Chapter 33
Cordelia swallowed the last drop of her milk and pushed back her stool. “I’m stuffed.” She sighed, patting her flat stomach, then stretching as she got up.
“So, you liked it?” Angel turned to watch her carry the plate to the sink. He didn’t understand his need for reassurance. But the atypical feeling of satisfaction was so odd that he needed to see if it was real.
Cordelia took her plate to the sink. “You didn’t get the ‘mmms’ and ‘ahhs’ and stuffing my face as sign of it being the yummiest?” She leaned against the sink. “Geez, so much for ‘dead guy’, I’m calling you ‘dumbass’ from now on,” she teased. “When did you learn to cook? Better yet, why?”
Angel held her gaze. “I’ve been alive a long time, Cordelia. I’ve had time to learn a lot of things.” Angel said, smoothly, with a hint of arrogance. He wasn’t a dumbass.
Cordelia’s eyebrow rose in an elegant arch. “I wouldn’t sound so smug if I were you. Learning doesn’t stop at the turn of the century and knowing the name of ‘other dead guys’ doesn’t make you smart, you know.” She pushed off the counter and headed out of the kitchen.
“What?” Angel scowled as he stumbled to his feet too follow. “What do you mean?”
“New York Times Best Seller list. Ever heard of it?” She stopped in front of the book-laden table. “I don’t think so,” she said, pointing at leather-covered tomes.
“Just because I don’t like tripe–”
“Tripe?” Both of Cordelia’s brows rose. “Don’t let the Pulitzer guys hear you.” Cordelia leaned against the corner of the table, crossing her arms as she narrowed her eyes. “Tell me the name of one ‘tripe’ author that you’ve bothered to read in…oh…the last fifty years.”
Angel wrinkled his brow, thinking back. “Harold Robbins, Carpetbaggers, 1962,” he said, finally, remembering a horrible day when he was trapped in Tulsa, Arizona, at a bus station with nothing to do but read a book he found under the dirty seats.
“Harold Robbins? Really?”
Angel was pleased to see the surprise on Cordelia’s face. “Yes.”
Cordelia scrunched up her face. “My mom told me once that when she was in junior high, she and her girlfriends would sneak his books out of the adult section of the library. Giggling like idiots because he wrote about sex.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, didn’t figure the ‘old guy’ that kept,” she tugged a couple of leather bound books to expose their covers, ” Dante’s Inferno and Crime and Punishment would want to read Harold Robbins.”
Her brow wrinkled as she studied the book covers again. “Geez, Angel. Trips to hell, literally and figuratively — ” Cordelia’s head snapped up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.” She chewed on her bottom lip.
Angel felt a burgeoning anger at her words, but that feeling disappeared as her expression turned immediately to true regret. “It’s okay, Cordy.” He walked towards her, stopping only inches in front of her. “You’re right. What’s even more pathetic is that I had those books before Buffy sent me to hell.”
Cordelia put her hands on his chest and pushed slightly. “It’s not…. I…” She waved her hand as she stepped to the side, freeing herself from the table and solid form of Angel that squeezed her in. “You were telling me about how you get your money?” She gave a hopeful smile and moved closer to the center of the room.
“I was?” Angel stayed by the table, raising a brow.
“Come on Angel, Eight-hundred thread-count sheets, a silk and wool blend sweater …” Cordelia’s voice was sure again as she pointed to the sweater he was wearing, “and twenty more just like it. You’ve got expensive taste. Not exactly daring, but expensive. So, do you have a buried treasure or an investment portfolio?”
“I don’t have twenty of the same shirt.” Angel shifted towards her.
“Okay, fine. Twenty other black shirts and sweaters, like I said — not really living on the fashion edge there, bud.”
He shrugged as his gaze traveled along her body. “You’re not wearing any of them.” He moved quickly to Cordelia and reached out a finger to touch the over-sized flannel shirt. It hung off Cordelia’s shoulders and reached her fleece-covered knees. Obviously it at one time belonged to a man. “Who did you steal this from?” It looked too big to have belonged to Xander.
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it from my dad.”
“Oh.” Angel stepped back.
“So, you were telling me about your buried treasure.”
“I was?” Angel raised a brow.
“Yep.” She fisted her hands on her hips.
“Diamonds.”
“Really?” Cordelia’s brows shot up.
Angel shook his head, just as surprised as Cordelia. Only his astonishment was centered on the fact that he actually told her.
“Oh, you’ve got to tell,” Cordelia said, grabbing his hand and pushing him on the sofa and settling herself near his feet on the floor. “Spill.”
“Spill?” Angel leaned back against the cushions. Some part of him was asking why he wasn’t sliding off into the shadows but that voice was a whisper and barely audible.
His most prominent thought was that as long as she was near him and talking, she wasn’t spouting nonsense about leaving.
“Come on.” Cordelia leaned in resting her elbow on her knee. “Please,” she said, pouting. “I want to hear the story.” She straightened up. “Wait, do I want to hear the story? Is it gross? I don’t want to hear gross.” Cordelia frowned. “It’s gross isn’t it? Angelus got the diamonds. Right?”
Her frown disappeared as an anticipatory gleam sparkled in her gaze. “Can I see them? I like diamonds – they’re a girl’s best friend.” She paused. “Actually, I like emeralds better. So you’re rich then.”
“I….” Angel shifted on the sofa. He knew to keep her there he had to answer, but it was more difficult than it had been earlier. His time without a soul was something he thought about, even desired in times of weakness. But, still, Angelus or his acts weren’t something he wanted to share.
“Well?” Cordelia peered up at him.
“I’m not rich.” He went for the easy answer first as he got up from the couch to stand in front of the fireplace. He didn’t need to see Cordelia to realize that she had turned to watch him. He wondered what her definition of gross was.
“It was 1890. I didn’t even know that the man was a diamond merchant. I just thought he was pre-ballet dinner.” Angel turned to look at Cordelia.
Her arms were wrapped around her knees. Her nose was crinkled up. He really hoped he didn’t have to explain the ‘dinner’ euphemism.
“Ballet? Were you going to the ballet to watch it or to eat dancers?”
Angel shook his head. He would never know what she was thinking or what would come out of her mouth.
“Watch it. I like the ballet.”
He frowned as Cordelia started to giggle.
“What’s so funny about liking the ballet?” Angel scowled.
“It’s– ” Cordelia waved her hand in the air. “It’s just that I can’t picture Angelus as a ballet aficionado.”
Angel went back to sit on the sofa. “It was the Blinnikov World Ballet. Giselle.”
“Oh, okay, that explains it.” She smiled as she scooted around on the floor to face him. “So, was it a lot of diamonds?”
“Enough.”
“And you saved them, didn’t spend them all at once.” Cordelia leaned on her elbows. “Where are they?”
Angel cocked a brow. “Planning on stealing them?”
Cordelia jerked back as if she had been hit. “I wouldn’t…” She jumped to her feet and glared. “I might be broke but I don’t steal.”
Angel rose to his feet just as quickly, surprised at her reaction. “Cordy, I was just kidding.”
Cordelia crossed her arms. “It was a dumb joke.”
Angel hastily agreed, hoping to appease her. Hell he’d be willing to give her the damn diamonds if it would get the hurt look off her face.
“Cordy–” He glared at the phone and its shrill ring that interrupted him. Damn. Couldn’t Buffy leave him alone for at least one day?
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Cordelia asked as the phone continued to ring.
“It’s not important.”
“How do you know if you don’t answer it?”
Angel blew out a frustrated breath and crossed the room to pick up the phone. “Hello, Buffy.” He answered keeping his eyes on Cordelia, wishing that she hadn’t turned her back on him.
Chapter 34
Cordelia stepped closer to the fireplace, watching the flames dance and sparkle. She reached out her hands as if she could cup them and control the display.
No wonder man was fascinated by fire. There was a temptation that was buried deep within to control its beauty and power. Cordelia dropped her hands. It couldn’t be controlled only contained. And that was only at its whim.
It was too powerful, too dangerous.
She stepped back, keeping her eyes focused on the fire as if it held the answers she needed. Did she really think that Angel thought she was a thief? No. So, why did she get so upset?
Why did it hurt?
Daddy issues, she guessed. If Angel knew that her father was no better than a thief, would he think the same of her? Cordelia rocked on her heels, hugging her body. Why did she care what Angel thought? She was Cordelia Chase and wasn’t supposed to care what anyone thought, especially vampires.
Even if they were really nice sometimes and cooked her dinner.
“No. I can’t. No. I can’t meet you later at the Bronze. Good night, Buffy.”
Cordelia turned, hearing the last part of Angel’s conversation. She watched him hang up. Angel had actually told Buffy no. Wow. That had to be a first.
Cordelia bit her lip, studying him. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking — his face was in the shadows, but if his stillness was any indication he was in his stay–in-the-corner mode.
Maybe this was a good time to mention finding another motel.
Cordelia bit her lip as Angel came out of the shadows and turned to towards her, his dark eyes boring into her. Okay. Maybe she wouldn’t mention it just then. Her hands tried to brush away the goose bumps that rushed her arms.
She stepped closer to the fire. She would just have to keep Angel brooding and casually mention it tomorrow – after he brought her car back…and she was packed, inside it, and driving away.
“What’d Buffy want?”
“To go patrolling.” He shifted closer to her.
Cordelia looked around. One more step back and she would be in the fireplace, “Don’t you think you should go?” She took a quick side-step towards the couch. “She might need your help.”
“If it was anything unusual, they would have called me to the library.”
Cordelia watched him change direction so that he was right in front of her again and even closer. This was stupid. She straightened her shoulders and darted around him to go sit on the couch. “Something could pop up, anyway. You should go.”
Angel stared at her for moment and moved to sit beside her. “Why are you running from me?”
“What?” Cordelia snorted, drawing her knees up close to her chest. “Did you see me run? Am I running? I just sat down, Geez. So, go, help, Buffy.” She shooed him away with her hands.
“She doesn’t need my help.” Angel remained next to her.
Cordelia forced a big smile on her face, wishing he would stop staring at her. “Meet her later at the Bronze. She asked. It could be fun.” Cordelia tried to wave him away again.
“The Bronze isn’t fun. It’s loud and it’s crowded.” He settled back in the couch. “Though, listening to you twist ‘the sheep’ around your finger was pretty entertaining.”
“Sheep?” Cordelia shifted towards him. “Where did you hear that?”
“Xander.”
“When? Last night? Geez. What were the Scoobies doing – gossiping about me all night?”
“Pretty much. I guess you’re just interesting,” he said, quirking a brow up.
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes, “I’m sure that’s why.” She flopped back on the sofa, flinging her legs out in front of her. She frowned as her feet hit the floor. “You so need a coffee table,” she grumbled, pulling her feet back up into a cross-legged position.
“Why do you want me to leave?” Angel rested his arm on the back of the sofa, angling his body towards Cordelia.
Cordelia eyed his movements – because you’re crowding me, making me feel safe, then comfortable, and then nervous- and not in that order, not in any order – she wanted to yell.
Instead, she shrugged and said with a small grin, “Why do you think? So, I can search for the diamonds and then steal them. Maybe I’ll take your precious car, too. You know, to make my get away.”
Angel’s face became impassive as he leaned in closer. “Take the diamonds, but touch my car and there will be problems.”
Cordelia giggled, poking a finger at his chest, pushing him away. “That was almost funny.”
“I’m serious.” Angel said, settling back on the couch.
“Okay, I won’t touch your car,” she said, smiling.
“Good.” He smiled.
Cordelia curled her leg underneath her and faced Angel. “Seriously, why don’t you want to go and help Buffy? It’s not like you to sit on the sidelines. What if she gets hurt? Won’t you feel guilty?”
Cordelia watched as a dark cloud flitted across Angel’s face before he turned away to stare back at the fire.
The tick of the clock, echoed each second that passed. Angel hadn’t moved. Cordelia wasn’t as pleased as she thought she would be at how easy it was to get Angel back to brooding about Buffy. She kind of liked the smiling Angel better.
Still, a Buffy-focused Angel was what she had wanted. She slid to her feet, planning to go upstairs, not wanting to take the chance that her presence would distract him.
She froze as Angel’s head snapped around. “Where are you going?” he said, sharply.
“Bed.” Cordelia took a deep breath, waiting for his answer.
Finally, he nodded and turned back to the fire.
***
Angel watched the flames bounce off the bricked walls of the fireplace, his mind wrapped around Cordelia’s last questions. He should be with Buffy, making sure that she was safe — he couldn’t– didn’t want to – imagine — the guilt and loss he would feel if something happened to her and he could’ve prevented it.
He glanced towards the stairs. Cordy’s car was still at Starbucks she couldn’t go anywhere. Angel frowned, turning back into the fire, thinking back at Buffy’s phone call. She hadn’t asked for his help just his company. She didn’t need him. She would be fine. After all, Buffy was the best Slayer he had ever known. She didn’t need a champion, hell, Angel was pretty sure she didn’t want one, not really.
He frowned again, looking at the fire in a different light. He had lit it because Cordelia had been cold. Thinking about her complaint of being cold in his bedroom last night, he stood. His bedroom had a fireplace that he had never used.
Chapter 35
Cordelia rinsed out her mouth then placed her toothbrush in the wall-mounted holder. She strained to listen for any movement from downstairs. It was silent. She guessed that meant Angel was still sitting on the couch. She opened the bathroom door.
“Eek.” She jumped, barely avoiding bouncing into Angel. “You’re supposed to be…doing something else. ” Cordelia waved her hand at him, stepping back into the bathroom.
“You’re going to bed.” Angel gaze was all encompassing.
“Um, yeah.” She straightened her shoulders, slipping past his solid form.
“Do you want me to light a fire? There’s a fireplace.” Angel tracked her down the hall.
“I’m okay.” She kept moving until she got to the bedroom. “Are you going to meet Buffy?” she asked from inside the doorway.
“She doesn’t need me.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Well, good night.” Cordelia closed the door on Angel. She rested her back on the door for a brief second then eyed the bed. She needed to just go to sleep. Maybe tomorrow she’d be able to understand what the hell was going on with her life.
***
Cordelia punched the pillow, unable to sleep.
Her head jerked up at the knock on the door.
“What?”
Angel opened the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to light a fire?,” he asked, pointing to the marble-faced fireplace on the far wall of the room. “You were cold last night.”
“I’m okay.” She leaned back into the pillow.
“Okay.” Angel backed out and closed the door.
Cordelia squirmed around on the mattress, trying to find the optimum spot.
Angel knocked again.
“What?”
Angel entered the bedroom. “If you do get cold, you can,” he waved his fingers towards the closet and dresser,” take any sweater you want.”
“Okay.” Cordelia frowned at him. “Good night.”
Angel nodded and shut the door.
Cordelia fell back on the pillow.
Angel knocked again.
“What now?” Cordelia asked with a groan.
“You’re not asleep.” Angel stood at the foot of the bed.
“Really? Did you figure that out?” She slapped the mattress. “What gave it away? Could it be the fact that you just came in 20 seconds ago?”
“I just wanted to tell you that ….” Angel trailed off and glanced around the room. “I put a mirror in,” he said, pointing to the long mirror resting against the closet.
Cordelia narrowed her eyes. “Gee, I might not have noticed my own reflection. But thanks.”
Angel nodded. “Um…”
“What?”
“What do you want for breakfast? You just had omelets, but I can scramble some eggs or maybe French toast or cereal.”
“Now?” Cordelia gaped at him.
“Of course not, you’re going to sleep. In the morning.”
“It doesn’t seem like I’m going to sleep.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Go away, then maybe I will. As for breakfast, surprise me.”
“Okay,” Angel turned towards the door, then back again. “Do you like French toast?”
“I love French toast,” she yelled, getting on her knees. “Now get out,” she said, throwing a pillow at him.
Angel caught the pillow, clutching it to his chest. “French toast, then.” Angel said, turning towards the door.
“My pillow?”
“Actually, it’s mine. Goodnight.” Angel left, taking the pillow with him.
“Weirdo,” Cordelia grumbled, pulling the other pillow to her and smacking at it.
***
Angel sat against the headboard hugging Cordelia’s pillow. He rubbed his cheek against the cotton-covered feathers. The tiny quills and fibers captured the whole essence of Cordelia. He squeezed it tighter. He could get lost in it.
He groaned and got up, placing the pillow at the head of the bed. He walked to his bedroom. Cordelia’s steady body rhythms assured him that she was asleep but he wanted to see it.
Sure enough, when he cracked the door, she was curled up on his big bed. Safe. Just like he wanted her.
He went downstairs quickly and rummaged through a drawer in the kitchen until he found the ring of keys shoved in the back of the drawer.
Then he moved quietly up the stairs to his room. The steady rise and fall of her told him she was still sound asleep. He didn’t know if this was necessary but he couldn’t take the chance.
Angel pulled the door closed, slid the skeleton key in the lock, and sealed Cordelia in.
Then he went downstairs and grabbed his coat. He turned the lock hidden on the side door, one that hadn’t been used since he lost his soul then locked a similar lock on the front door as he left.
When he first acquired the mansion utilities and security had been his main concern. He hadn’t been worried that someone would get in, but that a victim would get out. He glanced up at the numerous windows of the mansion. He nodded. They were still all sealed. Cordelia couldn’t leave.
He stuffed the extra keys in his pocket alongside his house keys and Cordelia’s car keys. He quickened his pace towards the Starbucks. He wasn’t sure that he wanted Cordelia’s car at the mansion, but pushing the red convertible over a cliff wouldn’t be wise. He would just have to keep her keys.
He ran to retrieve the car before Cordelia woke up
