Part 3
Cordelia slid further under the blanket staving the shiver of chills fluttering down her spine. It wasn’t the unseasonably cool night, but the return of dreams that robbed her of sleep and a comfortable bed. The couch was better, it offered refuge for one; and the flood of artificial light held the bumps and creaks at bay.
The fight had been brutal to say the least. Battle skills quickly sharpened by necessity dulled by fatigue as one vision trailed another. Her struggle could have ended; a faltered step moving her into the demon’s reach, until a cool band swept around her waist, lifting and spinning her from harm.
She had walked away, unwilling to ask, too afraid to listen, and too numb to care her unconcealed dispassion would raise questions.
Why had he come back? Maybe he never left. Had he remained in LA, hiding in the shadows…watching and waiting? The incessant murmurs droned inside her head until the sleeping pills pulled her into a fitful slumber.
***
Angel skulked in the shadows below, plans of watching from the balcony derailed by the bright illumination of her apartment. He had visited each night since returning to LA, spending the dark, lonely hours crouched outside her bedroom window…until tonight.
His head dropped in weary acceptance; she could find sleep only under the protection of synthetic sunlight, and he was the culprit. When Cordelia realized his intentions of moving out of the shadows and back into her light; would she meet him with acceptance or attempt to flee the city…and his pursuit?
***
Eyelids fluttered open, quickly slamming shut as the shrill echoed into her drug induced sleep. “Dennis lights, too bright.” The answering machine clicked on, coaxing the phone into silence and freeing her head of its jingling ring.
“Cordelia, are you there? It’s half past noon; where are you?”
“Wesley, I’m here…sorry.”
“Cordelia, are you alright? You sound…ah-”
“No, I’m fine, just tired I guess. Are you and Gunn OK? Sorry I left last night, but-”
“No, that’s quite alright. Gunn and I are fine, just worried about you.”
“Wesley…is he gone?”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. Angel has asked that we meet with him.”
***
Cordelia cursed the eerie feeling of being watched. It was mid afternoon, she cursed again; no one was watching her, at least no one she needed to fear. She had been on edge for days; maybe some part of her had sensed he was close, the hair at the nape of her neck constantly bristling a warning.
Angel had shown up and she had fallen apart, proof of the small distance separating her from the past. In hindsight, stubborn refusal of counseling was probably a mistake.
“An ear for listening, a shoulder for crying…I come fully equipped.”
“You can’t help me. I have to figure out how to help myself.”
“It’d probably be easier if you would trust me?”
“Probably.”
“Then you’ll let me be your friend?”
“No.”
“Whenever you’re ready then…I’m here.”
It may have helped to tell someone, but Cordelia didn’t have to tell, he had known instantly. He had read her too easily, slipped inside her emotions and felt the suffocating death of trust and friendship. She had always considered Lorne to be Angel’s friend and advisor, and wasn’t willing to trust his pledge of confidentiality. There was one thing Cordelia had that she would now trust without question…her instinct.
***
Cordelia stood inside the dimly lit club waiting for Lorne to sense her presence. She could be patient; it was only late afternoon, Caritas wouldn’t open for several hours yet.
“I’ve been expecting you.”
“Just wanted to drop off your key.” Cordelia responded, letting the small piece of metal slip from her fingers and clank against the table’s surface.
“Keep the key princess. Caritas is the one place you can come when you need to feel safe.”
“You knew he was back.” It wasn’t a question; it rode the edge of accusation.
“Yea, but not until two nights ago.” Lorne halfheartedly defended.
Cordelia hadn’t been ready to know of Angel’s return, and Lorne would deal with the guilt of keeping it from her; a small price considering he would have to tell her why Angel had returned to LA.
“So I guess safe is in the eye of the beholder. Gotta tell ya, I’m not really beholding any warm, fuzzy feelings about being safe.”
“Sit down princess and I’ll make us-”
“Stop calling me that!”
Old memories had been left behind, trapped in that room with the past; Cordelia wouldn’t allow a childish pet name to unlock the door.
“We do seem to be missing the ingredients for a good fairytale.” Lorne somberly agreed.
Past attempts at introspection blocked by a cancerous anguish so raw, pain could only reflect pain, leaving no room for anything else. Now layers of anger and obstinate survival stood like warring sentinels, and Lorne feared their breach were beyond his simple gift.
“Take a seat… princess …I’ll make us some tea and we’ll talk.”
“Tea? If I wanted to chat over afternoon tea I’d visit Wesley.”
“Shove a knife in my heart; why don’t you.” Lorne feigned a too hearty chortle. “Believe me, where my heart’s located sitting wouldn’t be an option.”
“I’ll take your word for it, cause I don’t want a Pylean anatomy lesson.”
“Fair enough. Now let me get you some of my special brew. This little specialty will blow the Brit’s high tea right out of the water.”
***
Angel flipped onto his stomach, hell-bent on recapturing the sleep that had cast him out. In slumber he could smell her perfume on his pillow, feel the warmth of her body on his sheets; and he could be aroused by their redolence and not be ashamed.
“What do you want from me Angel?”
“I want you to help me get her back.”
“I read and tell people what I see. I don’t interfere.”
Angel pushed from the bed and headed from the room in search of a working shower. It would be dark in a couple of hours. He could travel through the sewers, be at their office by sunset. The sooner he stated his case, the sooner he’d have their reaction; then he could decide his next move.
***
“I know Angel showing up out of the blue has scared the heebie-jeebies out of you, but if you’ll listen to me, maybe it’ll help make sense out of what happened…of what’s going to happen.”
“OK,” Cordelia gulped along with a big swig of her Pylean tea; obvious after her second cup the special brew was two-thirds bourbon.
“Angel left Sunnydale because he was convinced it was the right thing to do.”
“I was there for the maiming and the killing, Lorne; it was definitely an attention grabber.”
“I know Angel’s evil side-step in Sunnydale seemed pretty bad at the time. But looking back…does it even compare?”
“Lorne, you’re comparing what happened between Angel and me to his big love fest with Buffy…that doesn’t seem right.”
“Angel left because he could. He made a decision and he followed through.”
“So Angel’s made another decision?” Cordelia asked, confused by the muddle of information; but confusion gave her a break from fear, if only for a little while.
“No, it’s not that simple. Our brooding, and sometimes psychotic vampire has had an epiphany of sorts.”
“I can’t do that Angel. The Powers won’t allow it.”
“You don’t seem to be grasping the gravity of our situation Lorne.” Angel leaned down low, his mouth hovering a mere breath away. “If Cordelia can’t forgive me, if I can’t return to the fold, then I’ll leave; but The Powers need to understand…I won’t leave without her.”
Now was not the time to reminisce Angel’s ominous declaration and Lorne choked down the gulp caught in his throat, pulling in deep, slow breaths to calm his skittish nerves.
“Lorne, are you alright? Lorne?”
“Oh, sorry about that cupcake. Kinda faded out for a second.”
“So, Angel’s so-called epiphany?” Cordelia asked, dreading whatever answer Lorne might offer but refusing to end up with another wasted session. “What does it have to do with me?”
“He won’t leave you princess…because he can’t.”
“What kind of sense am I supposed to make out of that?” Cordelia demanded pushing up from her chair; the hard shove sounding an eerie screech as it scrubbed across the floor. Hazel eyes dark with fury and only a glint of fear glared at The Host. She flicked a thick strand of dark hair from her face, leaned down planting her fists against the table and shook the telltale shudder from her voice. “Was that supposed to be soothing, help me get a good night’s sleep? Cause I gotta tell you, it wasn’t a warm milk moment.”
***
“You gotta admit, it’s odd; the vampire showin’ up like that.”
“Yes Charles, I agree; but I’ve agreed the last three times you’ve said it. Now will you please stop pacing? It’s-it’s…making me tense.”
“It’s not the pacing that’s got you wired, it’s…”
Both men looked up, gawking at the large, stoic figure filling their doorway. Eyes dark, face emotionless; he stood unreadable, waiting for their response to tell him whether to seize or surrender control.
“…him.” Gunn choked out the last of his riposte, his gaze still glued to their ill-boding visitor.
Wesley cleared his throat, dislodging the trapped air threatening asphyxiation and breaking the ghostly silence. “Angel, we didn’t hear you come in; please, have a seat.”
Angel stepped inside the small office, three short strides closing the narrow space to Wesley’s desk. He loosened the fold of his arms letting the books slide into his hands, bringing them down to hover over the heavily scratched desktop.
“These books were at…” “Just give him the damn thing and let him get the hell out!” “Don’t make me move you.” “I don’t even know what you are anymore.” “I’m a vampire. Look it up.” “I thought you guys might could use these.” Angel nodded toward the books as he reached them to Wesley.
“Yes, well thank-oh, this is the book you took when you-oh my…” Wesley stuttered and stumbled, caught ill prepared for the instant recall of Angel’s threatening demands for the text.
“Yes, of course; one can never have too many demon texts when researching…well…demons.” Good God man, get a hold of yourself. You’ve turned into a blubbering idiot. “So Angel, what brings you back to LA?”
“I left most of my things at the hotel when I left.”
“So you’re just stopping by on you way out then?”
“Not exactly.” Angel asserted, lowering himself into the offered chair, but never breaking the lock of Gunn’s cold stare.
The young man had earned Angel’s respect when they first met. Charles Gunn was often too cocky for his own good but he refused to be led by fear; driven by it maybe, but Angel could relate to that impulse.
“Angel I’m not sure why you’re here, but I think you should know we continued with the mission in your absence.”
“But you probably figured that out with that lurking thing you do.”
“Yea, but it didn’t take much lurking to read the sign.”
“Yes, well, we really haven’t been able to agree on a new name; and things have been quite busy these past few months.”
“In case you missed it, the subtext is you ran when things got tough.”
The assertion may have come from anger, but its truth remained clear; and breaking from his staring contest with Gunn, Angel ventured the only acceptable response. “I know…I’m sorry.”
“Oh, well then-”
“Charles please, sarcasm won’t help.”
“Helped me feel better, bet Cordy would enjoy it too if she were here.”
“Wes, where is C-Cor–Cordelia?” Damn it, Angel silently hissed. Wes was blubbering, Gunn was ranting; calm would give him the edge he needed to stay in control.
“Since it was unclear why you asked to meet with us, Cordelia chose not to attend. She’s had quite a lot going on these past few days and taking a night off gives her a chance to catch up on some much needed rest.”
“She shouldn’t be fighting. It’s too dangerous.” It was out; the avower had been kicking at his gut since he stepped through the door. Better to say it now while calm was his foothold than risk succumbing to his own blubbering rants.
“You think? And just why do you think the girl is fighting? Could it be we came up a man short?”
“Gunn, stop it, this isn’t helping.”
“No let him talk Wes. He’s needs to get this out, so he can move past it.”
“Fuck you! You arrogant bastard; who the hell do you think you are telling us the girl shouldn’t be fighting?”
Angel felt the rage surge up filling his chest and pushed back hard. The young man was protective of Cordelia, it was second nature for him to protect his people. But as far as Angel was concerned, Gunn would have to accept that his need for Cordelia was the only thing that mattered to him. “You pretty much summed it up.”
“Man, we know she shouldn’t be fighting, but unlike some people she don’t leave her friends in the lurch. Cordy is fighting because she believes she has to.”
“Then let me help.”
“Excuse me?” Wesley practically yelped with astonishment. Worried that Cordelia would believe the brief encounter to hold promise of Angel’s return to the mission, he had suggested that Angel most likely returned to tie up loose ends before moving on.
“Oh hell no, don’t even try it man. Ain’t nobody gonna work for you.”
“I don’t want you to work for me, I…I just want to help.”
“Everyone calm down for Heaven’s sake! Nothing will be settled by all this yelling. Now Angel, why are you here exactly?”
“I want to come back…help you fight.”
“Man you trippin. You only get to play the white hat once with me.”
“Charles, sit down and be quiet. I know you’re upset; we all are, but you’ve said enough.”
“Angel,” Wesley tried again. “It’s been almost six months since you chose…other priorities; what has changed that you would want to rejoin the team?”
“What’s changed; you know what’s changed Wes. His girlfriend was blasted back to hell on the same broom she flew in on.”
Gunn rounded the desk; he’d had enough. He’d been staking vampires since adolescence; if Angel refused to leave, he’d be just another pile of dust to sweep up. “Rumor has it you’ve got another girlfriend you can go obsess over. My advice, take the interstate it’s quicker, and for you quicker is safer.”
“What are you talking about?” Angel asked, his façade of calm quickly failing. He looked at Wesley ignoring Gunn’s suggestion that he high-tail it back to Sunnydale or face the consequences.
Wesley’s jaw dropped, fearing the meeting wasn’t likely to end on a positive note. His glare jerked to Gunn then drifted back to Angel. “I…we thought you knew.”
“Knew what Wesley?” Angel hadn’t sensed Darla since his return, but he hadn’t been able to locate her before he left or in the dozen haunts he’d staked out since leaving LA.
“There was a secret meeting held at Wolfram and Hart…we assumed you were aware of it. Darla attempted to ambush one of the high officials and the firm put a contract on her head. Darla was assassinated within the week.”
Angel rose from the chair, eyes cast down avoiding the blended stares of sympathy and aversion. Their reasons may differ, but both men expected a reaction based on personal loss, and grief, and anger. “Tell Cordelia, she doesn’t have to see me. I don’t need to be at the office to help with the visions. I won’t come here again unless you call me.”
“Angel, are you staying at the hotel?”
“I don’t know where I’ll be.” Angel turned toward the door, the space separating him from solitude now looming. “I’ll call you…let you know where I’ll be, and if you decide you want my help…” And walked out of the office onto the dark street.
***
“I thought you might like to know we’re keeping the agency open. You may have turned your back on your mission, but we haven’t. Someone has to fight the good fight.”
In their eyes, he had placed saving Darla above anything else. How could he expect them to accept his misguided belief that saving her might validate his own salvation? He had offered his own existence that Darla might earn her rightful death of old age, and still he had failed to save her. Could he ask them now to believe that Darla had been merely another lost soul in his struggle for redemption?
“I’m not ready yet. Too many years spent sleeping in soft beds, living in a world where I don’t belong. I can’t fight them; not yet, but soon.
“Let them fight the good fight. Someone has to fight the war. It’s time.”
“Why so far away, my love? Why don’t you come over here and…stake me?”
“I can still feel her pain, her need, her hope. I’m too close to fight her. I’m not ready.”
He had fired them, pushed his friends away to keep them safe. Separated himself from the people he cared about so he could destroy the evil Wolfram and Hart had resurrected. At least that’s what he had meticulously convinced himself to believe. Angel wondered if given the opportunity, would he have staked Darla?
“When Wolfram and Hart take a life, they do it at a distance. I don’t have that luxury.”
“I’m not on their level. But I can get there. And when I do, I’ll be right up close. I’ll bring the fight to them.”
“But getting to the Senior Partners, that’s my destiny.”
“Is it? Because I haven’t actually featured a destiny with you in it lately.”
“If…” Angel chuckled at his still fractured perception. Instead of destroying Darla and Drusilla, he gave them free reign over the city he had been charged with protecting. Blamed Wolfram and Hart for his torment and indecision; and went after them with a bloodlust vengeance that would make his second creator proud.
Evil had consumed him for centuries, his glorified epithet as white knight often oppressive and unmerciful. Eyes wide shut, he had easily slipped, following Darla’s dark, wicked path again. But how could he have imagined the catastrophic repercussions of his orchestrated reprise?
He had trudged the dark streets and desolate alleys for hours, purpose and direction constantly deluding; and bone tired from his endless plod of haunting memories he sought refuge in the grim and lonely hotel.
Angel walked past the locked door, narrowed intent focused on the illusory asylum waiting inside the last room. He wouldn’t visit Cordelia tonight; discipline had been weakened by need, and need fueled by hunger.
“You need to wake up, get your head clear. You might still be enjoying fantasies of Darla and the good ole days, but you’ve stumbled across the wrong girl. I don’t want to play in your games. If you think I’m going to be the good little victim, help you out during your dark time, you’re wrong…the wrongest you’ve ever been.”
“Make me warm. We can pretend we made love. We can pretend you still love me.”
“I can’t…I don’t know how.”
Patience was Angel’s mantra now; he had survived a different hell to come back for her, and would not fall at the last steps of his journey.
“I’m not ready.”