Part 7: The Test
Angel’s eyes snapped open. He could see clouds scudding over the night sky. His limbs buzzed and twitched. He felt warm, like he’d fed recently, and the tang of blood in his mouth told him it was true. Human blood. Cara’s blood — he could taste her essence in it. He sat bolt upright. Oh God, what had he done?
“Hey.” Cordelia leaned her elbows against the top of the rear passenger door. “I’m glad you’re awake. No way am I strong enough to carry you inside.”
He looked around. They were parked outside her apartment building. “What happened?” He tasted the inside of his mouth again with growing terror, shifting in the seat, agitated.
“You don’t remember?” she said, raising her eyebrows. He shook his head, puzzled and disoriented. Why wasn’t Cordy angry, or frightened? Surely she had seen him…
Reaching up with trembling fingers, he touched the corner of his mouth. They came away smeared with congealed blood. “Cara,” he gasped. “I killed her?”
“Don’t get all amateur dramatic society on me. Cara’s fine. Wes and Gunn are with her at the hospital.” Cordelia rolled her eyes, but her voice was soft and reassuring.
“But I fed from her.”
“Don’t worry, you didn’t get past the appetizer,” she said.
The car felt like it spun for a moment, and he didn’t care what or who had stopped him. Just that he hadn’t killed anyone. And that Cordy was still talking to him, which was a miracle after what she’d seen him do. Cara, however…
“I — I should go, apologise to her.” He started struggling to get the door open, frantic. His hands shook and he fumbled the lock.
“I don’t think she wants to see you right now. Or anytime, well — ever,” she said, holding out her hand. “Come on, you look like hell.”
They made their way inside in silence. “Dennis, hot bath please?” she called, tossing the car keys onto the mantelpiece. The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom.
“Why are we here?” Angel stood in the middle of the room, shuffling his feet, wishing he could get over the adrenaline-like rush that came from drinking human blood. It disgusted him that it felt so good. If only he could stop the trembling…
“I don’t know,” Cordelia said, shrugging. “After Wes and Gunn threw you in the back seat, I just started driving, and here we are. I didn’t want to go back to the hotel.”
He sat down on the sofa, and rubbed his face restlessly. “What happened?”
“It’s my fault.” She sat beside him, close enough so her arm was pressed against his. “I wiped Cara’s blood all over you.” She held out her hands, still tainted with the offending substance, although it looked like she’d tried to wash them.
“She never touched me?” he said, looking up into her face.
“Well, some of her did,” she sighed, flexing her stained fingers. “I’m sorry.”
She blamed herself. How was it that every time he tried to protect her, he seemed to end up hurting her? He reached out and touched the side of her face gently. “It wasn’t your fault. You’re the only thing that’s kept me sane these last couple of days.”
“You weren’t going mad, Angel. It was part of the prophecy,” she said.
He shook his head, not understanding. “How?”
“The prophecy didn’t mean you had to sleep with her — it meant you had to feed from her. Wesley finally worked it out. Kinda after the fact, unfortunately.”
He frowned. “So — the hallucinations?”
“Would you have bitten her willingly?” she asked.
Of course not. He would never have fed from Cara, not without a one-hundred-percent guarantee that it was the right thing to do. Even then he couldn’t have been sure he’d stop drinking in time. And he wouldn’t have risked killing her. “You’re sure that was it? That it worked?”
“Well, there was a big explosion. And in the ambulance after, Wesley looked at Cara’s birthmark, and it was gone. Not even a hole where you…” She made a biting motion. “I’d say that all adds up to a great big ‘duh’,” she said, her face softening into a smile. “You’re not crazy, Angel, you never were. Everything you were feeling was put there by someone — or something.”
“Not everything,” he murmured, cupping her cheek. He leaned in for a kiss, and she shrank away, her face screwing up. Of course, she wouldn’t want him now, not after what he’d done. He hung his head. So close, and yet…
“No, Angel, I’m sorry.” Cordelia took his hand. “I would, but right now there’s a really sick twist on ‘you’ve got something in your teeth’ that’s grossing me out. You wash up, then perhaps after, there could be — kissage.”
She got up and went to the linen closet, getting towels and washcloths, while he watched her from the sofa.
That’s when the relief hit, surging through him, combining with the blood-rush and forcing him to his feet. He’d been to the very brink, the precipice of total darkness, and this time his friends were there to pull him back. Cordelia had been right. Letting them in had saved him. Without them, he would have run from this, Cara would probably be dead, and he’d be alone again.
Last time he’d totally blown it, driven them away. This time, he still had his crew, his soul, and most amazing of all, Cordy still seemed to be considering whatever they had between them.
Pacing, he rubbed a hand over the back of his aching neck, feeling the powdery dried blood coming away beneath his fingers. He could smell it, sharp with iron, and dizziness made him lean on the edge of the sofa, leaving red-brown fingerprints on the upholstery.
Images crammed into his mind, jumbled, yet vivid. The fighting, Cara’s thigh, quivering beneath his watering mouth, the blue light that filled his being, the sound of the crossbow firing, and finally, one endless moment where he heard Cordelia’s anguished voice. ‘Gunn, wait!’ It rang over and over in his head.
He was on the floor, on his knees, gasping. “Cordy!”
“What?” She came running from the bathroom.
“Get this stuff off me,” he said, his voice desperate and breaking. “Please.”
“Okay, it’s okay.” She reached down and took his arms, pulling him up. “Come on.” The look on her face spoke so clearly of the hurt she felt, seeing him like that. He stumbled and lurched, grateful when she wound both arms around his waist and guided him to the bathroom.
He tried in vain to undo his shirt, shaking fingers refusing to obey, and then he felt her tugging at his duster, pulling it down over his arms, and he just gave up, letting her undress him as he leaned against the vanity.
She continued, business-like, unlacing boots, peeling off socks, unbuttoning his pants and easing them down. He stepped out of them and stood before her, naked now apart from his boxers.
Cordelia had seen him like this a thousand times before, yet he felt nervous, his throat dry. She was standing back, waiting to see if he would go that last step by himself. He took the moment to turn away and rinse his mouth out in the sink, erasing the taste of Cara from his tongue.
Leaning on the counter top, he felt her hands on his waist, small and warm, just the lightest of touches, and then her thumbs slipping into the waistband of his boxers.
“You ready?” she asked, her voice husky. He nodded, and she slipped them down, letting him kick them away. He turned back to face her, trembling, afraid if he spoke it would break the spell, and she’d laugh, or make a joke, or worse, shove his clothes back at him and leave.
As soon as his eyes met hers, he knew his fears were groundless. Her face was flushed, a picture of desire. She smiled, not the big flashbulb-going-off that she normally used, just the faintest upward turn at the corners of her lips.
Taking his arm firmly, she guided him to the tub. He sank through the perfumed foam with a short sigh. The dried blood — his own and Cara’s, dissolved and curled away in little eddies as he moved his arms, reaching for the sponge. His fingers were still shaking. He fumbled and dropped it.
“Here, let me.” Cordelia leaned in and retrieved the sponge, squeezing body wash onto it. She drew it over his chest, under his silver pendant. With firm movements she soaped his shoulders, then ran the sponge up behind his neck, making sure she removed all traces of blood. It felt so good. He closed his eyes, sighing.
Leaning forward, he let her work the soap over his back. “Ouch,” he winced, feeling the sharp sting as she scrubbed over what felt like a deep puncture wound. “What was that?”
“Sorry, sorry.” She grimaced. “Uh, Gunn shot you. Don’t be mad.”
“No, he did the right thing,” he said, taking a deep, unnecessary breath. They’d tried to kill him, just like he’d asked them to in the car, while Cordy slept. He’d always wondered — if it came down to the crunch — if he could truly rely on them to respect his wishes. Now he knew.
Her eyes were moist. “It was really hard, Angel,” she whispered. “I had to step back and let him fire.”
He nodded. “I’m so proud of you, Cordy.” The words felt inadequate. Reaching up, he slid his hand behind her neck, pulling her face to his. He kissed her softly, delighting when she responded in kind, sighing into his mouth, and leaning into him, her hands pressing against his chest. She slipped her arms around him, fingers playing against his back as he tipped his head to the other side and kissed her again, deeper, harder.
He could hear her heartbeat accelerate, feel the heat coming from her flushed face. He sensed her want — arousal so keen it almost jumped out and bit him. He wasn’t going to make it. He couldn’t just sit there while she kissed him like that, when all he really wanted to do was drag her, fully clothed, into the water, press her against the floor of the tub, and …
“Ow,” she winced, breaking away, her hand suddenly going to her side.
“You’re hurt,” he said. The memory of her blood on the demon’s talons emerged from the mental fog.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.”
“I’m okay, Angel, really,” she protested, as he reached up and grasped her shoulders.
“Turn around,” he insisted, twisting her carefully away from him. His hands made wet prints on her top as she gave up, facing the wall while he lifted her clothing. The scent of her blood wafted out as he tried to peel away the fabric. He removed his hand from her shirt, not wanting to hurt her. “You should have shown this to someone.”
“I didn’t feel it, truly. I guess I had other things on my mind,” she said, shrugging. She looked down at herself and laughed. Grass stains, blood, ripped clothes. “Look at me, I’m a mess.”
“Hadn’t noticed,” he fibbed. She was still the most beautiful woman in the world, regardless. He couldn’t stop a huge smile spreading across his face.
“Well, I feel gross.” She stood, and for one awful second he thought she was going to leave. But, to his amazement, she began kicking off her shoes instead. She looked down at him, eyes shining. In them, he could see fear, affection, confusion, desire and pain, jumbled together in a look that simultaneously broke and mended his heart.
Never breaking their gaze, she began to remove her clothes, tugging the shirt away from the wound on her side, grimacing, but not stopping. He smelled her fresh blood, and it only served to arouse him more.
Within a minute, she was standing naked beside the tub. Her skin puckered into goosebumps, although the room was warm and steamy. He could not tear his eyes away — she was so beautiful, and she was — his. All his. A naked goddess, allowing him to see her in her full glory for the first time.
And then Cordelia stepped into the bath, one long, beautiful leg at a time. She turned her back on Angel, sinking into the water between his legs, and lay back against his chest. He looked down her body, taking in her tanned breasts, and the flat expanse of her stomach angling into the water.
“Oh, Cordy,” he whispered, slipping his arms around her, bringing his hands up to cup both breasts, feeling their weight, the nipples pressing like hard little buttons on his palms. He brought his face down to her neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive spot just below her ear.
She sighed and wriggled in his arms, pressing further back against him. He longed for one more inch of skin against skin, but it was too soon. He let go, smiling at the little noise of protest that escaped from her throat.
Retrieving the sponge, he dabbed at the slash on her side. For a moment, Buffy floated into his mind, damp and shivering, the cut on her back rough beneath his fingers. If only he’d known then how fragile his soul was. The fear of losing it again was still so strong. What if…?
“Angel?” Cordelia’s voice brought him back.
“It’s all right, just a shallow scratch. You’ll be fine,” he said quietly.
Angel returned his attention to the sponge, brushing it over the back of her neck, down between her shoulder blades, sneaking around under her arms. He flicked the rough foam on the underside of her breasts, making her gasp and arch upwards. His other hand flattened over her stomach, pressing lightly, sliding lower, and disappearing beneath the bubbles.
Her eyes flew open wide as his fingers slid between her legs. He began to stroke and tease, threatening to enter her, but drawing back at the last moment. She threw her head back against his shoulder with a low moan, and his lips closed over hers, his tongue flicking gently, and then taking possession.
With a splash she turned over, causing a small wave of water to slosh over the side of the bath. “I want you, I want you,” she whispered, her lips against his.
Angel swallowed hard as her breasts pressed against his chest. He brought his knees up, cocooning her, keeping her still, while he slid his hands over her perfect, perfect bottom. He squeezed the cheeks gently, cupping them, pulling her pelvis against his hardness.
She reached up and wound her arms around his neck, nipping at his lower lip. With a growl he complied, tasting her warm silky tongue, the kiss deepening, becoming frantic.
She was moaning softly, her hands gripping at his neck, his shoulders, and her stomach rubbed against him. He wanted to claim her right there in the bath, make her his in every way.
“Cordelia,” he growled, turning his head away.
“What?” She looked up at him, breathing hard, her eyes smoky.
“We need to — talk.” He moved one hand to her back, running a finger along the dip of her spine.
“Now?” Her voice was heavy with disbelief.
“Are we doing what I think we’re doing?” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek with his nose and lips.
“Well, duh! I thought you knew all about the birds and the bees.” She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling.
“If the prophecy didn’t work…”
“It did,” she cut him off, planting little, warm kisses along his jaw line.
“Do you have a stake?” he asked quietly, struggling to keep his train of thought.
She stopped abruptly, kneeling back, looking at him with wide, sad eyes. “Yes,” she said. “But…”
“If I turn, there’ll be a minute or two where I’m weak, in pain, disoriented. You have to do it then.” He leaned forward, cupping her face in his hands as her eyes filled with tears.
“No, Angel.” She bit her lip. “I’ve already had to face losing you once tonight, and now you’re asking me to do it again? I can’t.”
He pushed her hair back from her damp face. “You were very brave, and you know it was the right thing to do. I need you to be brave for me again.”
“I wasn’t brave, I was so scared,” she said, the words rushing out. “I was going to lose you, just when I…” She put her hand over her mouth, suppressing a sob.
For a second she was silent, and then she took a deep breath. “The prophecy worked. I saw it. I saw her leg, the mark was gone. But if you think it didn’t work…”
“No, I think it worked,” he said, and he felt in his unbeating heart that it was true. “I’m sure it worked. I just want to cover all the bases. Which means you have to promise me — just in case. I don’t want to hurt you, ever again.”
“I promise,” she whispered.
Those two small words set him free. Free to finally feel the happiness she brought to him, free to love her with every fiber of his being, free to totally let go and share everything with her.