26: The Main Street Deli, Main Street, Westside Sunnydale
Sitting at a small corner table at the Main Street Deli, Angel watched in fascination as Cordelia slowly consumed her sandwich. Her hands wrapped around the soft bread as she angled it to get just the right bite. Closing down she bit off each delicate mouthful distracting him from everything else. It was not really the food that mesmerized him, but the way she enjoyed it. Maybe the way her teeth ripped into the bread, and her tongue left a wet shine on her pink lips as she licked at a drop of mayonnaise clinging to one corner.
Close to closing time, the workers behind the counter had not been pleased to see them strolling in just after they had cleaned up half of the shop. That did not bother Cordelia. She had ordered the Number Three special: a sandwich that came with a soda and fries. After substituting a bottle of water for the soda, she insisted on freshly cooked fries rather than the limp ones that appeared to have been sitting out for a while. That caused the guy with the pointy white hat to remind her it was almost time to close shop.
“Almost,” she emphasized with pointed stare. “Not quite.”
Grumbling, the young man looked like he was ready to argue, but he took one look at Angel’s scowl and scurried around until he had completed the order to Cordelia’s satisfaction. If he considered it strange that Angel didn’t order anything for himself he did not say anything about it. Not that Angel thought about the man for more than two seconds after he collected his change and followed Cordelia to the table.
Cordelia picked up the ketchup bottle. Upturning it, she dribbled a continuous line of ketchup over the fries until they were covered in a red spiral. “I’m only allowed to eat a few of these,” she told him making Angel wonder why it was forbidden. “You can help me with the rest.”
“Wha— no, Cordy, you know I don’t eat food…like this,” he tagged on in case anyone was listening.
“I feel like a pig sitting here eating while you do nothing, but watch.”
Angel hastily assured her, “I like watching.” Then at the arching of her brows, added for good measure, “Watching you eat.”
“Don’t be a baby about it,” Cordelia picked up a crinkled fry and held it in front of his mouth. “Open up. C’mon, it’s not like it can kill you.”
Angel kept his mouth closed, stubbornly shaking his head. She waved it around in a circle trying to entice him into opening up. “C’mon,” she pleaded with enough of a pout to make him feel guilty, “you used to be Irish. A little potato shouldn’t scare ya. It’s even covered in red stuff.”
Giving in, Angel let her shove the small French fry into his mouth, her ketchup-dabbed finger grazing his lips. Unfamiliar flavors burst across his tongue and the sensation of biting down on solid food brought back memories long since passed. Not as long as Cordelia probably imagined, but long enough that the taste and sensations stirred up desires he thought he had left behind.
“More?” Cordelia asked in surprise as he swallowed the French fry and sent her a silent query as he gazed at her uneaten fries. A soft giggle sounded in her throat. “Okay, Oliver, you can have more.”
Catching the reference, Angel’s scowl was a playful rather than menacing, but he did not make a move toward the plate. After a moment, Cordelia picked up another fry and lifted it to his mouth. He bit off the long end leaving her holding a short stub, her finger and thumb red with ketchup. Then his mouth closed over both digits, his tongue sweeping the fry from between them and lips sliding across her salty, tangy skin.
He watched Cordelia’s eyes go wide and her skin flush with heat. Her hand flew to her lap where she hastily wiped it off on her napkin. “God, Angel,” she scolded him. “What are you trying to do give me vampire cooties?”
Angel ate a couple more fries, but he admitted to himself that they had tasted better when she fed him. Just the subtle hint of her skin had him dragging the tip of his tongue across his lips.
Declaring that she was full, Cordelia pushed the plate away and sat back to watch him brood over the French fries. The Deli guy called out to tell them they had five minutes before closing. “That leaves a couple of hours before we’re supposed to be at Trinity Church. Are you game for something else or was this,” she waved a hand at the food, “enough of an adventure?”
Catching her gaze focused beyond his shoulder, Angel turned around to see the movie marquee across the street. She had to be kidding. Vampires and crowds did not mix.
When he told her so, she let out a little huff of air, “A crowd in that movie? Trust me, it won’t be a problem.”
“Why go, then?”
“Because it’ll be good for you, and besides, you like the dark,” Cordelia reasoned. “You can brood about it without anyone noticing. C’mon, we’ve got five minutes before the previews start.”
Cordelia pushed away from her chair and headed for the door, pausing to gesture impatiently when he failed to follow. Maybe it was the sparkle in her eyes or the stubborn little stomp of her foot against the floor or just the fact that she had somehow managed to creep into his subconscious somehow, but Angel knew that he was going to let her have her way.
She knew how to annoy him better than anyone else; crawling under his skin like an irritant he had to scratch. Still, there was something about her that soothed away the rough edges. He was still muddled about volunteering to train her, but it was needed. And somehow, she had managed to lure him out of the mansion by tempting him with her car.
Smoothly unfolding his length from the small wooden chair, Angel crossed the room to stand beside her. Teasingly, he told her, “Just so you know I’m not buying popcorn.”
“Good thing we’re just friends,” Cordelia nudged his arm. “Otherwise, you might end up with a reputation as a cheap date. A movie’s just not the same without popcorn.”
Somehow, she made it seem so easy between them. Normal. Spending time with Cordy was not any kind of hardship, he had discovered, not by a long shot.
Scene 27
The Wildwoods, Somewhere in Sunnydale
The night slipped around her like a cloak of darkness. Drusilla walked amongst the trees, a light breeze pulling at the diaphanous top layer of her chiffon dress and the long, loose strands of her hair. She moved with the wind, her thin arms positioned as if she would take flight at any moment, her eyes half closed as she followed along wherever it led.
Spike stomped along behind her, defiantly noisy. His boots crunched the ground cover of the woods they were passing through and he talked loudly enough to wake the dead. Silence could easily have been maintained had he wished it, but it was his way of reminding Dru that they could have taken the Desoto instead of walking all the way across town from their temporary digs.
“I’m telling you, luv,” Spike took a drag from his cigarette, let the smoke fill his lungs and tucked his thumb back into his belt loop as he walked. “All you gotta do to find Angelus is wait for him to show up at the mansion.” A grey trail of smoke formed a soft cloud as he exhaled billowing away as he tromped right through it. “After a bit o’ persuasion a couple of blokes I ran into told me he’s staying there again.”
It was like talking to himself, but that had never bothered him. Sooner or later, Dru would say something meaningful in response. He just had to be ready to listen.
“The night winds call to me,” Drusilla never paused in her wayward trail through the trees. Oh, the sounds that filled her ears. Distantly, a newborn’s cry pierced the veil of woodland noises joining the mechanical rumble of an occasional engine from the closest street a block away.
Life buzzed around her in its many forms. The hooting owl up in the tree, crickets musically chirping from the ground and the worms crawling in the earth filled her head in accompaniment to the subtle song of the stars. Their pulsing steady light filtered down through the treetops.
Pausing suddenly, Drusilla cocked her head, listening intently to things that Spike never bothered to notice. He did notice her, however. Constantly aware of Dru’s moods, he sensed her focus shift from whimsical to fearful. She bent low to the ground, her hands skimming above the layer of composting dried leaves and pine needles.
“Soon, soon,” she muttered as Spike leaned down to look over her shoulder. He saw nothing of interest. “Do you feel it?”
Spike admitted, “Don’t feel a bloody thing. What the sod are you on about?”
Rising again, Drusilla turned to him, her long fingers smoothing along one leather sleeve until she clasped his shoulder and pulled herself close. “It gathers itself, a power of the earth, ineluctable destiny.”
Dropping his cigarette butt, Spike put his arms around her. Whatever the hell she was talking about had her scared. That was rare with Drusilla. He had learned long ago that anything that rattled her usually deserved some respect. Caressing the pale moonlight of her cheek, Spike assured her, “Nothing will ever harm you, my beauty.”
The red pout of her lips matched the sadness in her eyes. “You will, my Spike.”
Drusilla pulled out of his arms and ran ahead through the trees leaving Spike to follow her trail. “What’s a vamp to do? He follows his girl all the bleedin’ way to South America, gets dumped in favor of a Chaos demon, and then volunteers to take her back to the Slayer’s hometown because she wants her daddy.”
“Boo bloody hoo,” Spike grumbled even as he followed along. “Let’s get this little family reunion done with. Better yet, let’s just sod the whole idea.” He wondered if there was anyone around town to front him a few kittens. A few hands of poker sounded good right about now.
