Part 5
Two days later
They say it takes two to tango. But when one of the dancers refuses to hear the music, resists the pull of the pulsing beat, his would-be partner is left a forlorn figure on the dance floor. She hears the music, the haunting rhythm echoing in her ears, and she tries desperately to quash the longing to be in the arms of her partner. She sees thousands of other couples lost in the dance, slaves to the rhythm, and the yearning becomes unbearable.
All the while, she sees the man she loves, his face set in a determined expression, and she knows that he hears the music too. It pains her to see that he refuses to succumb to his destiny. Instead of choosing the frenzy of the tango, he’s chosen the wrong partner and is trudging through the polka, determined to make it work.
This deliberate rejection is the most painful part of all.
***
Angel eyed the half full glass of liquor on his desk with distaste. It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon, practically breakfast time for him, and he was already on his second glass. He wasn’t really an alcoholic; vampires didn’t succumb to that addiction in the same way humans did, but he was dangerously close to forming a habit of medicating himself with the stuff on a regular basis. Ever since they’d defeated Jasmine, his drinking had increased steadily. He felt like he needed the numbness that the liquor provided him. It took the edge off the pain, and he definitely had his share of that.
He picked up the glass reluctantly and took a swallow, the golden liquid burning his insides on the way down. Against his wishes, his mind wandered back to a few nights ago and its disturbing events, just as it had nearly every hour since that fateful night. Remembering Buffy’s unexpected arrival brought a warm fuzzy feeling to his mind. They’d talked late into the early morning hours, then went to bed separately. Buffy had been considerate enough to leave Cordelia out of their talk, sensing his volatile feelings and respecting them. The days since then had been filled with a warm camaraderie, and they had yet to even kiss, let alone share a bed. It just seemed right to take it slow.
Angel was glad Buffy was there, but even though it was nice, he was having a hard time conjuring up passion-filled emotions for their rekindled relationship. He was getting his soul mate back, wasn’t he? Finally, a chance at happiness? Somehow what was supposed to be solid gold was suddenly looking like lead with gold plating. But he loved Buffy. He’d always loved Buffy, and he always would. He knew they could make it work, he just had to try harder.
It was the thoughts of Cordelia and their argument that really brought his emotions to life, though. The memories of his harsh words and attitude towards her burned him from the inside out much more harshly than the liquor had. He’d had no right to blame her for what had happened when she was possessed by Jasmine, and in the harsh light of day, his actions shamed him.
It wasn’t Cordelia that killed Lilah.
It wasn’t Cordelia that slept with Connor.
It wasn’t Cordelia that stole his soul.
It wasn’t Cordelia that offered Angelus her body.
It wasn’t Cordelia that flaunted her pregnancy in front of him.
It wasn’t Cordelia that flung his unspoken love back in his face.
The litany kept echoing in his mind, and it had been ever since he’d shut the door to his bedroom after she’d left and the stillness of the night had revealed his fear and anger for what it really was. She’d come to him for support, as a best friend who needed reassurance and comfort, and he’d shoved her away with every word he’d spoken.
She’d asked him questions that were piercing, but he’d owed her honest answers. He hadn’t given any. He’d just made illogical excuses in his anger.
He’d failed her. Just like he always had. She’d given him everything but her love, and he’d failed to protect her, not even noticing that she wasn’t his Cordy until it was way, way too late. Then he’d gone and acted like a total ass, driving her away when he should’ve grabbed her and held on tight.
In short, he felt like shit.
***
Twenty minutes later, the buzzer on Angel’s intercom clawed viciously at his sensitive hearing. Every time Melanie used it, he swore up and down that he was going to get something quieter. But every time, the message she sent through the intercom made that vow disappear into nothingness. She always saved the most shocking news for the intercom.
Today was no different.
“What?” He growled his usual response.
“A Ms. Chase is here to see you, Mr. Angel. She has no appointment, but she insists on speaking with you.” Just as with Spike, the disdain in Melanie’s voice was blatantly obvious. The woman thrived on order, and not having an appointment was akin to selling your soul to the devil.
“Send her in, Melanie,” Angel said, severing the connection and leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, and if he’d had a working heart, it would’ve been beating out of his chest. What was Cordelia doing here?
She breezed into the room and just like always, her presence lit up the space like nothing else could. It didn’t matter that she wore an expression of careful neutrality, or that she was dressed more severely than he’d ever seen her. It was just her; her scent, her glow, her very existence, that filled the room and overpowered his senses. Unconsciously, he drank it all in and allowed her presence to comfort him. Consciously, he registered that he wasn’t angry with her anymore, just disgusted with himself.
Before he could open his mouth to apologize, Cordelia dropped a manila folder in front of him and sat gingerly in one of the chairs by his desk. He couldn’t help but notice her beauty on display, admiring the golden length of her legs as they crossed gracefully when she sat. He didn’t acknowledge the thought, just felt it.
“Hi, Angel,” she said breezily, a forced smile on her lips. “I just brought by some papers for you to sign about the hotel. Apparently I can’t live there without the owner’s consent, and I totally want to be legal. Wesley gave me his key, so I’m all set, but I just need you to sign at the red flags, there.” She pointed at the manila folder and the little red flags sticking out of the edge.
He just looked at her, suddenly tongue-tied. Maybe if he’d had more warning, he could’ve practiced an apology, but—
“Really, Angel,” Cordelia said, sounding impatient and irritated. “I’m not asking you for a whole lot. Just a signature, okay? So pick up the pen, and sign where I’ve marked it. Then I’ll be out of your way and you can get back to Buffy and whatever it is you’re doing with your life.”
He frowned at her, then picked up the pen as she’d directed and scrawled his signature on the lines she’d marked. Then he spoke for the first time since she’d entered his office.
“Are you sure you’re okay there alone, Cordelia? I mean, the place is kind of torn up.”
“It is,” she conceded. “But I’ve already started working on it and I like it. It makes me feel useful.”
She closed her mouth abruptly, as if she had more to say but was unhappy that she’d already revealed that much.
He just nodded, still at a loss for words. What was it about this woman that stole every bit of his limited ability to make conversation? Sometimes she was so beautiful that he just couldn’t help but—
Wait just a goddamn second, here, he thought as the thoughts registered this time. Buffy was supposed to be the one he was thinking about as beautiful.Buffy was supposed to be the one that brought x-rated images to the forefront of his mind with her presence. Buffy was the one he loved, not Cordelia. Mentally flogging himself, Angel schooled his traitorous thoughts and conjured up images of the blonde Slayer in his mind to dispel the lingering beauty of Cordelia.
Across from him, Cordelia was less introspective and more . . . furious. She was furious with herself for coming here in the first place, an action she felt was degrading considering their argument a few days ago. She was furious with him for being so damn close-mouthed. She was even furious at herself for being furious. But what she was most upset about was something that she almost wouldn’t admit to herself, and something that she definitely wouldn’t acknowledge fully until she was safe in the confines of the elevator and away from his powerful presence.
She still loved him.
In spite of it all, in spite of his cruel words, his apathy, his blatant rejection, and his lame-brained decision making, she loved him. She loved him so much that her heart nearly disintegrated when she walked through his office door and saw him sitting there, wallowing in his own misery. She wanted so badly to walk around the desk and sink into his lap, bring his head to her chest and comfort him with her touch. Her fingers ached to touch his face and smooth away the frown lines, to run her hands over his cheek and soothe the battle she knew warred within him.
But she didn’t do any of those things. She couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her get close. He’d rejected her, and she had no recourse but to bury her love behind a mask of indifference.
These feelings that she’d sworn she’d ignore until she got out of his office began to seep into her conscious thought, so she sprang out of her seat and grabbed up the folder off his desk.
“Thanks, Angel. I’ll see you around, okay?” She smiled at him, one that didn’t reach her eyes, and breezed out of the room, the door closing behind her.
He’d stood up abruptly as she taken the folder from him and reached for her arm, wanting to stop her and apologize. But he’d only just opened his mouth to speak her name when she was gone, and he was left empty-handed, feeling the chill of a life without Cordelia Chase more acutely than he ever had before.
It was a good thing he still had Buffy, or he might have let this get to him.
***
Cordelia didn’t even acknowledge the crowd of attorneys swarming the hallway as she barreled through, diving for the elevator doors as they opened. Two suits pushed passed her and one non-suit stayed in, but she was oblivious. She pushed the button for the first floor frantically, desperate to escape to her car where she could cry her eyes out and then drive home. God, why did it have to hurt so much?
“Don’t let the poof get to you, Cheerleader,” a deep voice echoed in the small space, startling her so much that she whirled around and backed into the wall, hard.
“S-Spike?” she squeaked, holding a hand to her racing heart.
He flashed that handsome grin of his and said, “One and the same, luv. I take it you’re all better now?”
Cordy frowned, darkness clouding her pretty eyes. “Oh yeah, I’m all better,” she said, sounding anything but better, the pain of the moment overshadowing the fact that she was trapped in the elevator with an evil vampire.
He smiled softly at her. “Wanna talk about it?”
She looked at him strangely, really looked at him, since she’d first stepped into the small space. “Why do you care?” she asked suspiciously.
Rolling his eyes, Spike sighed. “Jeez. The lines of communication between Sunnydale and L.A. are appalling. You’d think, what with everyone fighting on the same side and all, Giles and Wesley, at least, would share some information once in awhile.”
The ding of the elevator reaching its destination interrupted him, and he gestured for her to exit. She did, never taking her eyes off of him.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Cordelia asked.
He stopped and turned, and so did she. They were nearly to the door, a bright square patch of sunlight just a few feet away on the marble floor of the lobby. “I have my soul. I went through hell to get it, but I have it. I won’t hurt you, luv.”
She was astonished. The last time she’d seen or heard anything of Spike was when he’d come to steal the Gem of Amara and he was anything but nice then. It was amazing that he could make a change like that, but she’d seen the very evident difference between Angelus and Angel, so she knew it was possible. Spike, though, was still very much himself. Just softer around the edges, less defensive, more sensitive.
Shutting her gaping mouth, Cordelia just turned away and walked through the front door. After everything that had happened with Angel, Spike’s revelation was just one weird thing too many. So she did what she always did when confronted with a persistent vampire: escape into the sun.
Although this time it didn’t work. She jumped nearly a foot when a cold hand encircled her bare elbow. A squeak escaped her lips as she whipped her head around and saw Spike standing by her. She went through her mental list.
Standing in sunlight: check.
Vampire at my side: check.
Vampire standing in sunlight at my side: check check.
“What the hell? Spike, find some shade!” she said, panicking, shoving him up against the building where a small patch of shade rested near the afternoon sun.
He just laughed at her. “I’m okay, Cordelia. I’m immune to the sun now.”
At the increase in the intensity of her astonished expression, Spike laughed harder. “It’s a long story, pet. Nice to know you’ve forgiven me, though.”
Spike pulled her back out into the sun and they walked toward her car. He reached out a hand and lightly squeezed her shoulder. “Rough day, huh?” he said, trying to get her to talk.
“Yeah.” The pain of the last few days and hours came rushing back to the front of her mind and her eyes flooded with tears.
“Let’s go get something to drink, okay?” He said consolingly. “Then you can tell ol’ Spikey all about it.”
She rolled her eyes and Pfft’d. “Just so long as you spill what’s making your eyes so sad, you’ve got yourself a date.”
His confident grin disappeared as the mask fell slightly, his own pain flashing in his eyes. “I’d say that sounds fair,” he agreed.
A half hour later they were ensconced in the cozy, sunny corner of an outdoor café. Giant tropical plants bordered them on three sides, both muffling the passing traffic and shielding them from the curious stares of passers-by. They’d ordered a bottle of wine and were waiting for their food to arrive, but neither was paying much attention to the happenings around them. Both were too engrossed in the stories of each other’s misery to acknowledge anything else.
“So you watched them?” Cordelia said in disbelief, her dismay evident.
“Yeah,” he said, remembering bitterly. “And that First psycho was there right next to me in the shadows, in Buffy’s form, no less, whispering what a bitch she was and how she didn’t deserve me, driving the stake so much farther in that I couldn’t take it and I left.”
Cordelia just shook her head. Part of her was still reeling from the fact that while she was in a coma, Angel was off sucking face with his ex-girlfriend. It was true that Cordelia didn’t really have a claim on him then, but she still felt betrayed.
Spike continued with his story. “I didn’t get very far away before morbid curiosity got the better of me and I went creeping back. They were outside the crypt talking, and it was bloody awful.”
He grimaced at the memory and downed the rest of his wine in a big gulp. “She was talking some stupid nonsense about cookie dough and how she wasn’t done yet or some metaphorical rot like that. She did say, and I quote, ‘Spike is in my heart,’ but she turned right around and practically promised that all Angel had to do was wait around and eventually she’d come crawling back. Damn near broke my heart in two right there on the spot.”
Cordelia swallowed a big gulp of wine too, taking comfort in the tinglies that were already starting to soften the edges of her pain. “So then you got immune to the sun, huh?”
Smiling at that, Spike continued. “Peaches brought this mystical necklace that helped us defeat the First. I wore it as a ‘Champion’, if you can imagine that, and went up in flames for Buffy. She told me she loved me, but it was obvious in her eyes that she didn’t love me like I wanted her to. I knew then that she probably never would, so when I crawled out of the rubble and found out I could walk in the sunlight, I just disappeared. She doesn’t know I survived.”
Eyeing him surreptitiously, Cordelia warred with herself as to whether she should tell him that Buffy was here. It was obvious that Spike was as heartbroken as she was, and she knew that the knowledge would only add to his pain. But finding out by surprise was going to be even worse, and she didn’t want him to go through that.
“Spike, Buffy’s here,” she said simply, softly to cushion the blow.
His head jerked up and his beautiful blue eyes searched hers. “Here? In L.A.? I thought she was in San Diego.”
Cordelia nodded. “Angel’s soul is permanent. Wesley found some kind of patch or something that makes it as secure as yours, like he’d sought it himself instead of being cursed.”
Spike nearly growled at her words. He’d gone through countless forms of torture to get this soul, and Angel got his handed to him on a silver platter? Totally unfair.
She continued, unaware of his indignation. “Then he called Buffy, and she came running to be with him. I guess post-Sunnydale slayage isn’t all that great after all.”
“Buffy’s staying with the poof?” Spike asked, hoping she’d say no.
“Yup. All cuddly at his new apartment,” she said bitterly.
“I need to see her,” Spike said, his eyes staring off into nothingness as he anticipated their reunion.
She smiled at him and raised her eyebrow. “I thought you’d given up on her,” she reminded him.
He frowned and rolled his eyes. “That’s what I tell myself, every single minute of the day. But you know as well as I do that you never really give up. You can’t tell me that you don’t go through the same thing with Angel.”
Suddenly the pain in Cordelia’s eyes nearly overwhelmed him. In a twisted way it comforted him, knowing that someone else suffered as much as he did.
“I love him, Spike. I try not to. God, I try, but I can’t help it.”
She looked down at the table, her vision blurry as she rubbed her index finger over the edge of her wineglass. “I lost almost a year of my life when I was body snatched, and Angel can’t seem to get past it. I can see it in his eyes. He can’t look at me without remembering the awful things that my evil twin did, and I can’t apologize because I didn’t do any of it. He’s punishing me for everything I didn’t do, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
Each word she spoke grew softer and thicker with the tears clogging her throat, and at the end, they welled up and spilled over, rolling down her cheeks.
“And now he’s with Buffy. His soul is permanent, and he’s trying to find the happiness that has always eluded him.”
Her tortured eyes came up and locked with Spike’s, his face as intense as hers as he listened in pained silence.
“More than anything, I just want my best friend back. It’s true that I’m in love with him, but I would settle for what we had before because I don’t want to lose him completely. The pitiful thing is that I would let Buffy have him if I knew that it would make him happy. I would stand back and watch them together, as painful as that would be, if I knew that he could find perfect happiness with her.”
She paused, the intensity becoming too much. Spike waited, feeling her pain as keenly as he felt his own.
“But I don’t think he can be happy with her, not anymore. She needs you, not him. He needs me, not her. And that’s not the selfishness in me talking, it’s the truth.”
Spike nodded, sensing the rightness of her words. “You’ve got it, pet. The problem is, I don’t think we’ll get them to see that truth until they both fall apart.”
“But you still have to see her, don’t you,” Cordelia said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Yeah,” he said wryly. “I’m a glutton for punishment. But I have to know how she feels. I have to look her in the eyes as she tells me that she loves him, not me. I can’t leave the hope behind unless she does.”
Cordelia silently agreed with him, but she knew that even hearing those words and seeing the determination in the eyes of your loved one wouldn’t even succeed in erasing the hope or the love. Angel had told her point blank the other night that he wanted Buffy, not her, and it hadn’t let her move on. But she understood what Spike was saying.
As she looked across the table at her partner in misery, Cordelia was struck with a flash of brilliance.
“Spike, where are you staying?”
He just stared at her for a moment, trying to process the change in topic. “Staying? Uh, nowhere, really. A hotel.”
“I’ve got a hotel,” she said, smiling slightly. “Wanna move in?”
He grinned at her, the first real smile she’d seen from him since they’d entered the café. “You’re still at Angel’s hotel?”
“Yeah,” she said, sighing. “It has comforting memories, and I don’t feel at home anywhere else. I could use a roommate, if you’re interested.”
He reached his hand across the table and squeezed hers. “Thanks, cheerleader, but I think I’m going to try to make it on my own for awhile. I’ll make sure I visit, though.”
Just then, the waiter arrived with her meal. As he placed the food in front of her, Cordelia tried to hide her disappointment. Living with Spike was something she’d never, ever thought she’d want, but after just one afternoon with him, she knew she’d found a friend that would stand by her through anything. Having his presence in the hotel would take away some of the pain of losing Angel, and she was sad that he didn’t accept her offer.
“If you change your mind, come on by,” she said, her eyes begging him to reconsider.
“Thanks, luv,” Spike said. “I’ll definitely remember that.”
She dug into her food, suddenly ravenous after spilling her guts. Already, she was feeling her pain beginning to recede in the warmth of a friendly presence. As she ate, Spike began to entertain her with stories of Xander and his dorkiness right up to the final battle, and the afternoon slowly turned from torture to healing.
