Title: Eternity My Way
Posted Here: 04/10/06
Category: Violence, harsh language.
Content: C/Aish. Try not to be stunned.
Summary: in my head, the end of Eternity went something like this.
Spoilers: Eternity, but only if you squint.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Just ask first
Notes: When I woke up this morning, I wanted to write, and Cordelia popped in, all moody and full of feeling. This is my first attempt, to my knowledge, at Angelus. I don’t pretend to be any kind of expert on him, and I’ll apologize in advance if I committed OOCness. I started this four months ago as a writing excercise and needed like crazy to finish it. Ya’ll get to be the experimentees. ::cues evil laugh::
Feedback:FB and concrit always welcome.
It happened so fast she didn’t know how to react.
Striding into the office with her bag over her shoulder, newspaper under one arm –
sees Angel standing there, close to the center of the room like he’d been waiting for her –
-smiles as she walks in, catches sight of someone slumped over in the corner, turns back to Angel with puzzlement beginning to fill her eyes, and sees the smile change to a smirk, eyes colder than the lowest center of hell-
Has a bad moment that makes the bottom drop from her stomach before he reaches out.
A punch square to her right cheek, gentle by his standards, and she goes flying back, her body landing with a thud, coffee and newspaper scattering around her head as she fights the darkness rising around the edges of her vision.
The echo of his footsteps around her head, slowly, as he circles her, watching his eyes survey her body and she can’t move, can’t do anything but try to lift her head, open her eyes all the way, and fail.
Hears a distant moan and turns to see Wesley through a blur, grateful to the point of tears that he’s still alive enough to feel pain, and Angel chuckles.
She wants to hate him then, but all she can think of is the loss, the unbearable loss, of his soul.
Was he aware of being gone?
Was he scared?
His legs straddle her and he kneels, knees on either side of her hips, and she moans silently to herself, wanting to push him off.
“Hurts? I tried to pull back, but you look so pretty when you’re dazed – all helpless and bruised.”
His voice sounds like it’s far away, but she can still hear the sadism in his tone, silky menace wrapped up in Angel’s familiar voice.
His fingers grasp her chin and he pulls on her jaw, until her eyes track to his.
“Good news, Cordy –I’m finally in a good mood.”
She stares blankly up at him, wanting to say something cutting but the words won’t come.
“Nothing to say, kitten?”
She blinks to try and bring him into focus, and sees his beautiful smile – so wrong with those eyes.
The fingers gripping her jaw soften, slipping gently down her throat.
The look in his eyes changes, losing all of the mock humor she loathes, becoming serious.
“You’re a tease, you know,” he whispers, eyes running over her face.
“You come into this office every day with those revealing clothes you wear and smelling the way you do and you toss your hair while you make jokes at my expense and you sit there and you don’t think that I’ll react, that I won’t notice that you’re begging for it every day-“
His hands slipping down her body with every word, dragging her blouse apart while his words cut her up inside and she tries not to cry, reminds herself he doesn’t mean it he’s just trying to hurt her he doesn’t mean it-
“No,” she whispers, bringing her hands up to try and push his away from her but he captures them, laces their fingers together and holds them against his chest as his eyes burn into her like black coals, dead and vacant and wrong.
He cocks his head at her.
“You know it, too, don’t you?”
He presses his open lips against her knuckles as he eyes her, dragging his sharp teeth until her skin splits open and the blood beads up. He licks them away slowly, letting her see the red on his tongue before it disappears back into the dark cavern of his mouth.
She remembers Little Red Riding Hood in one of her father’s storybook collections, the drawings of the wolf salivating as it stood over Little Red, black eyes devouring the girl as he tried to lure her from the path.
She remembers scorning Little Red for not running, for not seeing the monster he was, and the irony is just choking her because the monster who was her friend, her first real friend, is licking her blood up like it was ice cream dripping from a sugar cone, liking her squeals as he bites deeper into her fingers.
“You like teasing, don’t you? Probably doing it when you were just a little girl in your pigtails and Mary Janes.”
He leans in.
“Were you trying to get Daddy’s attention, baby – hoping for more than a pat on the head along with the credit cards?”
She jerks her hands out of his, lashing out and manages a ringing slap across his face.
His head snaps to the side and she tries to rake his face with her bloody fingers but he catches her hands and laughs, sounding delighted.
“Oh you are going to be fun, precious.” He jerks her up into a half sitting position, so close to him that the shimmering flecks of gold in his demon eyes takes up her whole vision.
“And I promise you, I’ll be a very attentive daddy,” he grabs her hand and forces it palm open against his crotch, making her cup him and he’s hard, straining behind his trousers, closing his eyes at her touch. “You won’t have to beg for anything, except mercy.”
Something moves behind her desk and she darts her eyes over.
Wesley is waking up, shaking his head and rolling over onto his knees, gesturing for her to keep quiet.
She blinks and keeps her eyes on Angel, praying, praying he won’t notice, won’t hear as Wesley stands –
Angel lets her go suddenly and straightens to his feet, turning to face the ex-Watcher –
Wesley screams bloody murder, shoulders tucking down as he rushes forward.
It takes Angel by surprise, and when he tries to block the other man, she reaches out and trips him, Wes catching him around the waist at the same time and driving him back into the elevator shaft.
Angel goes down with a roar while Wesley grabs the wall to keep from tumbling after, and she surges to her feet, rushing over to peer down into the space.
He’s quiet, arms thrown out over his head like she’s seen him do a hundred times when he’s asleep, eyes closed.
Wes catches her around the waist as her legs give out, and they hold onto each other tight, shock giving way to relief so sharp, it hurts.
She promises Wes she’ll never call him a sissy again when he can’t open her water bottle, and he laughs and says thank you, then gasps through the pain of his broken ribs.
Together they slide down the wall and rest.
She never tells Wesley how Angel entertained himself while he was out cold, and he never tells her what was said before she got to the office.
When Angel wakes up from his chemically induced bliss, chained to his bed like a pet dog that went rabid, Cordelia is sitting in a chair by his side, eyes tense and anxious.
He can’t look at her, looks past her instead.
“You know I’d-I’d never-“
“I know,” she replies.
She gets up and walks away without another word.
He stares at her bandaged hand for a week after, and she tries not to wonder if he’s remembering the taste of her blood.
Mostly she succeeds.