The idea behind this fic comes from a movie, 50 First Dates, to be precise – which does NOT belong to meeeee.
part 4
“I gave him one job,” Cordelia ranted, slamming a couple of boxes down on the counter of the Hyperion with a ‘bang’, “One job and the guy flakes on me already. I might as well have just done it all myself.”
She was pissed off.
In fact, Cordelia had reached her pissed off level about twenty minutes ago when a call to the caterers had proved both fruitless (and foodless) and much with the annoying.
New guy, Bob (as if she really wanted to know) had said that they didn’t have a delivery in that area that day. In fact Bob, still on the line after Cordelia’s ranting, had told her unequivocally that they didn’t have a delivery in any area that day because they were not a caterers and they hadn’t been a caterers yesterday when she’d called either.
OR the day before.
She’d checked the number twice.
She’d read it aloud to Dennis who’d punched in the number himself.
And on the fifteenth try when Bob had threatened to call the police on ‘Crazy Stalker Lady’, Cordelia had given up and headed into the office to get the real number of the caterers.
Now, she was standing at the counter, ranting about the lack of help she’d had this week. “I mean it’s just so like him, y’know?” She continued, arching an eyebrow Wesley’s way, “Give the guy a hell beast to find and he’s on it like me at a Barney sale but give him something normal?”
Cordelia snorted, “He flakes quicker than a-a—Flaky thing.”
All she’d asked him to do, the one job she’d thought Groo could handle was keeping Fred busy. That was it. They could talk about their days in Pylea, catch up, talk about how Groo had saved her from the monsters or whatever.
Honestly, Cordelia hadn’t thought about the details, she’d been too busy organising things, getting everything together for Fred’s big night.
“You haven’t forgotten about the cake, right?” She looked at Wesley, accusingly. Despite the fact that Wesley had been pulling the ostrich thing with his head stuck in a book for the past week and a half, Cordelia knew she could count on him. Wesley? Very NOT flaky. In any sense of the word.
“Of course not.” He smiled, but it was just a little too tight. “You reminded me at least four times this morning.”
Cordelia glared at him, “Hey, if I’m the only one who—”
“I was joking, Cordelia.” Wesley sighed. “I haven’t forgotten.”
She regarded him with a curious, open gaze. She knew he’d been burning the midnight oil trying to figure out what the hell that prophecy about Groo meant but, seriously, the guy looked like he hadn’t slept in months.
“Are you okay, Wesley?” She asked, for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning. “If it’s possible your three o’clock shadow seems to have skipped to nine o’clock overnight.”
Wesley looked at her as if she’d just reminded him what a razor blade actually was. “I’ll shave tomorrow. There’s some things I need to cross reference and—”
“Say no more.” She grinned, holding up a hand, “You say the words cross reference and you have me running for the hills. You get so twitchy when you’re translating.”
“I do not get twitchy.” Wesley huffed, running his fingers over the worn edges of the Prophecy he’d been translating for the last… Well, ever. How he didn’t get a permanent headache from it, Cordelia didn’t know.
“See? Twitchy.” She grinned, taking the edge off her words a little. “If Groo ever gets back off his little mission, tell him I’ve gone to finalise details with Lorne. And that I’m pissed.”
She added almost as an afterthought, an innocent look passing across her face, “What? It never hurts to have your best friend all grovelly and stuff, trust me.”
“You’re something else, Cordelia,” Wesley chuckled, “You really are.”
“Well, duh!” She shot over her shoulder, grabbing her purse and sauntering up the steps, out of the Hyperion. “I’ll check in later,Wes.”
***
Later on, when Cordelia had finalised just about every detail there was to finalise, she sat in her apartment, unwinding.
She’d gone through the party with Lorne. He’d wanted a ‘green’ theme – just to match his complexion – Cordelia had settled for aqua. A billion balloons (okay, maybe not a billion) lay in the back, as per her request, waiting to be blown up tomorrow. Streamers, banners – the works, all for Fred’s birthday party.
She realised she was being a little weird about the whole birthday thing. In fact, she was being more than a little weird, considering it wasn’t even her birthday but… This was a big deal!
This was Fred’s first birthday back in her home dimension. Her 25th, no less. Fred was a whole quarter of a century old and Cordelia was determined (since the ex-Pylean hadn’t been able to celebrate her 21st) that Fred was going to celebrate this one in style.
She sat down on the big comfortable armchair in her sitting room, picking up the phone from its cradle and dialling a number she knew only too well since the preparations for the party had begun.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Burkle, hi!” Said Cordelia, warmly, a genuine smile flooding her features.
The Burkle’s were the kind of people you couldn’t help but smile around. They were the kind of parents that each member of Chase Investigations (even Groo, who wasn’t even used to the whole concept of parents) had wished for themselves.
“Hey now, what have I told you?” Came the voice, cheerfully, “It’s Trish.”
Cordelia smiled again. “I just called to go over stuff with you one last time. Is that okay?” Fred’s parents were probably sick of her calling to go over details – that was all she’d done all week.
Fred had said, quite simply, that she wanted ‘no muss, no fuss’ for this birthday. She didn’t like being the center of attention; she wasn’t as outgoing or as comfortable as Cordelia was around people.
Cordelia, as usual, had ignored her. Besides, it was sort of like a ‘Welcome Back to LA’ party, especially since Fred had protested the idea of that too. How could she not like parties?!
“Sure, honey,” Said Trish, “What do you need?”
“Oh, nothing much…” And she guessed this was the part where she had to admit that she just liked talking to the older woman, “I just thought I’d check in was all. Y’know, make sure you guys got on the right plane and—”
Trish laughed, “Sweetie, I know Roger’s a little scatterbrained at times but I have my faculties in tact, at least!”
In the background Cordelia heard the deep voice, the Texas twang that meant Roger was probably standing behind her. “I know, I know,” She said with a smile, “But y’know, he is a guy, after all.”
“He said he heard that,” Said Trish, swatting at her husband with a hand as he tried to take the phone from her, “Oh, go on now! Pack! Or else we’re never gonna get there.”
Cordelia’s eyebrows shot up, “You’re still not packed yet?” She asked, twirling the phone-cord around her fingers.
“He’s been working on that damned truck all day. Said it got a—What was it?”
Cordelia heard a muffled reply, waited patiently. Even if Trish told her what the hell was wrong with Roger’s truck she’d still never understand. That was Gunn’s department. For all her friend had no qualifications or certificates half of LA would recognise, he still knew his stuff when it came to his ‘girl’.
“Honey, if I knew what he’d just said I’d tell you,” Said Trish after a moment and Cordelia could almost imagine her shaking her head, “He thinks ‘cause he explains it I’m gonna understand it right off bat – just like our Fred.”
Cordelia giggled. Just last week? Fred had been trying to show her how to work her new contraption thingy. She hadn’t known what the hell it was but then, you never actually did with Fred.
It could look like a toaster – you could even put bread in just to test it out! Then three seconds later you could be headless. Or armless. Or even something else-less and be none the wiser.
“Oh, shoot!” A glance at the clock on her wall confirmed that Cordelia was, indeed, late. Now? She’d be late meeting her pigeon stool and—Ugh, this was just great. “Listen, Trish, I gotta head out but… If you need anything tomorrow, my cell phone’ll be switched on, okay? I gotta run! Bye!”
When Cordelia hung up, she didn’t hear the deep sigh from the other end.
She didn’t see Roger cross the room to run his hands up and down his wife’s arms or him place a soft kiss on her forehead. “You okay, baby?”
Trish sighed. “I just… Every time she calls I just get so darned sad is all.” She looked at her husband, knew that he was thinking the exact same thing she was.
That could easily be their daughter, considering what she did for a living. And Cordelia had become somewhat of a surrogate child to the pair, especially after what had happened.
She just couldn’t understand why Cordelia’s parents would be so reluctant to talk to the poor girl, never mind visit. If that had been Fred—
“Ain’t no use thinking like that, Momma,” Roger chastised gently, wrapping an arm around his wife, “C’mon, let’s get you somethin’ to drink.”
***
Tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his car, Angel sat in silence, watching Cordelia’s door.
She was running late.
Scratch that.
Cordelia was running very late.
After putting a rather discreet call in to Fred, Angel had managed to get Cordelia’s address, had shown up as soon as the sun had gone down to wait for her before she left to go to Caritas.
The only problem with that little train of thought was that Angel didn’t have a plan. No startlingly wonderful way to re-introduce himself into Cordelia’s life again.
His social skills, still somewhat lacking as earlier meetings with Cordelia had shown, were almost non-existent tonight.
At least in a bar (even one that made him uncomfortable, like Caritas) you at least had an opening.
“Come here often?” You could say, hoping all the while your object of desire wouldn’t run away screaming. Or the equally pathetic, “Excuse me, do I know you?”
“What”s your sign, baby?”
“Exit, try using it.”
What people didn’t seem to get was that dating had been different back in his day. Pick a wench, hope she liked you and you were home free. None of these chat up lines and cheesy grins – show a bit of darkness and the girl was yours.
Angel scowled. These thoughts, especially ones about serving wenches, were only making him more uncomfortable as the minutes went by.
Buffy aside? The last person—The last woman he’d tried to talk to had run away screaming, though he had to admit that the vamp-face probably hadn’t made him look welcoming.
I could say I was ‘in the area’… Angel pondered, his eyes never leaving Cordelia’s apartment. ‘Just passing’? She might buy that.
Then again? This was Cordelia Chase. You only had to look at her to know that her days of wheedling the Dating Don’ts from the Do’s were far from over, despite what had happened in her past. She could spot an idiot like that a mile off and—And why, exactly, was he thinking like that?
Perturbed, Angel reached over and flicked on the radio, a thumping bass from some station settling in his car. Normally, he didn’t listen to stations like this. Normally, Angel didn’t even bother with the radio, but tonight he found it calming. He didn’t have to think when his fingers were in time with the beat and his feet were drumming lightly against the floor of his car.
He could almost—
“Damnit!” Yanking the keys from the ignition, Angel got out of his car, crossing the street in three short strides. Cordelia was already in her car, starting the engine and looking to back out of her driveway.
“Cordelia!”
She didn’t hear him. From outside the car Angel could hear the same radio station that had been playing in his. It gave him enough of a pause to realise that they’d been listening to the same thing and before he knew what was happening, Cordelia”s car was crunching into his knees and there, right in her driveway, Angel was hitting the floor, body scraping against the gravel.
He heard the ‘oh my God!’, could even imagine her hands flying up to her face. He grunted and watched as a pair of denim-encased legs got out of the car, arms gesturing wildly as she spoke.
“Oh my God! Oh my God, are you okay? I looked! I looked in my mirror and I was backing out and you just came from nowhere and I—Angel?”
He groaned. So much for all his two-minute planning. What was he supposed to say? ‘Hey, Cordelia, I was in the neighbourhood and I thought standing behind your car while you reversed was a good way to reintroduce myself for the third time this week.’
Sure. That’d go down a treat.
“No wonder I didn’t see you! Jeez, hello, vampire! No reflection! And what the hell were you doing behind my car?!”
He looked up at her as she ranted, all the while sliding her hands under his arms to help him up. This really wasn’t the way he’d seen this going. He hadn’t seen her hitting him with her car. He hadn’t seen himself raising a hand to his head and watching it come away bloody.
“Are you okay?” She seemed to remember she’d actually hit him, visibly flushing under his gaze. “I-I really did look.”
Angel looked at her. She looked embarrassed now, faintly worried, and he was starting to like that look on her. He’d never had anyone be worried about him, not in a long time. Not since Buffy. He could still feel her hands on him, gentle, patching him up after his run-in with–
“Hello! Are you brain-dead?” Angel looked up at her, startled, “I mean, seriously,” She continued, rolling her eyes skyward, “Suffer a head injury and go into major brood mode, that’ll make me feel better!”
This time it was Angel’s turn to look embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to…”
“You’re not, right? Brain damaged I mean?” She stood up on her tip-toes to look at his head, the heel of one sandal scraping against the gravel in her driveway. Angel looked down. “You don’t look brain damaged,” She continued, completely unaware that Angel was developing quite a little foot fetish, “But then that’s not saying much.”
“I… Hey.” He needed to stop doing this. He was here for a reason, not to grow some obsession with her right foot and that toe ring that glinted in the streetlight. Angel forced his gaze upwards only to find that Cordelia, along with her feet, were walking towards the house.
“Cordelia?”
“Are you coming?” She looked back over her shoulder, dangling her house keys on one finger, “I can’t exactly patch you up in my driveway, can I?”
“I’m fine, Cordelia, I just…”
“Pfft.” Cordelia turned back to him, one eyebrow arched. “What is it with you Champion guys? You bleed just like everyone else – get over it! And c’mon, you’re getting blood all over my driveway.”
Noting that he was, in fact, bleeding on her driveway (though not ‘all over’ like she’d suggested) Angel followed, shoes hitting silently on the stone steps. When he reached her door, he looked in to where she was placing her keys on the table, noting just how far out of his reach she was.
“Uhm, Cordelia? I…”
She turned to look at him, eyebrows raised, hands on hips. He almost smiled at her then, the look on her face one of puzzlement. “What?”
“You… You have to uh…”
“Invite you in?” Cordelia nodded, knowing full well what he wanted, “Sure. If you promise you’re not going to go evil and, like, kill me in my sleep.”
Angel frowned. “Why would I kill you in your— Right.” He stopped, the look on her face one that he was sure halted many an argument at Chase Investigations. “I promise. No going evil.”
“And no trying to suck my face off through my neck?” Her eyebrows arched again, injecting as much warning into that one look as she possibly could.
“Cordelia…” Angel growled, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
“Kidding, kidding! I invite you in.”
With that, the barrier was gone. Angel stepped into her apartment almost uneasily, like he was invading her space by just being here. If she noticed his pause, she didn’t mention it – she’d already turned, heading into her bathroom to get her first aid kit.
He ambled around the room for a while, his wounds already healing despite her insistence that he still bled like everyone else. He shifted, the material of his duster itching against the scrape on his shoulder, reaching out to pick up a small photo-frame.
It was small, pretty, decorated with seashells and tiny beads of glitter. Inside it was a photo – Cordelia, Wesley and a man Angel didn’t recognise.
“That’s Groo.”
Cordelia’s voice startled him so much that he almost dropped the photo-frame.
“That’s it, wreck my drive-way and trash my apartment.” She said, rolling her eyes.
Angel turned, but from the look on her face he could tell she was teasing. “Sorry, I was just—”
“Snooping?” She grinned, crossing the room and taking him gently by the elbow, leading him towards her couch. She sat, motioning for him to do the same and helped him push his duster off his shoulders.
“You’re kinda like him.” She said after a moment as he watched her, lifting various items out of her first aid kit, “Y’know, chasing after beasties – ala you and Buffy – being all Joe Stoic when you get hurt, saying, ‘Oh, I am the mighty Groosalugg, I don’t bleed.’ Much…”
“Mighty Groosalugg?” Angel looked at her, puzzled. All his years of fighting demons, vampires and hell beasts that crawled from the bottom of the earth and he’d never heard of a Groosalugg.
“He”s from Pylea, another dimension,” Cordelia explained, wiping away some of the dirt from the scrape on his chest, “I got sucked into this portal back when I first moved here and… Well, it’s a long story. But he’s kinda part-demon sorta more than human-ish. Like you! Only, y’know, he doesn’t fit into an ashtray when you put him in sunlight.” She said, smiling again.
“So this Groo guy’s a demon?” He asked.
“Not really. Well… Yes. But… It’s complicated.” Cordelia screwed up her nose in consternation, stretching the bandage over his chest a few ways, trying to see how it would fit best. “So, did you come up with some decent explanation yet?”
Angel looked at her. “Explanation?”
“For stalking my car.” Cordelia’s smiled, “Or y’know, trying for the lamest suicide attempt ever.”
“I was… Uh… Just passing?” There was no way in hell he’d buy that, never mind Cordelia. She had more chance of believing the truth and there was no way he was offering up that information just yet.
“Just passing.” Cordelia repeated, dryly, “When you’re, like, five hours away from home? Sunnydale is still home, right?”
Angel paused. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean ‘not exactly’? Either you live there or you don’t.”
Okay, so she had a point. And he wasn’t living there, hadn’t been for a long time, so… “Okay, I don’t.” He told her, unequivocally. “Next question?”
Cordelia looked at him and laughed, trying to pin one awkward side of the bandage that kept curling down with sticky tape. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get with the inquisition, it’s just… It’s you, y’know? And where I see you I keep expecting a certain Slayer to pop up and… Is she? Popping up, I mean?”
Cordelia looked towards the door as if she almost expected his ex to appear.
Angel palmed the back of his head, nervously, wondering why it didn’t get any easier to say this when he’d already told her twice. “No. She… We, uh, we broke up.”
“What?” Her shock was palpable, radiated from her in waves. “You broke up?”
Angel nodded. He’d been surprised too. He’d had the thoughts for months, watched Buffy move on without him, watched her grow into her new college life. He’d been holding her back, he’d decided, and as their relationship slipped further and further into a place he’d never wanted to see it go, he’d made a decision.
He was leaving her.
That was his decision. He was doing it for her own good, he was doing it so that she could have a normal life, so that she didn’t have to live her life in darkness.
He was doing it because he felt guilty.
Guilt. An emotion he was used to by now. Used to seeing, feeling, causing. Buffy had felt guilty because she wasn’t spending enough time with him. Angel had felt guilty because he couldn’t reassure her more that he wasn’t starting to resent it.
Buffy had deserved a normal life. She’d deserved to have the fresh start and the new friends and the rest of it that came with going to college. By the time Angel had realised he was keeping her from this normal life there wasn’t much of the relationship left to salvage.
He’d left Sunnydale without any idea where he was headed and he’d ended up here, in LA, sitting in front of a now very pissed off Cordelia.
“You done?” She asked, archly, stretching the bandage on his chest just a little tighter than necessary.
He would have reminded her that he was a vampire and that most of his wounds healed pretty quickly without the aid of bandages but… Cordelia looked annoyed. Hell, he could smell frustration rolling off every pore – he didn’t need looks to go off.
“Done? Done what?”
“Brooding.” She frowned, “Y’know, the classic Angel perma-brow, ‘my life sucks more than yours’ brood thing.”
Gingerly, he reached up with two fingers, pressing them against his brow. “What’s wrong with my brow?”
“Nothing, usually,” She shook her head, “Until you start to brood and then it’s whoo, brow city. You’d actually be quite hot if it weren’t for the brow thing.”
Angel looked at her. Cordelia thinks I’m hot? Cordelia thinks I’m— “Hey!” And there went his ego, deflating like a balloon.
“What?” He could almost see the smile tugging at the corner of her lips, the fierce spark of life that danced in her eyes, “Look, Little Ms. Likes to Fight might have gone for brooders but, me? I like my guys less broody and more spendy.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that. True, money was tight these days but… He didn’t brood that much, did he? And his brow… What was wrong with his brow?
He looked at Cordelia wounded, surprised when she started to laugh.
“I’m sorry,” She said between giggles, “You’re just too easy to wind up, I guess.”
Angel mock-glared at her, glancing down at hands that looked too used to patching people up. How many times had she done this, he wondered, sat here and tended wounds after a fight? How many, more importantly, had been her own?
“So what about you?”
““What about me” what?” Cordelia asked, puzzled, pulling his shirt closed over his chest and shifting slightly on her sofa to look at his head.
The blood had already started to dry in – how he’d even cut it, he wasn’t sure. “What about you here? In LA?”
“Oh.” And that same smile crossed her face like it had done last night, the night before. “I… I have my own investigations company.” She said, almost tentatively, “You remember Wesley, right?”
Angel nodded, wondering what it took out of her friends each time, hearing her say the same things over and over. “Last time I saw him he was–“
“Being carried out on a stretcher, shrieking like a baby man?” Cordelia grinned, dabbing at his forehead with a tissue, “Yup, that was Wesley all right. Though I”m pretty certain he got at least 35% more manlier after being fired from the Watcher’s Council.”
Angel chuckled at that, before the second part of her sentence registered, “He was fired?”
“Uh-huh, right after the thing with the Mayor-Snake and the Council rebellion and everything. Couldn’t even afford the plane-fare home. When he turned up at my office? He was Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Rogue Demon Hunter,” Cordelia smiled, fondly, “He rescued me from Barney when he wanted to harvest my eyes and thus our little investigations team continued.”
Blinking, Angel looked at her. “Wait a minute… The big purple dinosaur wanted to harvest your eyes?”
A burst of laughter filled the room, Cordelia pulling back from Angel almost completely to look at him, “You know who Barney is?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed; would have flushed under her gaze if his bodily functions hadn’t been dead for over 200 years. “I… Daytime TV.” He admitted, “It was either that or Jerry Springer.”
Cordelia laughed again, a fierce spark of life dancing in her eyes, “Yeah, Dennis is a fan of Mr. Springer. Though, personally? I wouldn’t go for Barney as a substitute. That”s even worse.”
“Dennis?” He tried his damndest to deny that the sharp feeling digging beneath his rib cage was jealousy. He couldn”t be jealous, he was here to help not to hit on Cordelia or force his way into her life.
“Nice attempt at smooth, Angel,” she grinned, “Dennis is my roommate.” She paused then, looking round the room as if she expected him to jump out from behind some corner. “I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up, he”s not normally this calm when I invite strange dead guys into my apartment.”
Angel didn”t know what to focus on first – the dead guy comment or the “strange” one. “I- You usually invite strange dead guys into your apartment?”
“What?” Cordelia turned her gaze back on Angel, puzzled, “Do I have a deathwish? Uhm, no…”
“But you just said–“
“I was speaking metaphorically. Dennis doesn”t like it when any guy comes in here, vampires don’t hold the monopoly, y’know.” Said Cordelia and Angel could read that look in her eye as clearly as if she’d told him herself – no guy, at least not one Dennis was worried about, had walked through her door in a long time…
“So when can I meet this Dennis guy?” He asked, trying to disguise the note of curiosity in his voice and failing miserably.
“Let”s see, today’s Thursday,” Cordelia mused, “So how about… Never?”
“Never?”
“Well it’s not that I don’t want you to meet him,” she explained, “It’s just… He”s kinda dead.”
This time, it was Angel”s turn to look puzzled. Dennis, her roommate, didn’t like any guys coming into her apartment. Dennis, her roommate, was also – apparently – dead. “Huh?”
“He”s a ghost.” Cordelia smiled, “Sorta came with the apartment… Best damn roommate I ever had, I can tell you.”
As if on cue, a tray floated from the kitchen, holding two coffee cups, a glass of water and – there in the corner – two tiny white pills. Angel raised his eyebrows but didn’t speak, looking at Cordelia as her cheeks flushed a little. She took the pills from the tray, the glass of water and gestured Angel to do the same with a coffee cup, “If I”d known you were coming I’d have stocked up with blood.” She said, graciously, popping one of the pills into her mouth.
Angel smiled, tightly, “That’s fine, I… Well, I drink coffee. Doesn’t keep me alive but I drink it.”
He fell silent again. She was obviously embarrassed by the fact that Dennis had brought the pills out now, so Angel looked away, around her apartment.
She’d thrown as much of her personality into this room as she could get and rather than looking bright or garish like he suspected it would somewhere else, Angel found that it made the place look peaceful, somewhat – as if the room itself had been painted with Cordelia”s warmth.
When he turned back to her, she had an odd look on her face, the pills having disappeared and the glass of water being replaced by the coffee cup. “Not that I mind, really,” she started cautiously, “But… Why are you here? You”re not evil– At least, I don”t think you are, judging by the fact that I still have my throat in tact, it”s just… Well we’re not exactly friends, are we?”
She had a point. Angel lifted the cup to his mouth, took a drink, and in the moment it took him to form a response, he decided on something. Honesty. “It was just nice to see a familiar face, was all.”
“So you were just in the neighbourhood?” Cordelia pressed, looking strangely touched by his statement.
Angel nodded. “I was uh… Meeting someone.”
“A date someone?”
“Me? Date?” The corners of Angel”s mouth quirked up in a bemused smile, “I don’t date.”
“You dated Buffy,” Cordelia pointed out with a grin, “And excuse me but if I’m not mistaken? Only, like, every girl who saw you had a serious Jones for your manpire self. You could date.”
“Sure,” Angel nodded again, “If the whole not going out in daylight thing wasn’t a problem. And the–“
“Going evil when getting some?”
Angel laughed, “Yeah, that too.”
Cordelia smiled before glancing up, not too discreetly, at the clock on her wall. She was already running late – Angel knew that – her meeting with the stool pigeon that had probably long since left LA in the eight months since Cordelia”s accident had well run its course.
Angel drained the last of his coffee cup and smiled, “I think that”s a cue for me to leave.”
“What?” She turned back to him, flushing a little, apologized accordingly, “Sorry. I just… I kinda have an elsewhere to be tonight.”
“And I ruined your plans by placing myself under your car?”
Cordelia laughed, “No! I mean, well, it wasn’t planned or anything but… I think I’m kinda glad I ran you over.”
“Thanks.” Angel joked, nodding, “Next time I”ll remember to wear a crash helmet when I want to grab your attention.”
She laughed again, punching him in the arm. “You know what I meant.”
“I did,” Angel said and smiled, not able to remember when he”d smiled this much in the space of one night, “And I think I’m kinda glad too.”
She looked away from him then, trying to hide the smile on her face, the flush in her cheeks. “Okay, look,” When she’d composed herself enough to actually string a sentence together, Cordelia turned back to him, “I know you said you don’t date and, really, that”s not what this is but… I”m kind of in charge of organising a birthday party for a friend of mine, tomorrow night and… And maybe you could come?”
Angel looked at her and Cordelia, mistaking his hesitancy for something else, shook her head, “It’s okay. Forget I asked, you probably have things to do and–“
“Cordelia?”
She looked at him, “What?”
“I’d… I’d like that.” He smiled.
Cordelia grinned, “Great! You can be my “This is a friend from Sunnydale, please don’t mistake him as a date” guy. Plus, you’ll stop all the leeches from hitting on me. One wrinkle of that brow and–“
“Cordelia…” Angel growled, playfully.
“Kidding, kidding.” She laughed, picking up the first aid kit and dumping it on the tray along with their cups, “You know where Caritas is?”
“I”ve… Been there once or twice.” He lied, remembering the steely gaze of Lorne, the grim set of his mouth as he’d spoken to the vampire. At least now Angel understood it a little more, understood why the Anagogic demon was so intent on protecting her.
“Okay, meet me inside at say, 7.30,” Cordelia nodded, “Gives me time to pick up Fred and, y’know, make myself beautiful.”
Angel just stopped himself from saying that the latter part shouldn’t take long. Instead, he smiled, nodded and stood up, gathering his duster from the back of her sofa. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Cordelia smiled and walked with him to her door, giving a little wave as he went down her driveway and over to the GTX convertible across the street.
When he got into his car, Angel couldn”t resist a look back, watched as she closed her door behind her and went back into her apartment. This time, he didn’t stick around. He knew that they wouldn’t actually get to the non-date tomorrow night, knew that Cordelia wouldn”t even remember what had happened, wouldn’t remember running him over with her car, or the conversation they”d just had.
She wouldn’t remember any of it – and while that filled Angel with a measure of sadness, he also knew that he’d be back tomorrow night. And the next night, if that was what it took.
One thing was certain, however, Angel thought, lifting his hand to touch his head, if their encounters went much the same as this one had? He was really going to have to start looking into buying that crash helmet…