Title: A Woman’s Work
Posted: March 07
Content: Uh, C/A subtext, I think. Sort of Angel/Darla…
Summary: Cordelia has a bad feeling, and follows it up.
Spoilers: Reprise. S2
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: GTC/A, anyhwere else, please ask first.
Notes: Completely off the top of my head, because once I thought of it, it wouldn’t let me go.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
She doesn’t know what drove her to the hotel that night.
After everything Angel did, all the silence and cold indifference he’d heaped on them in pursuit of revenge, she’d pretty much wished him steady to hell, straight and true.
Good riddance, and, oh yeah, fuck off.
But she’d woken up from a restless sleep, sweaty and fearful, with his name echoing through her aching mind.
So she’d gotten dressed, took a bus, didn’t even call Wesley, which was stupid because what if Angel was in another mood to play ‘chicken’?
The hotel was dark, lit only by the lightning strikes that signaled an oncoming storm.
It made her shiver, the black windows staring down at her, cold and impassive like its owner. She took a deep breath and plunged into the dragon’s lair, opening the doors quietly and slipping in.
She’d taken her only stake, though she wasn’t exactly sure she’d be able to use it on him.
Some things went deeper than the bone. Angel lived in her marrow, her blood, and though the thought was melodramatic enough to make her want to throw up, she knew it was also true.
The lobby was dark, empty, but there was a rush of something in the air that tickled the back of her neck and before she could talk herself out of it, she was moving up the stairs, seeking out his room.
His door was closed, but beyond that, she heard a woman’s laugh like breaking glass.
Holding her breath, she reached out and swung his door open.
The room was half in shadows, half in moonlight.
The balcony doors were shattered and broken, flapping helplessly in the strong wind.
Darla was writhing underneath Angel, on his bed, moaning and raking his back with her nails while he thrust and thrust and thrust and god.
She really was going to be sick.
She blinked to clear her vision, and when the tableau remained, she reached into her bag and withdrew the stake as she walked quietly over to the bed.
Her mind was clear. It had to be done, or he’d unleash the devil on them all.
She kept her eyes on Angel’s back, watching his tattoo undulate on his shoulder blade, raising the stake over her head.
When Angel reared up, his head thrown back, she saw the absolute despair on his face, the tears tracking his cheeks.
She brought the stake down, between their bodies, and speared Darla through her dead heart.
Eyes flaring wide with sudden pain, she focused on Cordelia for one long endless moment before her body was swallowed by dust.
Angel collapsed onto the empty mattress, bouncing a little.
She watched as he turned over, moving like an old man, looking up at her with shock warring with disbelief. The sheet wrapped around his hips, his flesh the color of moonlight.
Even like this, he took the breath right out of her.
“Can’t let you take the easy way out, Angel. You’ve got to try, like the rest of us, because what else is there?”
She tossed the stake on the bed, turned and walked out of his room.