hadn’t meant it like that, but it still hurt. She’d heard it, and she couldn’t help but interpret his words that way. But aside from that, true or not, she was nervous to be here.
“Cordelia,” Angel said softly in greeting.
“Hi, Angel,” Cordy sighed. “I’m kind of tired, so I’m just going to get ready for bed, okay?” she said, smiling weakly.
He nodded, and she walked past him toward the bathroom. As she passed, he wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her to a stop.
“What, Angel?” she asked wearily, not meeting his eyes.
“I’m sorry about what I said in the car, Cordy. I didn’t mean it like that.” Something left over from his humanity made his chest constrict as he waited anxiously to see if she would accept his apology.
“I know you didn’t, Angel,” she said with a sigh. “We just keep doing this, don’t we?” Her eyes finally locked with his, tears glistening in the low light.
“Doing what?” He searched her face, his fingers flexing on her arm.
“Hurting each other,” she said simply. “Whatever we say or do, one of us ends up hurting. We have to make this work, Angel. I can’t keep going on like this, and I don’t want to lose you.”
He didn’t say anything, his words escaping him at her admission. She gently pulled from his grasp, then escaped into the bathroom and closed the door with a soft click behind her.
He stood and stared at the closed portal for a few moments, then finally raised a hand to rub his jaw and sighed. This entire situation was untenable.
Taking advantage of the time she was occupied, Angel removed his clothing and put on a pair of drawstring pajama pants for her benefit. He usually slept without clothes, preferring to be as unconfined as possible, but he knew she wouldn’t be happy to sleep with him in his natural state. Besides, he needed some barrier between them, even something as thin as cotton, to help along his will power. What used to be nerves of steel were sure to be tested with rust and acid of many forms, Cordelia’s warm, young body not being the least of them.
Crossed arms over bare chest, he stood stoically as he listened to her finish in the bathroom. He could practically see in his mind where she was, having recognized the sounds of her actions through the thin door. He saw her washing her face, brushing her teeth. Staring nervously at her reflection as she tried to not to make too much of her appearance before coming out to him. He knew she was nervous; hell, he was too.
Finally, she emerged slowly from the bathroom, and they stood facing each other in the half-light. The lamp next to the bed set a glow in the room, but it was dim, putting the angular planes of his face into a contrast of light and shadows. Cordelia swallowed the lump forming in her throat as she was overcome by the hopelessness of their situation. God, she loved him.
He was momentarily rendered speechless by the beautiful picture she painted, standing there in her tank top and pajama pants, her hair slightly tousled from her time in the bathroom. The light behind her cast a halo-like glow behind her head, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen her more beautiful. His name may have been Angel, but she was the angelic one. God, he loved her.
“Well,” he said, breaking the silence. “Guess we’d better get this kiss out of the way so we can sleep, huh?”
More like not sleep, she thought, but answered, “Yeah. Guess so.” She smiled briefly, but it left her just as quickly.
He closed the distance between them, raised his hand, and cupped her jaw. He tried not to look closely into her eyes, knowing that he could lose himself in their depths, but they seemed to be drawn to one another with a magnetism that wouldn’t let up.
The moment Cordelia’s eyes locked with Angel’s, she felt as though she were suffocating. She swallowed repeatedly, trying to maintain her equilibrium, but she got lost in the brown depths until she couldn’t find herself again. They were moving toward each other, slowly, as he guided her mouth to his with the hand he had on her jaw. He stroked her chin with his thumb, a feather light touch that sent chills through her like lightening. When they finally met halfway, his cool lips touching her warm ones, they both stopped, as if freezing that moment would help them get through the rest of the kiss.
It didn’t help. Angel’s whole body tightened at the feel of her soft mouth, and he had the sudden urge to sweep his tongue out and taste her. He forced it down, brushing his lips against hers again and again and again, airy touches that unnerved and aroused her in their intermittent unpredictability. Carefully, he kept a rein on his lust, controlling the kiss, deepening it by fractioning degrees.
And then Cordelia had to go ahead and make him lose the thin thread he had on his control. It was one slight thing, one tiny, miniscule movement that he shouldn’t even have noticed. But he did, and it did him in.
She hadn’t done much since the kiss began, just moving her own mouth gently against his, her hands gripping his forearms. But as the kiss lengthened, she sighed, a mere breath of air that teased him, and moved her hips in line with his. They fit like the intricate pieces of a Chinese puzzle box, her notches fitting his angles. The moment he felt her body align to his, he was lost. He tried for a millisecond to hold back the urge to taste her, but he couldn’t. One swipe of his tongue and he was addicted. Again. He paused for a moment, drinking her in, then voraciously resumed his assault on her mouth.
Hands traveling up and gripping the back of his neck, Cordelia hung on for dear life. If she’d thought the kiss in Dr. Van Buren’s office was overwhelming, this one left it in the dust. The earlier kiss had been a slight breeze; this one was a hurricane. The moment his tongue touched her, she moaned and melted into him, knowing that she couldn’t hold back, couldn’t deny herself the chance to show him some of the pent up feeling inside.
But just as quickly, she realized the futility of the entire exercise. The despair welled up inside her and swelled, until she thought she might burst from the pain. Joy from the feel of his mouth on hers was quickly obscured by the darkness of their bleak future. A sob welled up and escaped against his mouth, her eyes filling, and she jerked back from him, turning away.
He listened to her harsh breathing and tried to get control of his electrified senses. He knew they had to stop, knew they needed space, and it was inevitable that if they kept kissing like this, they would cross the line that would mean the death of their relationship, both literally and figuratively.
After a moment, she turned back to face him, eyes downcast. “Goodnight, Angel,” she said simply, barely above a whisper, then turned away and walked toward the bed, sliding in and turning away from him.
He just stood there, watching her, the emotions roiling around inside him but unable to escape. How were they ever going to cope with this for one more day, let alone indefinitely?
