Chapter 24
Angel stood in the hall, trying to figure out what was going on with Cordelia, but he couldn’t quite get past the split-second image granted to him of Cordelia’s blurred form behind the shower curtain.
He stared at the mahogany door as if he could see through it. He still couldn’t figure out why she had been wearing his clothes.
His thoughts came to an abrupt stop as a high-pitched scream came from the bathroom.
“Cordy!” Angel reached for the door, opening it wide.
His eyes traveled from her boots, to her black form-fitting pants, up to her shiny dark gold blouse, its black snaps snug over her breast. He didn’t see any evidence of an injury. His eyes rose further. Cordelia’s face was bright red and her eyes were flashing. Angel had never seen her so … mad?
“What is it?”
She gulped, jabbing the hair dryer in her hand at the medicine cabinet over the sink.
Angel didn’t understand. There wasn’t anything on the shelves that could make her angry. The only things that were in it were toothpaste, hair gel, and bandages…actually the bandages were now strewn in the basin of the sink. “Cordy?”
She kept pointing to the cabinet, only this time she stamped her foot.
“Cordy, did something scare you? Sometimes the pipes make —“
Cordelia took a deep breath. “Where’s the mirror?”
“Um, there isn’t one.”
“I can see that. Where is it?”
“There …”
“Arggh.” She grabbed at a small cosmetic bag and pushed past him. “Damn, vampires,” she mumbled as she ran down the stairs.
Angel hurried after her.
“Cordy?”
She was in the living room rummaging through her purse.
“Here, hold this up.” She shoved an open compact in his hand. “Right there.” She yanked up his hand and the mirror. “Keep it still.” She ordered. “Now, hold this.” She pushed her open bag of cosmetics in his other hand.
“Cordy?” Angel’s gaze jerked from the objects thrust into his hands up to her face.
Cordelia didn’t bother to look up as she tossed the mascara into the small bag, exchanging it for a tube of lipstick. “What?” Her eyes went straight back to the small mirror as her fingers expertly twisted the tube and proceeded to paint her lips a muted bronze.
“Why are you rushing?”
Cordelia pursed her lipstick-coated lips once more at small mirror. “School. It’s…” she looked at her watch. “Crap. Mr. Lambert is going to kill me.” She reached in her purse again.
“Hey, keep it up.” She shoved his hand and mirror back up as she scrunched up her wet hair into a clip. “Okay, where are my keys?” She plucked the compact from Angel and dropped it and her lipstick in her purse. She grabbed the cosmetic bag, zipping it up and then tossing it on the couch.
“Keys, Angel.” She finally raised her eyes to his. “I’m already two hours late. I’m not planning on being in detention for the rest of my life.” She held out her hand and snapped her fingers.
“Don’t you want breakfast?” Angel rocked on his heels, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his black pants.
“No. I want my keys.” She looked around grabbing at her jean jacket and the soap opera magazine.
“But…”
“Damn’t Angel. I need my keys.” She stared back at Angel. “Keys.”
Angel frowned, pulling them out of his pocket.
Cordelia snatched them out of his hand. “Thanks.” She turned and ran out.
***
Angel slowly went back up the stairs. In his two hundred plus years, he had never experienced a tornado until then. He paused at the doorway of the bathroom. Cordelia even left a wake of destruction in her path.
He hung her discarded towel on the back of the door and re-packed the clothes she had strewn around. Then he picked up the clothes that she had slept in, and took them and Cordelia’s suitcase into the bedroom.
Angel automatically started to make the bed. His hand’s efficient movements slowed to a caress. The sheets were still warm. His body half leaned, half crawled onto the mattress. He lay on his back, his head on the pillow, his hand clutching the other in his arms. Slowly his body relaxed and sank into sleep.
***
Angel jerked awake, his hands still clutched around the pillow. It was the same dream he had before. Again he couldn’t recall its contents, all he could do was taste the lingering flavor of flowers and spice. He breathed into the pillow. It was the same scent. He buried his face further into the fragrance as a raw ache swept through his body.
He groaned, leaning up on his elbows, the ache had settled into a throbbing erection that tented his pants.
Angel rolled off the bed, the pillow still grasped in his arm. He awkwardly staggered to the bathroom, tugging at his clothes.
The pillow blocked his actions so he threw it down, then stripped off his clothes, and dropped them to the floor. He adjusted the water as cold as it would go, then stepped into he shower, letting the freezing water spray wash over him.
He rubbed at his face. The water wasn’t curing his ache. It throbbed in his loins causing his penis to bob upwards and the veins etched in the skin to pulse. His hand skimmed his chest moving lower towards his erection.
His hands descent stalled and changed direction. He tilted his head at the showerhead and squinted at the colorful duck swinging from it. He half-expected the eyes of the duck’s face to blink back. He reached up, turning it back and forth. It had the face and feet of a rubber duck, but the middle was fluffy orange netting.
Angel lifted it from its hook. It was light in his palm, gaining weight as it captured the water. He brought it up to his face. It was all Cordelia and soap- sweet, fresh, fruity soap. That wasn’t his soap. Then he noticed a clear bottle with apricots and peaches stenciled on it nestled among the other unknown bottles that were shoved on the black and white tiled ledge. He picked it and tested its scent. He looked back at the duck. At least now he knew what it was for.
He tentatively squeezed some soap on the net, watching it gel. He tested an area on his arm. He frowned. He couldn’t tell whether the liquid soap or the net caused the abundance of lather. He shrugged, moving the duck over his chest.
He closed his eyes as the thick lather moved over him, just like he imagined that it had over Cordelia. The duck in her hand, spreading lather in circles over her breast pausing to cup the compliant flesh. Her hand would then glide in wide strokes down to her belly, reaching further down, tracing the firm muscles of her thigh down to the smooth curve of her calf. Her hand would travel back up the other leg, stopping when it reached the apex of her thighs, the duck pressing into her center. He eased up the pressure of his hand. Cordelia wouldn’t be so hard, gentler, perhaps teasing even.
He gasped, dropping to his knees as the pressure that had been with him since he left the bed shot of out of him and washed down the drain. He looked down at the orange duck and his fist both still gripping his relieved penis.
Angel stood, rinsing the duck off and hanging it back up. He felt better. The ache had disappeared, leaving his body calm.
He rinsed off before getting out then reached for the towel hanging on the door and wrapped it around his waist. Angel frowned as he placed the loose bandages back on the shelf of the medicine cabinet. The image of Cordelia’s leg grasped in his hands took over his thoughts. He should’ve checked the injury before she left.
His frown deepened as he looked back up at the medicine cabinet. She really shouldn’t be mad at him for the lack of a mirror. It hadn’t been there when he moved in.
He reached down and scooped up his clothes and the pillow, taking them to his bedroom.
He pulled another pair of black pants out of the closet then headed down hallway, passing the room he had slept in, going further to where another bathroom was.
He grabbed the long mirror on the door, ripping it from the wood. He carried it back to his room, proudly placing it up against the closet door. Now, there was no way she could be mad. He turned to the neatly folded sweater, t-shirt, and sweats that he had placed on the chair. He grabbed the sweater and shirt and finished getting dressed.
Angel turned and looked at the clock. 12:30 p.m. Three hours more until school was over. He wandered down the stairs. He rubbed at his chest, pushing the fabric of the sweater and t-shirt Cordelia had worn earlier closer to his skin.
Angel pulled out the drawer hidden in the base of the small end table and reached for his sketchpad. He stared at his previous attempts to capture Cordelia then picked up his pencil and started to make corrections.
Angel closed the sketchbook. He still wasn’t satisfied. He groaned and stretched his neck, looking back up the clock. 1:00. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relieve the tension that was building back up.
He looked around the room. Even with the early afternoon sun fighting through the curtains the room was dark. Angel went back into the kitchen to the bags that held the light bulbs.
He carried all of them into the living room, matching the bulbs to the empty fixtures. He looked at the lone package in his hand. It held a blue large bulb. After reading the instructions, he went outside, his body hugging the shadows, and screwed the bulb into the fixture by the front door.
Angel strode back into the living room. 1:20. He headed to the kitchen, going straight for the refrigerator. There he pulled out a carton of blood and drank.
He drained the carton and tossed it into the trash. Eating reminded him that Cordelia left without breakfast. He should’ve made her eat something before she went to school. She had to be hungry.
He went to the cupboard and pulled out the bread and peanut butter.
When he finished, Angel wrapped the sandwich in several paper towels, and put it in the pocket of his leather coat.
He took the side door off the living room, following the shaded path of the atrium, until he reached the heavy brush. He ducked under the almost invisible arch within the mass of wisteria and exited into one of the many tunnels under the town.
Chapter 25
Cordelia ignored the sounds of the grunts, yells, and catcalls that echoed in the gym. She was just glad that she wasn’t out there getting all sweaty playing volleyball. She shifted a bit, trying to get more comfortable in her bleacher seat and buried her head in the Soap Opera Digest.
She didn’t get it. She’d found the section on Port Charles, but nothing on Ryan Chamberlian.
She was tempted to just chuck the magazine. She may have to go with her first idea.
“Cordy.”
Cordelia glanced to each side, looking for the origins of the low voice. She frowned. It sounded like Angel but where the hell was he?
“Cordelia.”
Cordelia looked down between the slats of the bleachers. “Angel?”
“Hi.”
Cordelia scrunched up her face at Angel’s upside-down one then sat back up before, grabbing her purse and hurrying to the gym floor.
“Cordelia.” A loud voice bounced off the walls of the gym.
She turned to her teacher.
“Where are you going?”
“Locker room.”
“The period is not over.”
“Yeah, well, I need some ‘girl’ time.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” She ignored the snickers and the bright red blush on the male teacher’s face and rushed to the open side of the bleachers. “In here,” she gestured, not waiting for Angel to follow her into the girl’s locker room.
“What are you doing here?” Cordelia asked.
“You didn’t eat breakfast.”
“Okay. You have stock in Fruit Loops and are pissed?”
“Here.” He pulled out the sandwich.
Cordelia eyed the paper package suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Peanut butter sandwich.”
“Huh?” She stepped back, fumbling with her purse and magazine, stopping only when the back of her leg hit a bench.
Angel stepped with her holding the sandwich out. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“No, yeah, I guess …”‘ She snatched the paper-wrapped package from his hands and unwrapped it as she sat down. Her eyes widened. It was a sandwich.
“I already had lunch period,” she said, still staring at the sandwich.
“Oh, you’re not hungry?” He reached for it.
Cordelia yanked it back. “I didn’t eat, I had to stay after in Mr. Lambert’s class to make up the part of the lecture I missed.” She licked her lips at the peanutty smell. She took a bite. “Hmmmomp.” She smiled, happily licking the peanut butter from her lips.
“What?”
“Mmhupm,” she said, smacking some more, then swallowing.
“Need something to drink,” she said finally.
“Wait here.” Angel said, leaving quickly.
“Angel?” She shrugged and took another bite. Wow. Angel made great peanut butter sandwiches. She could barely taste the bread. It was gooey peanutty goodness.
“Here.” Angel handed her a soda.
Cordelia shook her head, waving the Coke away.
“What’s wrong?”
She swallowed. “Do you know how many calories that has? Diet Coke, Geez.” She took another bite of the sandwich.
Angel frowned and left again.
Cordelia licked her lips, savoring each bite. She had been really hungry.
“This?”
Cordelia nodded and grabbed at the silver and red can. She popped it open. She smiled as the carbonation fizzed through the gooey peanut butter that was still stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“Wow.” She smiled. She scrunched her brow at Angel. “Why are you here?”
“Lunch?” He pointed to her sandwich.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You aren’t here on some Buffy emergency? Is the world going to end or something?”
“Yes, the Apocalypse is happening. I just thought you might want a sandwich before the world ended.”
She put the sandwich on her lap, raising her finger to him. “You’re making fun of me again.” She glared.
“You’re being stupid again,” he said.
“Hmmph.” She scooted back, bringing her legs up to a cross-legged position, taking another bite of her sandwich.
Angel took advantage of the space on the end of the bench and sat down. “Does your leg still hurt? Let me see it.” His hand brushed at her pant-covered thigh.
“What? No.” She scooted back. “It’s fine. I just put a little bandage on it.”
“Oh.” Angel frowned, his hand slowing retreating to his lap. “Then why aren’t you playing volleyball?”
“Hmm?” she licked her lips and took another swallow of her soda. “Oh, no clothes.”
“Excuse me?”
“My gym clothes are stuck in my locker, which seems to be as broken as my other one. Only, while that one,” she jabbed up to the ceiling, “won’t close, this one,” she jerked her head over her shoulder towards a long row of metal lockers, “won’t open.” She shrugged. “I can’t play if I don’t have play clothes.”
“I —” Angel shut his mouth.
Cordelia shrugged. “I don’t care. I’ve got enough PE credits to graduate. Cheerleading counted, so screw volley ball.”
“Oh.”
Cordelia licked her fingers of the last of the peanut butter then looked up. “Thanks, that was really nice. Are you sure you’re a vampire and not a house mom want-to-be?”
“You’re welcome.”
Cordelia reached out to touch his sweater. “This is just like the one I borrowed. Which, I had no choice in doing, because I was cold and you didn’t bring my suitcase up last night, so you can’t be mad because it’s your fault,” she said all in one breath.
Angel shifted on the bench, looking down at her touch. “Is it? I didn’t notice.”
“Probably because you have twenty just like it. Black, black, black and for a little bit of change, off-black.” She drew her hand back. “I guess bright yellow doesn’t blend into the shadows as well, huh.”
“I don’t… have a bright… yellow sweater.” He stuttered.
“I know. No colors of the rainbow in your dresser drawers.” She giggled at the expression of horror that flickered over his face.
“You went through my clothes.”
“I told you —” She pointed.
‘I know, my fault.”
“Right.” She nodded. Cordelia was quiet for a second. “Angel?”
“Yes.”
“This is not helping.” She flashed up the Soap Opera Digest. “I think that there is only one option.”
“Option?”
“To ‘fix’ your evil stalker status.”
“Right, that’s your research.” He pointed to the magazine.
Cordelia shrugged. “Yeah. Miss Twittle is hung up on the soaps. When I told her you were a stalker she was all agreeing, citing a Ryan Chamberlain as an authority. So, I just figured if I read more about what she liked, I’d find something that she would believe. But, I’m not getting it. But, I do have an idea.” She paused.
“And?”
“We stage this shoot-out with the police, once your shot full of bullet holes and declared dead, no more stalker.”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t die.”
“NO.”
“Fine.” She swung her feet to the ground. “I’m just trying to help.”
Chapter 26
The time Angel took to get back to the mansion hadn’t cured him of his doubts or his headache. Cordelia had seemed happy when she knew that he hadn’t been shot. She hugged him. But, now she seemed pretty determined to make up a new scenario that Miss Twittle would be believe and not get her fired.
If Cordelia believed that a shoot-out was the best way, would she even bother to tell him or would he just end up bleeding on a sidewalk?
Angel stopped pacing. He wasn’t going to get shot.
He groaned, sinking down into his armchair then looked up at the clock on the mantle – less than one hour. When she got home, he would sit her down and remind her in no uncertain terms that the whole point of her making up a story was so he wouldn’t get shot. Angel considered going back to the school. He could always have that conversation in the supply closet.
Angel stood and started to pace again. His fists continued to clench and unclench, his gaze alternating from the front door to the clock.
She was late. The sun had already started its descent. Angel’s growl vibrated in his chest. It did not take that long to drive home.
He grabbed his coat and strode out to the atrium and into the tunnels.
Angel stood in the school’s hallway. Cordelia’s scent was everywhere and nowhere. He headed to the heartbeats in the library to find his answers.
He paused outside the door at the sound of familiar voices.
***
“I can’t believe it.” Buffy jumped on the table. “That was ballsy, even for Cordy.”
“She really got detention?” Willow chewed on a strand of hair.
Xander stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants. “She told Mr. Edwards to shut up and stop bothering her, Will. Should have seen his face – it puffed out. I thought he was going to explode.”
“What happened?” Willow sat on the table next to Buffy.
“Mr. Edwards was painfully going on and on about.” Buffy paused and looked at Xander. “What was he talking about…?”
Xander shrugged. “Some book or another. Who listens? Shoot, half the class was asleep, but not Cordy. She just sat up straight and told him to shut up.”
“Yeah. She said that his ‘squeaky’ voice was interrupting her concentration.” Buffy made quotation marks in the air.
“Her concentration of what?”
Buffy turned to her. “That’s the weirdest thing, Willow. She had been talking to Becky Miller about General Hospital.”
“Cordelia was actually talking to Becky?” Willow jerked up. “Becky is more of a loser than me.”
“Me, too,” Xander said with a nod. “And, Becky, I guess, was so flabbergasted that Cordy was actually talking to her, she didn’t even react when Mr. Edwards yelled at her. She just let Cordy drag her off to detention.”
“Wait, Becky got detention too, because of Cordy—?”
“No.” Buffy rested her elbows on her knees. “She just left with her in a daze when Cordelia said they could finish their talk outside Snyder’s office.”
“That was mean, getting Becky in trouble.” Willow crossed her arms.
“Oh.” Xander shook his head. “She’s not in trouble.”
“But…”
Buffy shook her head also. “I don’t know exactly what happened in Snyder’s office, but I saw Becky after school. She said that she didn’t get in trouble- Cordy took all the blame. Becky wasn’t even upset, she was just on cloud nine that Cordy had actually been talking to her.”
“Oh.” Willow’s eyes widened. “What about Cordy?”
“Cordy’s got detention all of next week.” Buffy brushed at her mini-skirt.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Xander said.
“Why?” Willow turned to him.
“She managed to get out of it early today. I saw her rushing out of here ten minutes ago and Snyder looked like he had been sucking on a lemon —.”
“He always looks like that.” Buffy interrupted.
“True. But, he also looked happy to see her go.”
Angel didn’t need to hear anymore. Cordelia was on her way home. He moved quickly. He hadn’t remembered to give her a key to the house and she didn’t know about the side door. Damn. He started running back to the tunnels.