Part 9
I can handle this. I can handle this. I can! Cordelia thought, trying to smooth her rumpled emotions. She stood in the office, facing her computer, but staring at it blankly. Angel hovered nearby, waiting for her to access the information that would help solve their latest case. The only problem was that, in his stress, he’d placed his hands on her shoulders and was kneading her taut muscles gently. All she wanted to do was sigh and lean her shoulders back into his solid midsection, then roll her head forward and groan as he worked his magic. And damn, did the man have magic fingers. Magic everything, practically. It had to be preternatural, because no normal human guy could have this effect on her.
It had been a week since they’d moved in together. Surprisingly, they’d both managed to find a way to work through this without either of them spontaneously combusting. It was strange, but Dr. Van Buren’s theory had actually worked. After the initial painful sizzle of that first night, they’d managed to find their stride. They did, on a frequent basis, experience overwhelming surges of lust for each other, but they were able to face those urges and work through them.
The only time they found themselves totally, completely in awkward vulnerability was in the innocent honesty of sleep. Every night, they went to bed with a space wide enough for two people between them in Angel’s bed, and every morning, they woke up entangled together like two necklaces in a jewelry box. Cordelia had learned his body intimately just from her positions as she awoke, and it was all she could do to keep from snuggling deeper into his embrace and trailing her lips down the marble contours that she found so mouth-wateringly appealing.
During the day, they’d found ways to cope with their feelings. One defense mechanism they’d managed to develop was this weird, non-verbal code, a kind of look that they gave each other when a “hands-off” time was imminent. Whenever they felt too crazy, they’d just look at each other and know. The only problem was that sometimes, like right now when Angel had his hands on Cordy’s shoulders absentmindedly, that the forbidden pleasure was just too fabulous to pass up.
Her mind wandered back to the lazy, haze-inducing kiss they’d shared that morning in a darkened corner of the lobby. They’d had some great ones so far, always keeping them away from the bedroom after the awkwardness of that first night. If kisses were menu items at Starbucks, they’d tried nearly everything from a sweet mocha frappuccino to the tantalizing caramel macchiato. They’d both managed to avoid the double shot espresso, knowing that it would be playing with fire.
Of all the tasty kisses they’d shared in the last week, though, this morning’s kiss had surpassed them all. She’d immediately likened it to her newest Starbucks favorite, Tazo chai; a homey, pumpkin-pie spiced coffee alternative that made her want to snuggle into Angel’s embrace by a warm fire and rest in the safe haven of his arms forever. His mouth on hers had never seemed so warm, so comforting, so beautiful. It had been like coming home, and it was all she could do to pull away and face the harsh light of day.
Bringing herself back to the present, she took a deep, calming breath, and moved the mouse to click on the link to the page she needed. Within minutes, they were in full investigation mode, checking out a weird cult that had moved into the area and was trying to summon a very nasty demon. Of course, the morons didn’t realize that their “god” was going to devour them with the zealousness of an overweight teen inhaling deep fried Twinkies, but then again, these types rarely played with a full deck.
Behind her, Angel reluctantly removed his hands from her shoulders when he realized that he was only prolonging his misery. Touching her had lately become like blood to him; it was necessary for his survival. He’d begun to live for the sweet, barely restrained kisses they shared both morning and night as part of their current arrangement. But every time he touched her, he felt like he had to have more. He was addicted, totally and hopelessly, and he knew there was no 12-step program to help him out of it.
On top of everything, Dr. Van Buren had been acting really strangely at their sessions. More so than normal. She’d always been a little quirky, ever since the beginning, but in the past two sessions, ever since they’d moved in together, she seemed increasingly nervous. It almost seemed like she desperately wanted to say something, but kept holding it back. Angel feared she might be losing it herself, and it would be bad, very bad, for their therapist to need a therapist of her own.
He thought his questions might be answered at this evening’s session, though. Dr. Van Buren told them at the last appointment that they’d never truly debriefed the subject of each other’s past loves, and it was important to clear the air on that issue. Now that time had passed since the disastrous massage discussion on the same topic, both Angel and Cordelia felt that they could handle a mature conversation about it. Neither wanted to hit that hornet’s nest again, but it seemed inevitable. Besides, every other assignment Dr. Van Buren had given to them had proved to be invaluable to their relationship, so it made sense that she wouldn’t fail them this time, either.
“Finally,” Cordelia muttered in front of him as the next page loaded, and he smiled as he watched a wayward strand of her hair fly up as she blew it out of her eyes. “We’ve got to talk Wes into getting a high-speed connection, Angel. The guy may be good with a budget, but there is such a thing as productivity. With a slow dial-up like this, we may have an apocalypse come and go before we can even check our e-mail.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Angel promised absently, staring down at her as his fingers itched to touch her again.
Just then, Cordelia glanced over at the clock next to the monitor. She gasped, then double checked the time on her watch. “Angel! It’s so late. We have to be at our appointment in a half hour! I have to go get ready.”
“You look fine, Cordelia,” Angel soothed.
She frowned at him. “Then I definitely need to change. Fine isn’t good enough.”
He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You’re beautiful, Cordy, no matter what you wear.”
She smiled at him, reaching her hand up to squeeze his where he touched her. “Thanks, Angel, but I think its kind of a faux pas to go out wearing a ketchup stain from lunch,” she said, pointing to a small red spot on her light yellow blouse.
“Oh,” he said, flustered by the attention drawn to her open collar and the cleavage exposed beneath. He dropped her arm quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Go get ready then. I’ll wait.”
She hurried away, and he sighed for what seemed like the millionth time in the last week. It wasn’t until Cordelia screamed that he looked up, then utilized his superhuman reflexes to catch her before her head struck the hard floor.
Wesley and Gunn came running from the other office, frowns of concern on their faces.
“Vision?” Gunn asked.
Angel nodded. “Looks like a bad one.”
Cordy clutched her head with one hand and gripped Angel’s upper arm with the other as he steadied her gently. “Cult freaks,” she gasped, eyes closed tightly shut. “They’ve gone ahead with it. Demony guy looks pretty nasty. Oh, eww!” she groaned after a moment, her mouth dropping open in disgust, her eyes opening and the haze in them clearing after a moment. “He’s going to bite their heads off. Soon. Like in an hour or so if you don’t get there.”
“Where?” Angel asked, absently pulling her closer and rubbing the back of her neck with his fingers, soothing the throbbing in her head.
“Venice Beach. Something about the salty air, I guess.”
“Okay, we’re on it,” Gunn said, striding over to the weapons cabinet and grabbing his favorite axe. He retrieved a sword and tossed it to Wesley.
“It’s the same demon we’ve been researching, Cordelia?” Wesley asked, concerned.
“Yep, horns and all,” she said, sighing and rubbing her temples. After a minute, her eyes shot open and she looked at Angel in panic. “Oh, god, the session! We have to call Dr. Van Buren and tell her we aren’t coming.”
“But the demon—,” Angel began, but she interrupted.
“No, you have to before you go. I can’t deal with it right now, not with the USC marching band doing their thing in my head. Go,” she said, shoving at him ineffectually. “Call her. Please!”
He nodded, then turned to Wes and Gunn. “Go, I’ll catch up.”
They agreed and took off. Angel settled Cordelia on the sofa and then turned to the office. A minute later, he called back, “You have her number here somewhere?”
“Ah, no,” she said, trying to think. “And she isn’t in the phone book. It’s too old and we haven’t gotten a new one. Check the internet.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Me? The Internet?” he finally said, sounding terrified.
If she could’ve, she would’ve giggled at the fear in his tone. “You can handle it, big guy,” she said, the humor in her voice unmistakable, even through the pain. “Click on my favorites button, the little star on top.”
He was silent again, then, “Got it!”
“Okay, now click on the shortcut to Google.”
“Okay, got it.”
“Then type her full name with quotation marks around it, and hit search. Check the links, and you’ll probably find her website.”
“She has a website?” Angel asked, incredulous. God, he was a technological doofus. He hated times like this, when his age caught up with him.
He clicked the link that looked the best from the description, then waited for the page to load. When it popped up, his mouth dropped open. It was her website, all right. Dr. Van Buren’s smile was front and center, her picture clearly professional and airbrushed. The site was done in the same warm colors as her office, and her phone number and address were prominently displayed.
It wasn’t any of those things that had startled him, however. It was the slogan on the top of the page. Dr. Van Buren’s business motto, and her title, in prominent view.
There, in bold, elegant letters, was the heading: Dr. Marsha Van Buren, Sex Therapy. And in quotation marks next to her picture: “Turning the dying embers of stale relationships back to the passionate infernos of first love, one couple at a time.”
“Damn,” Angel’s mind was reeling. “Well,” he said with a dry laugh. “Now the massage and Twister make perfect sense.”
Part 10
Angel managed to close his mouth after moments of staring blankly at the computer screen in front of him. Dr. Van Buren was a sex therapist. He shook his head. It made so much more sense now. All the focus on lust and feelings, all the focus on touching, the emphasis on kissing.
How did they end up with her?
His eyes narrowed as he remembered Wesley. Angel would be his undead life that Wesley had known exactly what was going on the entire time. The little sneak. But the only way that Wesley would send them to a sex therapist knowingly was if he thought Dr. Van Buren could . . .
No way. No way in hell would Wesley take a chance like that unless . . . unless there was some way around the curse.
Hot damn, that’s what the woman was hiding. It had to be.
So should he tell Cordelia? Or wait?
Her voice interrupted his musings.
“Hey, did you find some blonde bimbo porn on there or something? You’re taking forever, and I don’t think Wes and Gunn can handle the demon in my vision all by themselves.”
Angel clicked out of the browser and closed down the computer, pleased with himself that he could do it without directions. He walked back into the room and looked at Cordelia, noting her drawn and tired features, as well as the wrinkle in the middle of her forehead that always accompanied vision pain.
With his first question, he closed the door on his secret and saved it for a more appropriate time.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, coming to stand in front of her. He looked casual, as if he had all the time in the world.
“I’d feel better if you go out and kill that thing. Go, Angel. I don’t want to worry about Wes and Gunn on top of the vision pain.”
He nodded, then reached a hand out, brushing the backs of his fingers against her soft cheek. Her startled eyes met his, then they softened and she smiled slightly.
“Be careful, Angel,” she whispered, biting her lip.
“Always,” he answered, then curled his hand around the back of her neck and leaned down, placing a cool kiss on the top of her head. In a moment, he was gone.
Cordelia turned her eyes to watch him go out the door, but he had vanished before she could even make the move. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at his theatrics. All the guy needs is his own theme song, she thought, smiling. Suddenly, she remembered the ill-fated commercial she’d tried to make around the time of Doyle’s death. What had she called him? The Dark Avenger? Angel did have charisma, despite his dorkiness around her, and he had it in spades. The guy oozed dark mystery, and truth be told, it was one of the things she loved most about him.
Wearily, she got up with the stiffness of an old, arthritic woman and trudged up the stairs into the bedroom she shared with Angel. Methodically divesting herself of clothing and donning one of Angel’s oversized t-shirts, she slid into the cool sheets and snuggled into the softness of her pillow. She closed her eyes, sighing dreamily as she looked for sleep to ease the throbbing in her temples. And for those few moments, in the ethereal, misty place between asleep and awake, she let herself live the dream of loving him, without the guilt or pain. The soothing thoughts carried her safely into healing, contented sleep.
***
Dr. Van Buren waited anxiously for her most important patients to arrive to their make-up appointment. When they’d called yesterday and said that Cordelia had had a vision and was not in any shape to attend, it was all Dr. Van Buren could do not to scream in frustration. At that session, she was going to push the envelope. She was going to force them to talk about their pasts, to clear the air that hung between them over this unresolved issue. She’d hoped that by getting them to see that there were no obstacles in their way, they would see a clearer path to being together.
Now, though, nearly 24 hours later, Dr. Van Buren decided it was best that they hadn’t brought up that topic. For all she knew, the couple may already be engaging in some pre-coital activity, and dredging up past aches and pains may hinder progress rather than facilitate it. In the interim between the cancelled appointment and this rescheduled one, the therapist decided that this session would be more of a probe by her as to their current feelings and activities, rather than a truly thoughtful discussion about her patients and their therapy.
She squirmed a bit in her chair as she realized how this plan smacked of unethical behavior, but the fate of Los Angeles, hell, the whole world, depended on these two working out their differences and finding love together. It wouldn’t do to have Angelus terrorizing the countryside again. Against her will, images of bloody throats and broken bodies flashed in her brain, and the eerie sound of maniacal laughter echoed as a morbid sound track. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, trying to squeeze the unpleasant thoughts out of her mind, but it wasn’t working.
God, she felt so guilty. If she hadn’t been so self-righteous about the injustice of Angel’s suffering, she wouldn’t be here. If she hadn’t thought she could fix everything, tie it all up in a nice, neat little package with her connections and good intentions, she wouldn’t be on the verge of insanity. There was only one week between today and destruction, and it was entirely her fault.
Getting up from her seat, Dr. Van Buren began pacing, so anxious that her thoughts couldn’t form a linear pattern. The nearer the clock inched toward the appointment time, the more stressed she became. Desperate for some mental clarity to get her through the next hour, she fell back on her meditation techniques, hoping that they would calm her. They did, but the guilty self-flagellation still echoed in the back of her mind like a the annoying drip of a leaky faucet.
If she managed to survive to see a positive outcome, Dr. Van Buren swore that she’d never use her position within the Gypsy clan in such a potentially destructive way again.
***
Amazingly, Dr. Van Buren looked to the outside world like she’d spent the day writing a book on relaxation and meditation. Her face was serene, unlined. Her eyes were clear, bright, and intelligent. None of the stress she was currently facing showed in her expression. She was very proud of herself.
Unbeknownst to her, Angel had noticed a change in her. Due to his enhanced sensibilities, he caught the rapid rate of her heart, her unsteady breathing, and the twitching of her muscles that she frantically tried to suppress. His face darkened slightly as he confirmed what he’d already suspected: Dr. Van Buren had a secret, one that affected him and Cordelia. But now was not the time to confront her with it. Angel was willing to sit back and see how this appointment fared, then go from there.
Next to him, Cordelia was oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in the room. She was actually beginning to feel comfortable in Dr. Van Buren’s care, despite the probing and personal questions that the woman tortured them with. Cordy didn’t know why she felt this way, considering that the last few sessions had been especially pervasive, but she did. At this point, she refused to question it. She felt good, her vision pain was nonexistent at the moment, and she and Angel were on very good terms.
Her eyes glazed as she remembered the kisses from last night and this morning. She’d been struggling to stay awake when Angel had returned from slaying the demon, and the relief that flooded through her at seeing him uninjured had brought tears to her eyes. She’d run to him, smiling, then stopped abruptly, uncertain. He’d just smiled back at her, reaching out and pulling her into his embrace, and lightly kissed her goodnight. It had been a short kiss, but it was sweet, and so, so tender. It gave her goose bumps even now to think of it.
And this morning’s kiss? Hello, wow! He’d come down the stairs, grabbed her like something out of Gone With the Wind, and planted a wet, sultry kiss on her that left her grasping for breath. Then he’d practically dropped her and sauntered into the kitchen for his breakfast like nothing had ever happened. When Cordy’s heart rate had finally returned to normal, she hadn’t been able to keep the smile off her face, despite the gloomy outlook on their future. Might as well live in the moment. Carpe Diem and all that.
She shook herself out of her memories to listen to Dr. Van Buren’s opening statements.
“. . . not talk about your prior relationships, as I’d indicated last time,” she was saying. “I think its best that we save that topic for later in your therapy. You seem to be doing very well, for all intents and purposes, and I wouldn’t want to rock the boat too soon.”
Cordelia was surprised to find that she was disappointed. Everything that had been said the night of the massage wasn’t reliable; they’d both been really angry and had said things they didn’t mean. She’d been looking forward to hearing Angel’s true feelings about Buffy with Dr. Van Buren there as a mediator. It would be nice, once and for all, to hear the whole story. She had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d thought.
“What are we going to talk about, then?” Angel asked, surprised that she’d changed her mind when she’d been so adamant before.
“Oh, a few things,” she said vaguely. “I actually think this appointment will be rather short, since we had to reschedule and squeeze you in. I have another appointment in. . . ,” she consulted her watch, “fifteen minutes.”
Cordelia’s jaw dropped. “Fifteen minutes? How are we supposed to get anything done? Why did we even come?”
Dr. Van Buren frowned and stared Cordelia back into her seat. “Fifteen minutes is plenty of time to get some valuable information. And since you seem so reluctant, let’s begin with you, shall we?”
A wrinkled nose and a practiced eye rolling were Dr. Van Buren’s only answers. Cordelia didn’t care if she looked like a petulant teenager. She was irritated. Dr. Van Buren was playing them again, and she hated being manipulated. Even for therapy.
“Okay, so go ahead. Whatever,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.
Dr. Van Buren let that one pass. “Let’s begin by a description of how the cohabitation arrangement is proceeding. Have you noted any progress?”
Angel fought the urge to roll his eyes. This woman was definitely a kindred spirit to Wesley. She liked to use big words arranged in sentences that had to be translated to everyday English.
“It’s fine,” Angel said, not elaborating.
“And sleeping together?” she prompted.
“Sleeping’s sleeping,” Cordelia said with a shrug. “What did you expect? Angel doesn’t breathe so he doesn’t snore, so I have no complaints.”
“Me either,” Angel said. Definitely no complaints.
Sighing, Dr. Van Buren rolled her own eyes. “That is not what I meant, and you know it. The entire reason this experiment was undertaken was so that you could explore and work through your feelings of lust for each other. How is that portion of your arrangement going?”
The couple was silent for a moment, but Cordelia gave in and answered eventually. “It’s okay, I guess. We’re doing the kissy thing like you asked, and its been nice. Kind of hard, sometimes, when it gets really personal, but I think we’re dealing. You were right, I guess, about the escape thing. When I can’t get away from him, I have to deal with it, and it gets easier.”
Dr. Van Buren nodded, frowning, then looked at Angel.
He smiled slightly. “What she said,” he answered, pointing over at Cordelia.
The good doctor gritted her teeth in annoyance. It was obvious that these two were just as clueless as they had been before they began sleeping in the same bed. Maybe the exes talk would have been better. Still, she had to salvage this somehow.
“Obviously,” she continued, looking every inch the irritated martinet, “you are not being candid with me. You mean to tell me that you’ve been living together for a week, kissing each other at least two times a day, and you’ve never had the urge to tear each other’s clothes off? You’ve never imagined yourselves reaching across the bed in the darkest part of the night and stroking each other intimately? Never imagined a hot, sweaty, curvy body writing against a cool, hard, glistening one?”
Angel and Cordelia gulped in unison as Dr. Van Buren painted a word picture worthy of Skinimax’s “Up All Night” marathon.
At their silence and obvious discomfort, Dr. Van Buren allowed herself a small surge of triumph. Now she was getting somewhere.
“Well, have you?” she demanded, an eyebrow raised.
“S-sure,” Cordy said, stammering slightly. “Yeah, of course. It was inevitable.”
Dr. Van Buren pinned Cordelia to the couch with her laser-like stare. “And its never become overwhelming? You’ve never felt that surge of heat and desire that’s nearly impossible to control? The need to reach over and slide your hand under his shirt, touching him, stroking him, teasing him, until you feel like you’re going to explode from wanting him?”
“Well, um—” she stopped, her eyes darting around nervously, extremely uncomfortable. She laughed once, a nervous twitter, then swallowed. God, she had to get out from under this woman’s microscope. What could she distract her with? Somehow, she didn’t think a gasp and a ‘Oh, god! What’s that?’ with a point and a surprised face would work this time. But maybe . . .
Angel! That’s it, he could take it.
“What about him?” Cordy asked pointing frantically to the stoic vampire on her right. “Ask him!”
“Me?” Angel said, startled out of his safe spot in the shadows beyond Dr. Van Buren’s spotlight. “Why me? What did I do?”
“Yes, Angel, what have you done?” Dr. Van Buren asked calmly, her eyes pinning him now.
Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief. Reprieve for now.
“What has the last week been like for you, Angel? Doesn’t your soul long to join with hers? To connect on a deeply elemental level? To slide inside the liquid heat of her and lose yourself in her goodness?
Angel glared at the cruel woman again. She may be up to something, all right, but she still had her arsenal primed and ready. She definitely knew how to find the jugular and go for it.
“Well?” she prompted when he remained silent.
“Of course my soul longs for a connection with someone I care about,” he sidestepped, making it sound like friendship.
“And your demon?” She continued, a verbal bulldozer on the quest for truth. “Do you feel your demon whispering nasty little thoughts into your head? About how you want to take her? How you want to dominate her, subdue her, claim her?”
Feeling like he’d been crushed as she seemingly read his mind, he swallowed, then forced himself to answer. “Yes.” It was a pained, hoarse whisper.
Cordy nearly gasped. What the hell? Did his demon really think that kind of stuff? That was . . . well, that wasn’t nearly as much of a turn off as it should be. Yikes.
“Very well,” she said, straightening up and switching the heat of her gaze off so quickly that a chill swept through the room. “It is clear to me that the two of you have yet to work off your lustful feelings for each other. If you do not try harder to bring these feelings to the surface and purge them, this entire course of treatment will be ineffective. I suggest that you examine your feelings more closely in the next twenty-four hours before your next session. If you’re feeling especially vulnerable, talk it over with each other and study the feelings clinically. I believe it will help you discover the source of these feelings, and by extension, solve the imbalance in your relationship.”
She stood, straightening her skirt. Motioning for them to get up, she smiled tightly. “Thank you for taking time to reschedule. I realize this was a short meeting, but I believe an effective one regardless of some skepticism.” She looked pointedly at Cordelia, who felt duly guilty.
Guiding them quickly out the door, Cordelia and Angel were surprised to find the door closed in their faces. They turned to each other and laughed simultaneously, still feeling the charged electricity between them but sharing the humor in the situation nonetheless.
“That woman is wacky,” Cordelia said as they walked toward the exit and the car.
“uh-huh,” Angel said, nodding absently. The woman was definitely up to something. Looks like he was going to have to have a little heart-to-heart with the good doctor.
