Title: Broody Boy Does It Again
Summary: Angel does what he does best and broods. This time it’s Cordelia on his mind.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
I’ve never touched her. Not really. Never felt her silky hair under my fingers. Never explored her mouth with my own. Never seen her eyes flash with desire as I pull her hard against me. Never slid my hands under the clothes she’s wearing to feel the warm softness of her skin.
Never seen her lose herself in passion for me, never heard the sounds she’d make as I tease and please her. And I never will be able to, so I try not to touch her. Try not to torture myself with dreaming. Imagining what I just can’t have is too painful.
So no. I try to keep my distance. I mean I’ve hugged her. Or held her hand but I’ve always been to scared to relax while I’m touching her. Scared that if I don’t get her away from me fast enough I’ll never be able to let her go.
She’s so beautiful, and I’m so old.
Well not old, old man old. Old in a vampire way old. Which I suppose is just as bad.
Worse really. I still have all the feelings and wants, and, God I know I could be better for her than any of those boys she’s been with in the past. Like Xander, or Wilson. Why does she waste her time with those idiots when I, I’d die for her.
Except of course I can’t be any good for her. I’d the worst person in the world for her.
She kissed me once. After Doyle died. And although at the time my feelings for her were just friendship, for a split second I closed my eyes, and let her kiss flood through me, before I realized what was happening and pushed her away.
Some nights when I can’t *not* think about it anymore I remember it all. From the moment she appeared in the office door, walked over to me and gently but firmly wrapped her arms around me and reached up to kiss me.
People kill me sometimes they really do. Talking about how they were just too different to make it work. They should try living in my world for a day.
I don’t know why I’m brooding about this I really don’t. Force of habit I suppose. Cordelia would never be interested anyway. And if the lady isn’t interested this is all academic anyway. I . . . .No. I might as well be honest. With myself if not anyone else.
I think she is. Interested that is. I mean I’m not sure. But sometimes when I treat myself and allow my gaze to fall on her, maybe a little longer than it should I catch her glancing at me from under her lashes.
And sometimes when we stand close together I can hear her breath catch.
And when she flings her arms around me I can sense her holding on for that extra beat. I can sense her inhaling deeply as though she’s trying to store my scent in her senses.
And when I’m injured it’s worth it. Would be worth it if it was a thousand times worse. The way she lets her hand rest on my chest. The concern in her eyes. The tenderness in her usually less than gentle voice.
O.K. So breathing and glances. That’s what I’ve got. Sometimes I wonder if the gypsies arranged this too. Just an extra twist in the torture of Angel.
But I know that’s ungrateful. If anything she’s a gift. She’s my best friend. I can tell her anything. Well except how I feel about her. She makes me laugh. Well as close as I can get anyway. She makes me feel. Yeah sometimes bad, but good as well. Dragging me out of that dead, numb place I was in after Sunnydale, before she came along.
And maybe it’s for the best. By not doing anything about this I get to have a friend. Something of a rarity for me. I get to keep her in my life.
So who am I to complain?
Oops. The lady herself. She perches herself on the corner of my desk. She’s wearing a short black skirt with a red top. I love her in red.
“Brooding? Again? What did you like invest in it or something and you’re determined to get your moneys worth? It must be such a bind for you when you have to go out on a case and take time out from sitting here alone, how do you cope?”
As always I’m caught between exasperation and amusement. She really doesn’t know what tact is. Then again I have to admit after talking to Cordelia tactful people just seem, well kind of bland.
Sometimes when she’s in the midst of a typically tactless speech I flash to my favorite scene from ‘Much Ado about Nothing’, when Bernard says to Beatrice; ‘Peace, I will stop your mouth,’ and kisses her deeply. Not that I’d ever try it with Cordelia.
I wonder if it would work . . .?
“So was there something you wanted?”
“Yeah, you have to sign this.” She handed me the bit of paper she’d been waving since she came in, and I signed it as her bare legs swung less than an inch from my hand. It was shaking the desk. That’s why my signature was wobbly.
“Thanks.” She swung herself off the desk and headed to the door. And idiot that I am I can’t help but let my eyes linger on the graceful way she walks, her skirt swinging around her legs. There! Just then! As she went out the door she gave me one of those under-the- lashes looks!
Oh damn it.
Nothings changed. If I didn’t have feelings for Cordelia, then maybe I could grab her before she got out the door, throw her on this desk, and really imprint my signature on her body. But I do. So we let our glances slide away from each other.
And she walks out the door.
You see it would be easier if I didn’t have feelings for her. The chances of finding perfect happiness while having sex with someone you don’t . . .care about are slim. But then if you don’t care about them, it’s not worth the risk. But then if you do care about them the risk is too high, and did I mention that sometimes I really hate gypsies?
So where does Buffy fit into all this? I guess she doesn’t. God I loved her. When I left I felt as though everything in me had been torn out. Given the choice I’d never have left. But I had to give her a chance at a life she deserves. So I left, our worlds changed, and we grew apart.
We’ve both moved on and have seperate lives, work for different things now. And Cordelia grew closer. That’s all really. And Cordelia has given, is giving me something Buffy couldn’t, cos we were all caught up in the intensity.
It still hasn’t stopped me getting into the same mess though. She’s a blossoming young girl. I can’t offer her even the most transitory of pleasures.
The shivers run down my spine as I remember how close I came to harming her when Rebecca drugged me and Angelus came out to play. I hated her so much. For making me feel like a person. A friend. I wanted to fuck her brains out. And then rip her throat out.
Maybe I should send her away, but she’s my link. She has nowhere to go, and who am I kidding? Everything in me howls at the thought of her going away. I can’t do this without her. I’m not even sure I want to.
So I sit and think. As long as we maintain this balance we should be O.K.
Who am I to complain . . . .?