Part 5
“Will you trust me to love you?”
She smiled, lips parting as they met with his in a tender kiss. He felt the warmth of a soft mewl inviting his tongue to taste the sweetness of her mouth.
“Let me love you.”
Mouths nipping and sucking, he lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
Hips thrusting against the hard mattress, Angel groaned as unwanted consciousness pulled him from his dream, stealing the warm, soft flesh and leaving him alone with only a cold sheet clutched in his hands. Disappointment meshing with anger, eyes flashed gold sparks and fangs itched from years of neglect. Another anguished howl and Angel rolled onto his back, cursing untimely physical needs. He had barely an hour before meeting Cordelia; his shower would have to be cold and hard, and purposeful.
***
The sun loomed above the horizon, a large fireball descending day into twilight; colors, wild and bright, creating a magical hue. The last, warm caress of day sailed with the wind, fluttering dark tresses left loose and abandoned.
Cordelia browsed the elegantly designed boutique windows, scolding her inner child for grieving over frivolous days long past. Priorities had changed, her situation with Angel being in the forefront of those changes. He was probably on his way to Caritas by now, she reasoned, watching her lambent shield fade into moonlit vulnerability.
***
Courage as fake as her calm façade, Cordelia pushed open the door and walked inside.
You’re late, Angel’s expression whispered, dark eyes with only a hint of emotion careful not to question why.
She sized him up; know your enemy, he had taught her that. The change was subtle, but easily detected by someone who had spent the better part of a year complaining of endless black on black.
Angel had taken great care in his attire. Too much color would present the wrong impression, not enough would affirm nothing had changed. His shirt was dark blue, almost black but not quite; and boots, a common choice, replaced with casual and uncomfortable dress shoes.
“Why don’t we sit,” a hesitant voice suggested, failing to dispel the blanket of tension. “I made coffee…I’ll go get it.” No response to his offer, a discontented sigh huffed from red lips and Lorne shuffled behind the bar, the chink of china and utensils resonating into the suffocating quiet. Lorne was out of his league and failing miserably to conceal his fears of inadequacy in handling this imposed position of mediator and counselor.
They set at the table, an illusion of friends sharing a drink, coming together by chance and catching up on times missed.
“How are you?” Angel finally spoke, the rasped query giving little indication of his fervent rehearsal.
“Good-fine-I’m good,” was the stammered reply.
“That’s good.”
“Knowing where to start is…”
“Impossible is the word you’re looking for.” Cordelia whispered tilting her head to the side, sitting so close to Lorne they were almost touching.
Cordelia knew the club protected her from unwanted attention; a simple demonstration, Angel surmised, that he should remember his place.
Muscles were more tone, evidence of her newfound need for self-defense. But she was slimmer, evidence that a healthy appetite and depression were not faithful companions.
Angel studied the curve of her face. Except for their brief moment at the office, opportunity for close proximity had been nonexistent. Her eyes gave up the biggest change; they were darker and steeled with resolve, clouding the glittering smile he had grown accustomed to before Darla’s intrusion.
“What I did to you was…”
“Reprehensible? Culpable? Criminal? Evil?”
The tone was accusing, the expression condemning; and unable to face either, Angel lowered his head, eyes burning into the cup in front of him.
“Yes.” He whispered, weary defeat reaching across the table in hopes of being embraced.
“Why did you come back?” Cordelia knew Angel had learned of Darla’s demise from Wesley, and considered the likelihood they were again a temporary substitute while Angel bided his time. “Sorry if you’ve found yourself momentarily short on purpose, but we’re no longer available; you’ll have to find some other poor slobs to use until something better comes along.”
Hope swatted away like the annoyance of a gnat, his head jerked up, determination anxious to deny.
“That’s not why I’m here. That was never the reason we were together.”
“The visions are for the mission, not you.”
“The visions aren’t why I need you, but the mission is mine.”
“Not any more, you walked away because other things were more important.”
“Our destiny was foretold; you know that.”
“Yours maybe, mine’s more likely in the closed accounts file at Tiffany’s.”
“Don’t do this Cordelia. You promised you’d help me find my way out of the tunnel.”
How dare you throw that in my face. I believed we were friends, you were a champion, and I trusted you. “I meant it when I said it. I just didn’t know you planned on dragging me into the tunnel with you. If you wanted to crawl around in the dark, you had Darla for that. Maybe you should have taken better care of her. After all, you were willing to give up everything, even your life to save her.”
The trial… how the hell does she know… Lorne… A low growl rumbled from his chest.
Angel was ready to tell Cordelia everything, no more secrets, no more going off to handle things on his own; but he had to get her back first.
“This isn’t about Darla, it never…” Useless denial was, well useless when dealing with Cordelia. He had pushed her beyond the perimeters her youth could handle and she was surviving the only way she knew how…with a brutal, detached honesty of the Queen herself.
Calm, stay calm; she wants me to lose control so this can be over. “I made a lot of mistakes, and what I did to you was the worst. I don’t expect you to forgive me, at least not yet.” Angel chose his words carefully. He had no right to demand anything and couldn’t risk Cordelia misinterpreting his request. “I’m just asking that we work on us. What we had is worth the pain if we can be like we were.”
“You’re still confused Angel. There is no us. There never was. And whatever we were like before is gone.”
“You don’t mean that Cordy; you can’t-”
“Cordy’s gone too. She grew up…the hard way.”
“I know you’re hurting, but I’m hurting too.” Angel countered; the response laced in a soft whisper, he concentrated on sipping his coffee, ignoring the cooling temperature.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. That soul of yours is suppose to punish you for your bad deeds. Too bad it doesn’t stop you once in a while. So what’s the penance for ultimate betrayal? Three Hail Mary’s and a side trip to Sunnydale for some Buffy lovin’?”
Eyes jerked up before shock could be masked, the rim of the cup clinking against his teeth; and Angel switched his concentration to swallowing the bitter brew before it could spew from his mouth.
“What? You didn’t think I’d know?”
Angel had heard of Buffy’s mother and stopped in Sunnydale on his way to LA. Staying all of an hour, he offered his condolences. His need for Cordelia overshadowing his ability to comfort, guilt of failing one because he was obsessed with healing his failures with the other almost more than he could bear.
“She lost her mother.” The condensed and safer explanation sounded feeble inside his head, and once spoken out loud quickly escalated to pathetic.
“I know Angel. I know exactly how she felt. A mother suddenly gone.”
Cordelia lost both her parents, not to death, but abandonment, which in a way is worse. Her parents chose to leave her. Did she deal with the loss on her own? I don’t know, I can’t remember us talking about it.
“Suddenly without the person you trusted most in your life.”
I know Cordelia has dealt with that alone. I’d be dust if Wes and Gunn knew and she’s not confiding in Lorne, he’s not a good enough liar to keep it from me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It just cheapens what you have with Buffy. She needed you, and that was the priority. God, it’s not enough you think I’m gullible, you think I’m stupid too. You may have chosen Darla over us, but you’d never choose her over Buffy. It hasn’t been so long that I don’t remember you staked Darla for Buffy.”
“Hey kiddies,” Lorne stepped in, unsure if diverting the flow of emotions was the right decision but certain of Angel’s reaction if Cordelia continued to push him away. “Why don’t we take a few steps back; give everyone a chance to breath.” He glanced at Angel, ignoring fidgety nerves and forcing a quirky smile. “Well if you breathe that is.”
Lorne’s interruption went unnoticed, unrelenting glares beaming across the table. Heavens to Betsy, if anybody up there is listening now would be a good time for heavenly intervention.
“Look Angel, I know you’re in a pickle, suddenly without a blonde to obsess over. Darla’s gone again and you can’t be with Buffy. You want me to be your friend; fine, here’s some friendly advice. No doubt Wolfram and Hart were impressed with you locking all those people in the basement with your two girls. It’s not like they grieve for the own, so I’m sure they’ll be glad to resurrect Darla again.”
Cordelia stood from her chair, one hand fisted against her hip the other wielding an insistent, pointing finger. “Then the two of you can ride off into the sunset and leave me the hell alone. Getting dumped the second you find a loophole in that pesky curse is her problem.”
“Cor?” The soft knock against the half-opened door filtered into the room; the welcome of its timeliness varying among the room’s occupants.
“That’s my ride.” Cordelia announced, and with an abrupt spin ended her participation, marching toward Matthew who waited quietly by the door.
Lorne followed Cordelia turning back to offer, “You stay here,” grateful for Angel’s unexpected compliance, but unnerved by his mask of eerie calm.
***
“I guess for a first session-”
“It was better than expected,” Angel finished, surprising Lorne with a hopefully honest view.
“Really?”
“Cordelia’s hurting, and turning that hurt into anger is the only way she can deal right now. She brought up every mistake I made because of Darla except the one thing we have to talk about.”
“And you’re OK with that?”
“For now. When do I see her again?”
“Uh, about that; there’s a stipulation to a next time…and it’s nonnegotiable. Angel’s head shifted slightly, his eyes veering to Lorne signaled him to continue. “Cordelia wants you to stay off her balcony.” Lorne revealed between worried gulps.
Angel sat stock-still, face expressionless and knuckles white as fingers unclenched seconds before shattering the cup and spilling its black liquid onto the table. “Fine. Whatever Cordelia needs to make this work, I’ll deal with it.”
***
The table crashed against the wall, splintered kindling scattering on the floor; the stripped bare mattress followed close behind. The room was almost completely demolished, every piece touched while violating her innocence and trust hurled across the room as rage dominated control.
Red satin wrapped around his feet, Angel snatched it up, ripping the frail fabric. Fibers stretched and torn revealed their secret, and Angel pressed the sheet to his face drawing her scent into his spirit. Exhausted, he slumped on the floor; his face buried in a pillow, the faint aroma of her perfume surrounding his senses.
***
Repose had been brief; haunting memories invading his dreams, Angel escaped to the dark streets. He changed course at the last minute, common sense warning him to stay away he decided instead to use the last hour before sunrise to reacquaint himself with patrolling the city.
The shout of familiar voices drawing his attention, Angel cut across the street and sped down the alley.
“What the hell is that thing?”
“I don’t know. I told you it was big.” Cordelia shouted in return, waving her sword at what she could only assume was its head.
“Forgive me for thinking elephant when you were implying dinosaur. Now get back!” Matthew ordered, steeling his nerves and stepping forward to join Wesley and Gunn on the front line.
“Excuse me!” Cordelia grabbed his shirt pulling with a hardy tug until their new ally gave up and returned to his position as backup. “See this,” Cordelia marked off the space swinging her blade out as she whirled around. “This is called a personal bubble. Unless you want me to carve a big C on your chest, never cross this line.”
“Why are you threatening me? I came to help; remember?”
“Perhaps you’ve both forgotten why we’re here. A little help would be appreciated.” Blaming the disruption for causing him to miss his target, Wesley cursed as his blade sliced through empty air.
“You stay out of this-and go for the throat. I think it might be a weak spot.”
“Any idea where the throat might be? This thing is just one big blob with claws.” Gunn jumped as he swung his axe hoping to reach what might be a neck.
Emotionally drained and physically exhausted, Cordelia struggled to let go of her resentment over Matthew’s concern and focus on the battle. “I’ve had more than enough of would be heroes telling me what to do. If you want to help me, help us kill this thing before it kills us.”
A vision of the strange looking demon must have brought them out at such a late hour, but no one had called for his help; and Angel stood on the sidelines watching the interaction. Though relieved by Cordelia’s refusal to accept the man’s protection, the quips and snarks were painfully similar to the feisty banter they once shared.
The demon let loose a vicious roar, a heavy limb more akin to a tentacle wielding razor-sharp claws whipped out, hurdling down toward Cordelia. Matthew raised his sword, ready to strike, until a powerful shove knocked him to the ground snatching his weapon from the air.
Angel straightened mid rotation, swinging the blade around to contact with the bellowing snarl’s source. The demon’s head hit the pavement with a heavy splat, Angel spattered with blood, landing only a second behind it.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Angel demanded, his snarl rivaling the demon’s.
“It-it-” Wesley stammered, cleared his throat and tried again. “It was almost morning when Cordelia had the vision. It made no sense to call you so close to sunrise.”
“We had an agreement Wes.”
“Nu-huh, no agreements,” Gunn stepped up to challenge, “only maybes and we’ll sees, nothin’ else.”
Angel spun around, standing over the man still lying on the ground; he cast a warning leer, tossing the sword to land with a clank beside his head. “Take Cordelia home…then leave.” He advised, the muscles in his face twitching with tension, his voice a gravelly husk.
Dark, angry eyes seeking her out, Cordelia stepped back, only nodding a reply when Angel issued his final instructions before taking off. “I’ll see you tonight at eight, and not before. So go home and get some sleep.”
“Maybe you should stay with me until he has time to cool off.” Matthew suggested pushing up from the bloody pavement and wiping his hands on his jeans.
“No!” Cordelia snapped. “Just do what he said.”
Matthew Ryan may know about the evils that roam in the dark, but he was clueless about the pissed off vampire with a soul.
***
Profanities spouted, but refusing to give up, the persistent knocker became even bolder. Wesley reached down from the bed snatching up clothes tiredly shed and dumped on the floor just moments before.
Jerking open the door, he ducked barking a loud, “Bloody Hell,” as the fist intending another hard knock lunged at his face.
“Top of the morning to you too.” An invitation not forthcoming, Lorne pushed past Wesley and stepped inside, anxious to avoid nosy neighbors likely disturbed by his boisterous arrival.
“Lorne? What the bloody blazes are you doing here?”
“My, aren’t we a grumpy riser. Your eyes are a little puffy too.” Lorne leaned closer inspecting the dark circles under Wesley’s eyes. “Cucumber slices work wonders, but with those bags you might need a miracle.”
“Yes, thank you for the beauty tip. Now if you could tell me why you’re here…then leave so I can get some sleep.”
“Everybody’s always in a hurry. No one stops to smell the roses anymore. Fine, short and direct,” Lorne added when Wesley directed him an agitated glare. “There’s something important in that scroll Angel heisted.”
“The scroll of Aberjian?”
“Don’t know its name, the image was fuzzy.”
“You had a vision?”
“No; more like a dream or a memo sent from up above.”
“Lorne, you’re not making any sense. Besides, the scroll isn’t here. As far as I know it’s still in the safe at the hotel.”
“Then get it Professor. There’s an important message, and The Powers want us to find it.”
“Alright, I’ll see what I can do; after I get some sleep.”
“Good, you sleep…and try the cucumbers. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Lorne flipped the hood of his cape over his head. “This gorgeous profile works best in moonlight.”
