Chapter 29
“I can’t believe it.” Cordelia grabbed her long hair, to keep it from her face as they traveled towards the mansion. “It’s not right.”
“What?” Angel glanced at her.
Cordelia shifted in the passenger seat, her fingers busy knotting her windswept hair into a tight ponytail. “How an hour ago Miss Twittle thought I was intelligent and you were a psycho. Now I’m an idiot and you’re a hero.”
Angel raised a brow. “It was your idea.”
“That’s right. *My* idea.” Cordelia focused the full force of her glare on Angel. “And it was going just fine. But, no. You had to stick your big fat nose in with, ‘Cordy is too stupid to be safe’. Bah.”
Angel shrugged.
Cordelia tucked the tendrils of hair that refused to be tamed behind her ears and then dropped her hand brushing the seat. Her attention suddenly focused on the feel of the leather interior. “Whose car is this?”
“Mine.”
“Yours?” Cordelia turned to stare at his profile. “Yours? As in, you have a car?”
“Yes.”
“This is your car?” She slapped at the upholstery, her voice rising.
“Yes.” Angel frowned at her.
“And you just got it?” Cordelia’s tone dared him to deny it.
“No. I’ve always had it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So, you had this,” Cordelia dragged her hand along the sleek lines of the interior, “while, I was designated driver for the Scoobies. *My* car got dragged into demony messes, rammed through the school and yours was *where*?”
“Um…”
“Yeah. Right. Can’t have Buffy’s boyfriend delegated to driving duty. Geez, I did my duty, Oz and his van did his. You on the other hand,” she shot him a hard glare, “*suck*.”
“I –“
Cordelia held up her hand. “I can’t even talk to you right now.”
“Cordy?”
“Don’t ‘Cordy’ me,” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I had to sit through a lecture ad nauseum about insurance and other nonsense from my dad, and instead it could’ve been you. What’s wrong with your car?”
“Nothing,” Angel said. “It’s in perfect condition.”
“I can’t believe it.” Cordelia rolled her eyes at Angel’s offended tone. “I was stuck being chauffer-girl when you had this all along.”
“Remember that while you were chauffer-girl, I was fighting,” Angel retorted.
Cordelia faced him. “Big deal. Drive in, jump out, fight, and then give everyone a ride home. You could’ve done it. Why me?”
“It had nothing to do with you. This is a classic.” Angel waved his hand around. “I wasn’t going to let some demon damage it.”
“Oh, but it’s okay for my car?”
“Yours is foreign. This,” he caressed the dashboard, “is real American. It’s a 1967 Plymouth.”
Cordelia studied him for a moment and then turned, her makeshift ponytail snapping in the air. “I think I hate you.”
“Cordy?”
“Talk to the hand.” She said, flinging up her hand.
“Cordy–“
” -To the hand, Angel.” Cordelia pressed her palm closer to his face.
Angel slapped it down. “That’s annoying.”
“You’re annoying.” She crossed her arms against her chest and decided to ignore him.
Chapter 30
Angel kept glancing at the fuming young woman next to him. He still wasn’t sure why she was so mad. She had to see the merits of his reasoning regarding not using the Plymouth.
Still, he wasn’t going to let her unreasonableness distract him. “Cordelia, from now on you will *not* disappear from me. You should’ve told me that you were meeting Miss Twittle.”
“It was last minute.” She huffed. “Becky explained in English class that the reason I couldn’t find Ryan in Port Charles was because he killed himself years ago on General Hospital. He was Kevin’s evil twin –” Cordelia stopped and glared. “Why am I explaining this to you? *So what* that I didn’t tell you.”
“So what? So, you could’ve been in danger,” Angel said, glancing at her.
“Danger?” She turned to meet his stare. “Ooh, Starbucks- scary. Gotta watch out for that killer cappuccino.”
Angel clenched his hands around the big steering wheel. “You should’ve called. I was worried.”
“So you came looking for me?” she asked, gaping. “You’re as nutty as Miss Twittle. Damien — was a figment of my imagination. You don’t really have an evil twin that’s stalking me. *And* I don’t have to tell you where I’m going.”
“While you’re under my roof, you *do* have to tell me where you’re going.”
Cordelia clenched her jaw. “No I don’t. And, as for being under your roof- I don’t have to do that either,” she said more loudly. “There are other motels — without Bruno’s.”
Angel faced her, jaw clenched. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
Cordelia looked away, shuddering. “Am, too,” she muttered, wrapping her arms even tighter around her body.
Angel watched her out the corner of his eye. “Cordy, if you leave now or go around town alone, especially at night, Miss Twittle will get suspicious– I’m just thinking about your job,” he said in as reasonable a tone as he could muster.
“My job?” Cordelia turned towards him.
“Yeah, your job — the one that you don’t want to get fired from. How do you think she’ll react if she finds out that you’ve been lying to her?” His brows rose.
“You’d-…” She blinked at him.
“I’m not going to tell,” he quickly reassured her. “I lied, too. We’re in this together, Cordy. But, if she hears that…” Angel trailed off, shrugging.
Cordelia slumped down in her seat, pressing her palms to her forehead. “I should’ve gone with my first idea.”
Chapter 31
Angel pulled into the stables. Cordelia got out and started toward the house, her back stiff, her mouth clamped tightly shut. Obviously she wasn’t talking to him again. He hurried after her.
When he got to the atrium, he stopped. Cordelia stood in the middle, gazing at the garden. He frowned for a brief moment, picturing another brunette twirling around on the stone pathway, surrounded by the jumble of blooming flowers. Cordelia wasn’t spinning in circles or babbling, but her expression of appreciation for the moonlit garden was the same.
“Cordy?”
“This is beautiful.” Her fingers lifted a dangling purple wisteria bloom and blew on the delicate petals. She closed her eyes as she took in a deep breath. “Hmm.” She smiled at Angel. “Why would they leave?”
Angel gulped. Flashes of Drusilla and Spike flooded his mind. “Who?”
“The people that planted all this,” she said, swinging her hand around. “Ooh, I love daffodils. They’re so bright and cheerful. They’re so brave – it’s still chilly out, yet they know spring is almost here so they bloom not caring about the rules.” She bent down and fingered the delicate yellow petals, bringing them up to her face. “Not my color though, too bright. I’m an autumn, maybe a winter, but earth tones are a definite – see, bronze a good color.” She stood and pointed to her shirt. “Only goes to prove that they were killed by the Hellmouth. It’s the only explanation.”
“That you look good in bronze?” Angel was completely confused. But one thing he was sure was that she wasn’t talking about Dru or Spike.
“The people that used to live here.” She fisted her hands on her hips.
Angel could hear the silent, though still loud, Duh in her expression. He didn’t mind. He was just glad that her angry glare had disappeared. Angel slid closer, placing his hand on the small of her back, propelling Cordy in the direction of the side door. “Actually, you’re wrong.”
Cordelia dug in her heels. “Bronze does too look great on me,” she said, turning and pointing to her shirt. “Well, if it wasn’t so dark out here, you could tell,” she said.
The corners of Angel’s mouth twitched. Cordelia didn’t know much about vampires if she believed he couldn’t tell. He could see everything clearly, more clearly than humans in the day.
The dark-gold sheen of the blouse enhanced the radiance of her skin, the richness of her hair, and drew out the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. She was the embodiment of glowing embers, crackling with promise. He felt the sudden urge to warm his hands in her.
His eyes narrowed on the bronze blouse again and the hard nubs that pressed against the fabric. Was it arousal? Did she feel the heat that he felt?
Then Cordelia shivered and wrapped her arms around her body and whined. “I’m cold.”
Where’s your jean jacket?” He said, not knowing why he was disappointed but only knowing that he was.
“In my car, which I don’t have,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.
“You’re wrong, and not about the color of your shirt. You’re right about that.” He said, again, pushing her closer to the side door of the mansion.
“Huh?” Cordelia twisted around to face him.
Angel turned her again and walked her to the door. “I looked at all of these mansions before I picked this one. It wasn’t an evil of the Hellmouth that made these people abandon the houses.”
“What was it, then?” She turned quickly, causing Angel’s hand to brush against hers.
Angel resisted the nonsensical urge to grab it and twirl her in some silly dance. Instead, he brought his hand to her shoulder and smoothly spun her back towards the house. “There is a maze of tunnels under this whole area. Twenty-or- so feet of top earth isn’t a secure foundation for million dollar estates.”
“You can’t see it, but over there,” Angel nudged his chin to his left, indicating past the wall of wisteria, “the pool ended up at the bottom of one of the tunnels. Bad place to build, that’s all.”
“Hmmph. I like the haunted version better,” Cordelia said, as she shot forward, leaving Angel’s hand hanging in the air.
“Where are you going?” Angel asked as soon as Cordelia headed for the stairs leading to the second floor.
Cordelia paused on the third step. “Oh, now I have to tell you where I’m going while I’m under ‘your roof’.”
“I—“
“Well, if it’s okay with you, I was going to take a bath. Or is that too dangerous?” She fisted her hands on her hips.
“Don’t be stupid.” Angel took his jacket off and placed it on the chair. Cordelia could go anywhere she wanted in the mansion. It wasn’t that big, he would always know where she was.
“Stop calling me stupid.” She stomped up the stairs.
Angel frowned as he heard the bathroom door slam. He hadn’t called her stupid.
***
Cordelia sank into the steaming water, slapping at it in frustration. She felt trapped. Everywhere she turned Angel was there- ordering her around one minute and being nice the next. She groaned, sinking below the water line, letting the water surround her.
Angel wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was the stoic brooding man…pire that waited in the wings for Buffy. He wasn’t melodramatic or bossy. That was Buffy’s role.
Cordelia broke the surface of the water as a thought occurred to her. Maybe Angel was just missing the Buffy-love. It was throwing him off-balance.
Maybe all she had to do was get them back together.
“Good idea, Cor,” she mumbled. Buffy and Angel together meant the possibility of Angelus. And the soulless version of Angel was something she never wanted to experience again. Angel might be annoying but he wasn’t homicidal.
Maybe she could just remind him that he was happier spending his time brooding about Buffy and their failed romance and then he would stop messing around in her life.
She looked around. Damn. She didn’t bring her robe in.
She wrapped a towel around her and opened the bathroom door.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” She jumped back at the sight of Angel hovering in the hall.
“I live here,” he said matter factually.
Cordelia narrowed her eyes at him as she tried to think of a response to the truth of his statement. When she couldn’t, she ignored him and headed towards the bedroom.
“Cordy?”
“What?” She turned.
“What do you want for dinner?” Angel edged closer to her.
“Huh?” Her hands grasped the slipping towel tighter around her chest, feeling the sudden need for more protection than the thick cotton offered.
“Dinner.” Angel took another step. “I can make pasta or an omelet. Aren’t you hungry?”
Cordelia nervously smoothed down the towel making sure that the white cotton still went past her knees. “Um. I…Sure…I don’t care.”
Angel nodded.
Cordelia hurried to the bedroom, trying to calm the jitters that swarmed in her belly. Angel had just been asking a question, not preparing to pounce.
A thought occurred to her. “You can cook?” She asked, looking over her shoulder.
Angel hadn’t moved. He was still staring at… .
Cordelia chewed on her lip as his eyes rose slowly to her face.
“Yes.” He turned quickly and went down the stairs.
Cordelia frowned, her hands rubbing at the goose bumps that peppered her arms. Her nervousness was back. Had he really been staring at her butt?
Chapter 32
Cordelia sat cross-legged on the big bed, with her elbow on her knee and her chin in her palm. She was beginning to think that it would be best just to stay up there and avoid Angel for the rest of the night.
She frowned as her stomach growled. Was he really cooking for her? Cordelia got to her feet and peeked out the bedroom door. She half-expected Angel to be right outside. It was beginning to seem like she couldn’t open a door without running smack into him – like he was lying in wait for her or something.
She wandered closer to the top of the stairs. Her nose twitched as appetizing smells of eggs and bacon wafted up the stairs. Her mouth started to water as her stomach growled again.
Cordelia drew a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. She didn’t need to hide in Angel’s bedroom. She had a plan. Okay, not a plan exactly, but an idea. And she was hungry.
Cordelia stood at the foot of the stairs and looked around. Something was different. The flames in the fireplace were obvious, but there was something else. Suddenly she realized that it wasn’t just the glow from the fire that made the room brighter. There were lights. Angel must have put in the light bulbs he had bought.
Questions flickered through her mind, driving away any remnants of nervousness.
Cordelia wandered towards the source of the scent of mouth-watering food.
She paused in the doorway of the kitchen. Part of her mind took note of the expansive well-ordered space, the other part focused on the dark-clothed figure at the stove.
“Angel?” She had to ask, her curiosity becoming even more prevalent at the sight of the gas flame heating the frying pan.
Angel turned, his brow raised.
Cordelia slid into one of two stools around the marble island in the middle of the kitchen. “You don’t work, so how can you afford to buy me food and power this place?” She waved her hand around, “Besides West Hell has been condemned for ages. I can’t see Pac Bell making house calls.”
Angel turned back to the stove, flipping the omelet.
“You didn’t kill anyone for the privilege of having lamps and hot showers did you?”
Angel’s back stiffened momentarily, and then he scooped up the omelet, placed it on a plate, and forked a heap of bacon next to it. He set the food, along with a fork and a paper towel, in front of Cordelia.
“I didn’t kill anyone.” He leaned back against the counter and put his hands in his pockets.
Cordelia looked down at the food then back to Angel. “Okay, but did Angelus? I mean that’s when you moved in, right?”
Angel stared at her for a second and then turned to the refrigerator.
“Angel?”
Angel stared into the open door of the refrigerator trying to put his thoughts in order. Last he knew Cordelia had been mad at him, but what puzzled him more was her interest in his living arrangements.
Buffy had never asked about the whys and wherefores of how he ended up in the mansion or how he made it habitable. She never wondered how he lived- she just accepted it. Angel frowned. Had she just accepted it or was it that — she wasn’t interested?
“Angel?”
Angel pulled the milk out of the refrigerator, poured some in a glass, and put it down in front of Cordelia.
“I don’t deny Angelus’ acts, Cordelia. He isn’t an evil twin.” Angel wasn’t sure why that was the answer he gave her. Yet, he felt the need to say it. He sat down in the stool across from her, finding the lines on his hands compelling.
“Okay, you didn’t kill anyone. So how?”
Angel looked up. Cordelia was waving an egg-filled fork at him.
“Eat.”
“Explain.”
Angel held her eyes for a moment, and then looked back at his hands. Was she asking because she didn’t understand that Angelus and he were the same, or was it that she did, accepted it, and brushed it off? Finally, he decided to answer the question she did ask.
“Demon underground.”
“Huh?”
“Erik, he’s a Bandox demon. He’s assimilated. Works for the city and employs demon utility workers on the side. They fix up living spaces for demons who can’t assimilate or who just want to stay under the radar. Usually, only big cities with a significant demon population have that kind of set-up. But, Sunnydale … .”
“Is demon central.” Cordelia nodded as she took a bite of her omelet. “Oh my.” She swallowed and scooped another forkful. “This tastes wonderful.” She shoved more in her mouth, beaming at Angel.
Angel leaned back in his stool. An unfamiliar feeling of satisfaction welled up in him as he watched Cordelia.
