{"id":797,"date":"2015-06-21T17:08:31","date_gmt":"2015-06-21T16:08:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/dir\/?p=797"},"modified":"2018-10-23T17:21:37","modified_gmt":"2018-10-23T16:21:37","slug":"gloomy-sunday-7-8","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/2015\/06\/21\/gloomy-sunday-7-8\/","title":{"rendered":"Gloomy Sunday. 7-8"},"content":{"rendered":"

Part VII<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

Cordelia\u2019s door opened easily under Angel’s hand, curtains fluttering in greeting courtesy of the ever welcoming, ever helpful Dennis; stranded in the apartment he\u2019d died trying to escape. And yet, he had Cordelia. Cordelia who could fill all the empty space in the world with her cheerful chatter and bright smiles. The best roommate a ghost could probably ever have.<\/span><\/p>\n

That same chatter had once wearied Angel, filled his ears, and tried his patience. Her bright smiles had so often reminded him of other smiles he\u2019d wanted nothing more than to forget. But that staunch loyalty, her sudden and surprising feisty defense of those she considered her own, it had all opened a stream of love and acceptance he\u2019d never felt before. And when was it that he\u2019d begun welcoming that chatter? Reveling in the smiles she\u2019d beamed in his direction? Maybe once he\u2019d relaxed into her care, found comfort in her brisk tapings and bandaging, closed his eyes and drowsed in the background of her nagging and fussing. He found solace in her. She was simply there all the time and it was where she belonged. No one was going to take her away.<\/span><\/p>\n

At least, once he found her.<\/span><\/p>\n

He\u2019d assumed she would stay in the house while he was gone. But Cordelia never did what she was supposed to. Only what she wanted to. And he should have remembered that.<\/span><\/p>\n

But where else could she have gone?<\/span><\/p>\n

The curtains fluttered again, restless energy zipping through the apartment around him, flicking lights off and on, tinkling glass statuettes and finally easing open the door. Angel stiffened, braced himself for the attack, glancing around. One swift kick to the chair seat would shatter it into shards for stakes. He could snap off the television antennae and go for the eyes. He could \u2013<\/span><\/p>\n

Cordelia pushed the door open with her foot, both hand busily fluffing flattened hair. \u201cWelsey, that helmet is a travesty. Don\u2019t you have a hair-friendly version?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Wesley didn\u2019t answer, walking in right behind her, nearly buzzing with concern. She tolerated his efforts, letting him hang up her coat, usher her into a seat, admonish Dennis for being too slow with the tea. \u201cI\u2019m okay,\u201d she finally said. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you see how our boss is doing instead?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Wesley\u2019s head jerked in surprise and then instinctively scanned the room. \u201cOh, Angel, you\u2019re here,\u201d he said, obviously struggling between relief and irritation. \u201cNot that you should have left so abruptly in the first place. But at least now we can perhaps get something done.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Angel ignored him, turned instead to the tired young woman sitting with blank eyes and absently twisting fingers. \u201cWhere did you go?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She looked at him silently, something so unlike Cordelia that it sent a cord of unease through him. \u201cTo the last victim. To his house.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Angry lectures sprung instantly to his lips, but he thought better of them and after a moment of struggle, simply asked, \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it was a stroke of genius, really,\u201d Wesley cut in excitedly. He placed his satchel carefully on the coffee table and flicked on the floor lamp. \u201cCordelia thought of its calling card! Tremendous insight, actually, especially for one so \u2013\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Impatient, Angel leant forward and cut Wes off. \u201cWhat\u2019d you find out?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Cordelia answered immediately. \u201cIt\u2019s a Desgial demon.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Wes flopped down to the couch. \u201cHey!\u201d he said, injured.<\/span><\/p>\n

Angel cast his mind back. Sifted through the thousands of demons he knew of, the hundreds he\u2019d fought, the multitude of books he\u2019d researched. And then it clicked.<\/span><\/p>\n

He stood, walked over to the window and pushed the curtains out of his way. Below him, the lights of Los Angeles stretched for miles, an oddly comforting blanket of illumination. From here, it all seemed peaceful. Innocent. Perhaps that was why Darla had so loved her views. She\u2019d loved looking down on the clueless humans, allowing them to go about their day to day lives until she decided otherwise. She\u2019d loved the power of omnipotence nearly as much as the kill itself.<\/span><\/p>\n

He hadn\u2019t gotten it then. He\u2019d been bored with her and the endless hours spent lounging in front of her precious views. But now, watching the headlights of cars zipping around on city streets, every protective instinct surged inside him. These people, whether driving home from work or picking their kids up from day care, had no idea what was out there. Or they fought to preserve their ignorance, closing their eyes to the monsters that would feed off their innocence and delight in their shattered lives.<\/span><\/p>\n

There were so many innocents. And so few of him. It was impossible to help everyone and yet Cordelia watched him with trusting eyes, believing that he would. That he could.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAngel,\u201d she said insistently. \u201cDid you hear me? It\u2019s a Desgial demon. They \u2013\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSuicide demons. I know.\u201d He leant against the window but the world swirled around him and time blurred as he was cast backwards into a memory he barely recognized as his own. He was falling and even with his eyes open he could barely see and then pain shattered through him as he flew into something hard. Bone snapped sharply in the silence and his arm floundered uselessly at his side.<\/span><\/p>\n

He rolled upright and froze, stayed perfectly motionless, waiting. For? The acrid smell of sewers teased his nose, and off in the distance, water trickled down a wall and plopped drip by drip into a growing puddle. Something struck at him in a fluid swoosh and he ducked and rolled at the same time, scrambling along the floor away from the blow.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou know,\u201d he muttered, \u201cit\u2019s usually considered polite to at least show yourself before attacking.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVampire,\u201d a silken voice hissed. \u201cYou and I are frozen in time, locked away from the world.\u201d A purple, clawed hand swiped fiercely at him; he grabbed the wrist and yanked. It was a move that nearly always worked, jerking his opponent off balance and giving him control. But this demon didn\u2019t budge, instead spinning Angel up in the air and flicking him effortlessly across the sewer.<\/span><\/p>\n

He hit the wall hard and fell to the ground with a painful thud.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou cannot beat me, vampire.\u201d The claws stung as they stroked bloody gashes down his side. \u201cI will take your weapons from you and your battlefield shall be one of tears and solitude.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He pretended to think for a moment, easing away from the voice. \u201cYeah,\u201d he said thoughtfully. \u201cI don\u2019t think so.\u201d He kicked out both feet with a solid thwack and reflexively ducked, the demons punch whistling just over his head. His ax felt strong and comforting tucked under his coat and he pulled it free with an emphatic swirl. \u201cI think it\u2019s your time to die alone.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

It was still laughing as he swirled the ax down into flesh and bone.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHonestly, I don\u2019t know why we even bother,\u201d Cordelia\u2019s voice cut in abruptly. It sharpened with exasperation and he heard the distinct rasp of a magazine page turning. \u201cYou talk to him, Wesley.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAngel, are you still with us?\u201d Wesley\u2019s accent always grew more pronounced when ever he was especially emotional. He was pure Watchers Academy now, and Angel blinked away cobwebs automatically. The world edged back into view, his palms pressed flat against Cordelia\u2019s living room window. He\u2019d pressed his forehead against the cool glass as well and judging by the impatience on his employees faces, he\u2019d been there the entire time.<\/span><\/p>\n

He shoved away from the window. \u201cI think I remember something.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Cordelia flung out her arms. \u201cFinally!\u201d she said. \u201cWe\u2019re getting somewhere.\u201d<\/span>
\n****<\/span><\/p>\n

Why was it that \u2018somewhere\u2019 with Angel was never anyplace good? He couldn\u2019t have remembered a clue in a new trendy restaurant? Or at least someplace less stinky and wet than your average, run of the mill disgusting sewer? No such luck.<\/span><\/p>\n

This happened enough that she\u2019d finally put together a designated sewer and demon goo outfit, made up of an old pair of jeans and a stained purple blouse that had no business in her closet anyway. But had Angel let her change before rushing her out the door? Oh, nooooo! Those five minutes might have ruined his whole plan. And so here she was, dodging dripping water (oh, God she hoped it was only water) and praying that whatever they found wouldn\u2019t stain silk.<\/span><\/p>\n

Angel moved effortlessly, just another shadow slipping silently around the corners. She shone her flashlight at his back, half expecting him to turn around with one of his quelling looks. The splashing of their feet was the only sound before Cordelia stopped suddenly. \u201cWesley,\u201d she whispered urgently. \u201cHow does it get you? The demon mo-jo, I mean. Does it have some whammy tool?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He was silent next to her. \u201cI\u2019m not quite sure, Cordelia,\u201d he finally answered. \u201cThe texts aren\u2019t very specific about it. I believe that since the Desgial thrives off psychic emotions, it\u2019s never necessary for it to actually attack.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo it can get you without you ever actually seeing it?\u201d she asked pointedly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps,\u201d Wes said. \u201cBut you would feel different. Sadder, I imagine. Lonely.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sudden fear swirled in her. Sometimes people just felt sad. They called in sick, ate a tub of ice cream and curled up with a tissue box until they felt better. She\u2019d done it, albeit without the calling in sick part since Angel wasn\u2019t exactly forthcoming with sick pay. But countless nights when she\u2019d felt lonely or sad, she hadn\u2019t even stopped to question the surge of emotions and had instead just braved it out. But the Desgial\u2019s victims couldn\u2019t stick it out. They died, fodder for a demon that wouldn\u2019t even show its face.<\/span><\/p>\n

Suddenly, the ground gave way underneath her ankle with a painful twist. She barely had time to catch her breath before her legs folded and she hit the ground with an odiferous splash. She froze, forcing her stomach to be strong against the rancid stench but it was too much. Gagging silently, she clenched her fingers against the comforting heft of her flashlight. Its light sputtered and faded into nothingness.<\/span><\/p>\n

Wesley whispered concern but she was too busy biting back frustrated anger to listen. Instead she let him pull her up, brushed off as much of the slime as she could and banged her flashlight against the wall.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCordelia, hush!\u201d he said reproachfully in a very not-quiet whisper.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, shut up,\u201d she hissed. \u201cUnless you can suddenly see in the dark, we need the flashlight to work, doofus.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGuys?\u201d Angel\u2019s voice sounded, a beacon of safety in the impenetrable dark. \u201cI think I found something.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re coming,\u201d Wesley answered, and warm, blessed light bloomed from the extra flashlight in his hand. She shot him a look. \u201cYou didn\u2019t ask,\u201d was all he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

She trailed behind him, focusing on stepping exactly where he\u2019d stepped. She wasn\u2019t going to roll around anymore in sewer muck. And when they got out, Angel and his wallet were making a pit stop at the dry cleaners. And maybe at the new boutique that had opened over on \u2013<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, dear,\u201d Wesley breathed out and Cordelia\u2019s heart thumped heavily in her chest.<\/span>
\n****<\/span><\/p>\n

Angel strode back and forth in the sewer, uncaring of the fetid water lapping at his precious coat. \u201cIt must have been bound here, contained somehow,\u201d he was saying, but Cordelia was having a hard time focusing on him. She just saw bones. Bones and old cloth fetters, remnants from a straight-jacket and a skull with a familiar axe protruding at an odd angle.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, what exactly happened here?\u201d she interrupted. \u201cDoesn\u2019t this look like a demon graveyard? Shouldn\u2019t we be celebrating?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Welsey puffed up in classic lecture mode. He turned the skull to face her, ignoring the congealed goo dripping down his wrist. \u201cThis does not belong to a Desgial,\u201d he said. \u201cThis looks more like a Juahdnum, a demon known for its peculiar type of \u2013\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAngel!\u201d she interrupted urgently.<\/span><\/p>\n

He took pity on her. \u201cIt\u2019s a guardian demon, Cordelia,\u201d he said. \u201cHarmless unless attacked. And the ax in its skull? Is mine.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

There was this little muscle in Angel\u2019s jaw that always flexed when he was being especially stoic. She\u2019d never paid attention to jaw muscles before, but when Angel\u2019s started working it always meant something bad was on the way. It was better than an almanac. \u201cSo, someone stole your ax?\u201d she asked hopefully, but the skeptical glance he sent her rapidly quelled that thought. \u201cOoooh-kay. Then why\u2019d you kill it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d he said shortly, and wrested the axe free from the head, dunking it in a puddle to cleanse the worst of the gunk. \u201cI don\u2019t remember doing it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her voice shrilled, \u201cYou don\u2019t remember?\u201d so loud that she herself winced.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s hazy,\u201d Angel said. He still wouldn\u2019t look at her, or Wesley. Instead, he yanked an old shred of fabric from the bone yard and used it to methodically polish his ax. \u201cI thought it was a dream.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Wesley jumped in as Angel sank into a full brood, staring off into the shadows. \u201cCordelia, Juahdnum are unemotional creatures. They\u2019d be the perfect guards for a demon like the Desgial. Without a steady stream of emotions to feed from, the Desgial would weaken and be unable to pose a serious threat to beings outside of its immediate sphere. But then, Angel came\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll broody and depresso-guy,\u201d Cordelia realized the ending and fell silent.<\/span><\/p>\n

To be so close to a soul crammed full of agonized guilt and regrets would have been a Thanksgiving dinner for a demon that fed on emotional angst. It wouldn\u2019t matter that Angel\u2019s feelings were because of a curse. The demon would only sense the depth of pain and Angel wore a load of guilt on each shoulder with a spare on his back \u2013 just in case.<\/span><\/p>\n

He had to. And he would eternally, because Angel would never risk happiness again. Not after Angelus had shredded the few pathetic scraps of joy Angel had been able to create, not to mention trying to destroy the entire world on the side. It didn\u2019t matter that sometimes she suspected Angel enjoyed the brooding part. He didn\u2019t have any other options. And that sucked. Big time. For every one except a demon that fed on it. It was a Power Bar for a Desgial, and this one had certainly snapped it right up.<\/span><\/p>\n

She\u2019d never thought of him in that way before. Sure, she had her anti-Angelus arsenal, Buffy on speed dial, and nearly every week she had a check-in\/pep-talk with her boss, but she\u2019d never really thought about what it meant to not be happy. Ever.<\/span><\/p>\n

He was still doing his angry stalk around the sewers, unaware of her studious stare. He was supposed to just be the boss but he\u2019d oozed into her life in so many ways. A hero. A friend. And now, a lover. But there could be no happy ending for them.<\/span><\/p>\n

It shouldn\u2019t even be on her mind \u2013 not with a murderous demon on the rampage and Angel himself even weirder than usual. And yet, as he carefully stashed the ax behind his coat and turned to speak with Wesley, her stomach clenched its betrayal. It hurt. To watch him and realize he was consciously keeping distance from her at every moment. To realize he would never let himself be close to her. That he would never let himself love her.<\/span><\/p>\n

Maybe that all she\u2019d really wanted. She\u2019d never been that girl who wanted picket fences and happily ever after, unless they came with diamonds and a ten bedroom mansion in Beverly Hills. She wasn\u2019t that girl \u2026 except for the tiny little part of herself that was. And Angel had this way of showing up when she was at her lowest, of saving her. He\u2019d done it when they\u2019d run into each other in L.A., and then he\u2019d done it again the other night. She\u2019d been lonely and scared, all alone in her apartment and he\u2019d showed up all dark and emo and needing someone. And God, it had been so nice to be needed.<\/span><\/p>\n

She\u2019d never thought a dead guy could make her feel warm and safe, but he did. All the time. And she didn\u2019t know if she could give that up and just what did that say about her?<\/span><\/p>\n

Wesley was droning on in the background and she couldn\u2019t take her eyes off Angel and the stupid vampire didn\u2019t even notice. And wasn\u2019t that just a flashback to Sunnydale and years she\u2019d rather forget? She tucked her hair behind her ears, pointedly tore her eyes from Angel and interrupted Wesley\u2019s lecture.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, I get it,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat I don\u2019t get is why Angel\u2019s so confused. Why can\u2019t he remember?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sure.\u201d Wes crouched down to sort through the bones and remnants. \u201cPerhaps there was a spell? Or an enchantment?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Angel was staring off into the distance again, frozen so still he looked like an oddly dressed statue. Or sculpture. What was the difference between a statue and a sculpture, anyway? Frustration battled against fear, and both lost to a rapid surge of anger.<\/span><\/p>\n

She marched up to him, elbowed him fiercely in the side, and channeled her best Cher. \u201cSnap out of it!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t budge, but his fingers clenched almost convulsively and his eyes glazed over vacantly. He was gone again and she needed him here. With her.<\/span><\/p>\n

Latching onto his side, she rested her cheek against the stiff leather of his coat, wishing he would curve an arm around her, look at her with those confident dark eyes and do one of those dramatic broadsword swirls. Instead he seemed as lost as she felt, and she wished she could comfort him as he did her.<\/span><\/p>\n

Wesley was off snooping through dusty bones so she didn\u2019t mind whispering right by Angel\u2019s ear: \u201cCome on, big guy. Please.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her heart fluttered in her throat, and the world dwindled away to Angel, his big body and sure hands, coming up to encircle her shoulders, holding her as gently as a trembling butterfly. \u201cHey,\u201d he said, his voice a welcome gruff in her ear. \u201cHey.\u201d It was murmured comfort, his big body absorbing her weakness, stolid under hers as she leant on him. \u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d he hushed, and she bit her lip against the sob building in her throat.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t do<\/i> that,\u201d she forced out, her voice as weak and quavery as she felt at that moment. He couldn\u2019t leave her, because she needed him and he knew<\/i>that, and he was scaring her and \u2013<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShhh,\u201d he whispered, smoothing a hand over her head, tucking strewn hair neatly behind her ear, cradling her like she was something precious \u2013 like she was cherished. \u201cIt\u2019s okay, I\u2019m here. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her chest heaved, but she forced herself to step away, forced her arms to let him go. It was hard. Too hard. \u201cI need to know what\u2019s happening, Angel,\u201d she said, and her voice sounded calm even though her heart was still racing with fear and another emotion she couldn\u2019t name because she wasn\u2019t going to face it now. Maybe later, over a box of tissues and a gallon of Ben\u2019n\u2019Jerry. Or maybe never. \u201cI deserve to know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He inclined his head, growing closer to her without moving a muscle. Hunched shoulders, pursed lips, creased brow and she could still tell she was the only thing he saw. Fingers lifted toward her, then he caught himself and they dropped impotently down to his side.<\/span><\/p>\n

She let out a breath she hadn\u2019t even realized she\u2019d been holding.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s been such a blur,\u201d he said, and he blinked the closeness away and suddenly she was just the seer again. Good ole Cordelia. \u201cBut I\u2019m starting to remember it all. I\u2019m starting to realize \u2013\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t realize she was shivering until he reached out to rub her shoulders. \u201cWe\u2019ll go back to the office. Get you warmed up.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019ll tell me everything?\u201d Cordelia asked, but she was already turning to walk away so she missed his slight nod. Still, she could feel him watching her as she picked her way over to Wesley, and while a year ago it would have creeped her out, now his eagle eyes comforted her. He would be behind her. He wouldn\u2019t let her fall again.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

Part VIII<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

Cordelia was making him nervous.<\/span><\/p>\n

Not that it was so unusual for Cordelia to throw him off his guard. She did it all the time, mainly by expecting him to do something she considered obvious but that he would never, ever, think to do. Like noticing and complimenting her new shoes. Or her new haircut. Or remembering her birthday.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sometimes just walking in and seeing an expectant look in her eyes was enough to make him want to turn around and disappear back into the \u2018bat cave\u2019 for some quality alone time.<\/span><\/p>\n

But this was entirely different. She wasn\u2019t teasing him, or prodding him to lighten up, or even fussing over the beautiful silk blouse which now had several dark smears of an unidentifiable, rank liquid. Resting her chin on the palm of her hand, she simply stared out of the window despite the fact that the blinds were tightly shut to prevent any light from getting in.<\/span><\/p>\n

Light didn\u2019t seem to be a problem anymore. The office was darker than usual, despite the soft glow from her desk lamp. It felt heavy and morose and instead of bouncing up with some silly idea revolving around donuts, or frappacinos or dancing, Cordelia melded into the shadows, staring pensively at nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n

That was his job. Not hers.<\/span><\/p>\n

His voice came out tentative, and that was so unlike him that he stuttered around the words. \u201cCor-Cordelia? Are you\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFine,\u201d she said, without looking up. Without moving a muscle.<\/span><\/p>\n

God, sometimes, she really drove him crazy. He knew she wasn\u2019t fine. She knew he knew. But she would never say it. Maybe when she\u2019d asked for him to tell her everything, she hadn\u2019t really wanted to know. Maybe he should have been more tactful, eased into the news of his suddenly foggy memory and the Oracles\u2019 prophecy of her death. But he\u2019d spent too much time with her so he\u2019d blurted it all out in true tactless Cordelia style, and now she was silent and he\u2019d do anything to make it all better.<\/span><\/p>\n

He lifted his legs, propping them up on the desk and watched her. She hardly moved. Just the slow rise and fall of her chest, and every few moments a slow drum of her fingers against her jaw line. He\u2019d spent nearly a year alternately awed and annoyed by her ability to chatter, and now that she\u2019d stopped he\u2019d do nearly anything to make her start again.<\/span><\/p>\n

He cast his eyes about the office. Cordelia started conversations about nothing all the time. How difficult could it be?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFunny thing about this desk here,\u201d he started in his best jovial voice. \u201cNever can get it to level out. Every time I put my feet up they just lean the tiniest bit to the side.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n

He braced his thick boot heels again the desk, rocked it experimentally. \u201cHmmm. I tried to fix it once. To brace it, I mean. With a pencil. And a stake. Hey, funny story\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She angled her head up, hair cascading down to cover her face in a near impenetrable shiny veil. He could just barely see her looking at him, eyes glimmering in the dark. \u201cI remember,\u201d she said, and there was a tiny crack in her voice. She shifted again, looked away, effortlessly twisting and pinning her hair up. \u201cWe were worried about you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

All the fake joviality drained immediately but he didn\u2019t know how to feel anymore. Didn\u2019t know how to comfort and heal and that was what she needed. Not him. Not \u2013<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou came back from Sunnydale all \u201cDepresso Vamp\u201d and then Buffy dropped in and I was sure that would be the end of it all.\u201d She snorted to herself and tossed her head back, eerily reminiscent of the brash, overconfident cheerleader he\u2019d first met how many years ago? \u201cYou were going to go back to follow around your trusty slayer or she\u2019d stay and Angelus would come out for another visit. Either way, it was over.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her hurt cut him in a million ways because he\u2019d been so close to doing just that and he hadn\u2019t thought of her. Not really. She\u2019d been an after thought then because he\u2019d been so focused on everything else. The thrills of his first heartbeat in hundreds of years, the terror of Buffy\u2019s imminent death, the soul crunching passion of her body, writhing and passionate against his own. And all that time, Cordelia had been scared.<\/span><\/p>\n

Regret curled throughout him and stretched his arm out toward her but she shook her head and he let it drop against his leg. \u201cI didn\u2019t know how it was really going to end,\u201d she said, sadness thickening her voice into ragged honey. \u201cI thought there\u2019d be more.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Loud screeching hurt his ears, the crash of the desk hitting the ground more so. She jumped, startled and he was right there, wrapping her up in a tight embrace whether she wanted it or not. Because she had to know: \u201cNothing is going to happen to you, Cordelia.\u201d He vowed it, whispered it into her ear, spun promises into the silk of her hair and she shuddered against him and let him hold her. And for the first time in too long his arms felt full and his soul beamed a benevolent smile upon them. His dead heart cracked open and she seeped in, all warmth and spice and everything good and loving and he simply knew:<\/span><\/p>\n

She wasn\u2019t going anywhere.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe oracles prophesized,\u201d she protested.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sharpness spiked through him, his arms tightening until she wriggled against the embrace. He flexed his hands, studying the careful stretch of tendons and flesh. They\u2019d hurt so many people \u2013 innocent people. But now, they fought for the victims and they could save her. They would<\/i> save her. \u201cCordelia, you know I\u2019m not going to let anything happen to you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She sniffed loudly, but her cheeks were dry and the tiniest smile was beginning to curve those gorgeous lips. \u201cYou couldn\u2019t have shared that before<\/i> you told me I was prophesized to die?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He looked away. Too few women had seen his soul in his eyes and now his soul was full of her. \u201cYou should know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her eyes softened, and she curled closer to him. How had she grown so precious? \u201cI do know,\u201d she whispered and the crack in his heart grew a little bigger, just for her.<\/span>
\n****<\/span><\/p>\n

He was distracted. He knew it. It slowed him, dulled the thrust of his punches and affected the flow of the fight. Two beefy demons, spikes curved dangerously up their spines and down their arms wielded swords with ominous intent and this was exactly the wrong time to be worried about Cordelia.<\/span><\/p>\n

Telling himself that didn\u2019t help and it was only due to a hundred years of tai chi and practice that he could focus at all. And it was still just enough for him to dart underneath one outstretched arm and lash out with a foot to send the first demon staggering while he twirled his broadsword down, above the spiny back and into the sensitive, unprotected skin of its neck.<\/span><\/p>\n

Its agonized scream hurt his ears, and dark blood splattered against his coat. And through it all, his cell phone chimed brightly, first with a familiar jaunty little tune, and then a repetitious beeping. He\u2019d bet everything he owned it was Cordelia.<\/span><\/p>\n

He\u2019d killed one but only stunned the other, and before he could dispatch it, it clambered to its feet, grasping its head and groaning in pain. He had a minute, maybe less, before it regrouped. And she was probably just fine. She probably just wanted him to bring her ice cream or pick up one of her frothy little sweaters.<\/span><\/p>\n

He fumbled through his pockets for the evil contraption, grateful at least that she wasn\u2019t there to see how long it took him to open it. It kept chirping and flashing brightly, and when he finally flipped it open, her voice blared through before he could even say hello.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFinally! I\u2019ve been calling you forever. I left you a message but I figured you probably still haven\u2019t figured out how to check your voicemail and it really was important \u2013\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The demon shook its head fiercely, and fell back to its knees. He had a few more moments. \u201cCordelia,\u201d he said but she was still chattering. He wasn\u2019t sure if he trusted it. It didn\u2019t have the happy inward focus of her usual tangents. Instead her voice had this sharp little edge to it that sounded like she was trying too hard. And of course she was. Only an hour ago, he\u2019d told her the Oracles had prophesized her death. What did he expect? \u201cCordelia! What\u2019s wrong?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She sucked in a startled breath, and silence fell as she searched for the right words. He used to love silence, loved nothing more than to roll himself up in it and bury into the seduction of soft, velvety quiet. It honed him, focused him and he thrilled to the predatory power, a panther coiled up and ready to spring, ears quirked for the smallest hint of movement \u2013<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNothing,\u201d she finally said, and he caught the soft clink of ice cubes against a glass. She had ice water pressed to her temple. The smallest thing to try and dull the pain. But when she spoke again moments later, she was bright and cheery, and if he hadn\u2019t heard that one little sound he might never have known.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI found out some information you need to know,\u201d she was saying, but the demon was blinking alertly, a menacing growl building in its throat.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow\u2019s not a good time,\u201d he said and froze as the demon lunged, missing him by inches. \u201cGotta go.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAngel!\u201d Her voice whined insistently and he held the phone to his ear as he rolled into a summersault, striking out at its knees as he flew by. \u201cIt\u2019s really important.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI hear that, but \u2013\u201d He grunted as its punch landed, splitting his cheek effortlessly. Seconds later, a spiked arm swept him up and off his feet, flaying open skin and tossing him across the alley. He landed with a pained grunt and Cordelia\u2019s voice sharpened in panic.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAngel! Angel, oh God, are you okay?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFine,\u201d he said, irony settling heavily into his bones. He was not fine and she probably knew it, but he needed her to believe it.<\/span><\/p>\n

He rolled to his feet, crouching low, senses sharp and vibrating. She started to speak and he shushed her automatically, pausing, holding, waiting for the demon to make one last fatal mistake.<\/span><\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t long. It rushed in heedlessly, mouth bared in fury or hunger, he couldn\u2019t quite tell. But it didn\u2019t matter. He swooped up, lunged for its throat and hauled around to snap a spine off its back. Roaring in agony, the demon flailed underneath him, bucking like a mad horse to throw him, but Angel tightened his grasp, and spun the spike in his hand once before burying it into its throat.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAngel!\u201d Cordelia\u2019s voice, high with panic, reedy through the phone. \u201cAngel! Get back on the phone and tell me you\u2019re okay.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m okay,\u201d he said, but he voice cracked plaintively at the end. He didn\u2019t do it on purpose. He was a vampire and could handle his injuries. He was not at all looking forward to being coddled and cared for upon his return.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d she said in this soft little voice and he was about to ask what was wrong but she didn\u2019t give him a chance. \u201cI\u2019m coming out.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d He\u2019d left her nearly two hours ago, huddled in a ball in his office chair, eyes twisted shut against the pain he could feel<\/i> vibrating through her. The last vision had flung her out of his arms, windmilling toward the glass partition of his office. Diving across the office with all his vampire speed, he\u2019d still barely caught her in time. She hadn\u2019t noticed the close call, flailing and biting back agonized screams, eyes glazing over, rolling blankly. It took her so long \u2013 too long \u2013 to come back, and he\u2019d shook her, panicked that maybe she was buried in there, under a pile of visions and demons and victims and she wouldn\u2019t be strong enough to pull herself free.<\/span><\/p>\n

But then she\u2019d blinked, three times, and then smiled shakily. A conciliatory smile that did not accomplish its goal. He wanted to be there now, holding her, comforting her, and instead he\u2019d been out on the street trying to read her illegible notes because he hadn\u2019t paid attention to her muttered directions. He wanted her to say she was alright and mean it, and she hadn\u2019t even tried.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI can meet you there!\u201d she exclaimed, frustration sharp in her voice. \u201cI\u2019m safer with<\/i> you,\u201d she argued automatically. He gritted his teeth and counted to ten.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe went through this. Wes will be back in a few minutes and he\u2019ll need your help finishing the research on this Desgial. And you\u2019re safer in the office. I\u2019ll be back soon.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She sighed. He knew that sigh. It was the \u2018Maybe you\u2019re right but I\u2019m not going to admit it.\u2019 Or maybe it was the \u2018Fine. Whatever.\u2019 Whichever it was, at least he\u2019d won. Too bad he couldn\u2019t gloat.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI was researching the song,\u201d she said, all business now that she\u2019d lost. \u201cThe one playing at all the victim\u2019s homes when\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI remember,\u201d he said. Leather upholstery creaked as he settled into his car, bracing his elbow against the low curve of the steering wheel. The sky above gleamed the eerie orange of the city, the stars another casualty of bright lights and too many people. Sometimes, when he thought back, he could remember breathing in sharp, clean air, looking up in the night sky and staggering under the weight of the stars, their magnificence.<\/span><\/p>\n

Cordelia\u2019s voice snapped him out of it. \u201cIt\u2019s called Gloomy Sunday,\u201d she said. Papers rustled in the background, and the door jingled merrily as someone opened it.<\/span><\/p>\n

He sat up straight. \u201cWho\u2019s that?\u201d he snapped. He was already jamming the key back into the ignition, jerking the gear into reverse \u2013<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s Wesley.\u201d Relief swamped him, swiping all of the words out of his mouth. He grunted, shoved the car back into park and pulled out the key, jingling it idly against his palm. Maybe she was right. Maybe she\u2019d be better here, closer to him, where he could see her and protect her.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnyway, the song is cursed,\u201d she went on lightly. \u201cIt\u2019s a suicide song.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhaaaat?\u201d In the background Wesley voice careened up in true British shock, oxfords clumping heavily as he rushed to see Cordelia\u2019s research for himself. Angel could imagine it like he was there, and he wished he was, instead of the sitting in the cold loneliness of an empty convertible.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s cursed,\u201d she said again, clearly impatient. He could almost see her, tapping an artfully manicured toe. They were pink tonight. She hadn\u2019t realized that he\u2019d noticed. \u201cThe original composer was Hungarian and he wrote it for his girlfriend, who apparently killed herself within days of hearing it. He killed himself also by \u2026 oh, eew!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He shaped his hands over the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. \u201cWhat is it, Cordelia?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t even want to say it. Yuck!\u201d She turned the page so emphatically that he heard a slight rip. \u201cAt least fifteen Hungarian suicides reference the song. And then it disappears. It shows up again in America around the mid 1920s. Businessmen, women, children, all listening or writing about the song when they died. And then it disappears again.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUntil now,\u201d Angel realized. \u201cBut how is it connected with the Desgial?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Cordelia said. \u201cBut a new bookstore just opened on Figueroa, and the owner supposedly knows his demons. I thought I\u2019d go \u2013\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her huff of displeasure was loud in his ear, but he didn\u2019t care. \u201cI mean it, Cordelia. You\u2019re not going anywhere.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd since when do I follow your orders?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSince I became your boss,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s your job, remember? To follow orders.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her bark of laughter was hard and not amused. \u201cExcuse me, but I\u2019m pretty sure that becoming your secretary did not make you the boss of me. I go where I want to go, Angel.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

His fingers clenched around the phone, he bit his lip to keep the words in. Jamming the key into the ignition, he struggled against fraying controls and demanding emotions. This was Cordelia, and she never backed down from a confrontation, but if she forced this one, she would lose. \u201cI\u2019ll be there in twenty minutes,\u201d he gritted out. \u201cAnd you will be there, waiting for me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat doesn\u2019t make any sense, Angel,\u201d she said.<\/span><\/p>\n

His control slipped the tiniest bit and he pressed his eyes shut, forcing out the feel of her shoulders in his grasp, the give of her warm flesh under his fingers, the thirty ways he knew to tie her up, shut her up, keep her safe, whole, near. \u201cCordelia\u2026\u201d The struggle for patience lengthened her name and yet she fought on.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnnnngelllll,\u201d she mocked. \u201cCome on! I can just go do this research and it\u2019ll save us time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSend Wesley,\u201d he said patiently, \u201cand that is not negotiable. Do I have to remind you what the Oracles \u2013\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She sucked in this tiny little breath and he almost felt guilty for throwing the prophecy back in her face. Almost. \u201cYou said you weren\u2019t going to let it happen.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I meant it. But you have to help me. No running off alone, Cordelia. I mean it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

It wouldn\u2019t be Cordelia unless she kept fighting, but her voice sagged with disgruntled acceptance. \u201cWell, what am I supposed to do?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t care,\u201d he bit out. \u201cPaint your fingernails. Make some coffee. Hey, go crazy \u2013 try some filing! All I know is that when I get to the office, you\u2019d better be sitting behind your desk- in one piece.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFine,\u201d she snapped and the dial tone rang loud in his ear.<\/span><\/p>\n

Part 9<\/a><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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