Fall On Your Knees
Author: Ignited
Category: Angst
Feedback: ignitedangel@aol.com
Spoilers: Everything up to Rain of Fire', set a few months into
the future.
Summary: Caught up in the tumultuous tide of Christmas shoppers, Angel wonders
about his view on life and most importantly, Cordelia. Answer to the Stranger
Things Secret Santa 2002 Challenge.
Distribution: Anywhere, as long as my name is attached
Disclaimer: Angel, Cordelia, "Angel" TM and © (or copyright) David
Greenwalt, Joss Whedon, Fox and its related entities. All rights reserved.
Dedication: To Kel. Hope you have a merry Christmas, girlie! This one is
for you.
*
Thrown, his body twisted until it slammed face first on the ground, fireworks
and funnels of ice in his wake. Angel, vampire, broken, angry—FUCKING
pissed, damn thing ripped a seam—rolled, but in the nick of time as
a pillar of ice lodged three inches from where the gelled construct of the
top of his head was. Feeling the wind of the Iguion's claws rake by
his face, impossibly cold. The air seemed to crystallize around it, sending
chills and broken shards of ice down to the ground, it's back shaking
as if it were a dog.
Puppy's gonna get the newspaper, Angel gritted, nothing
but anger furrowing that ridged brow. Anger that fueled him, more than the
usual, to shoot a hand up while jumping on his heels, cracking and snapping
bone. The thing howled, lurching back and hissing. It was quite comical to
Angel's eyes, fingers long and spread out for maximum coverage of the
ground, a thin layer of water on it. The cobalt-tinged creature, half lizard,
half lion, raised its hind legs, forelegs down and ready to pounce.
It wasn't like the thing knew Angel's agenda. No one ever did,
really.
Though it did rip through his bag of Christmas gifts—buying for women,
something that took a long, LONG time—leaving Angel more than a little
ticked off.
Little. Just a little.
The screech fell on dead ears, the air thick with cold moisture. Vampires
didn't need to breathe, or care much for temperature, but even the moisture
in the area growing made Angel blink his eyes in consternation once or twice.
Three, maybe. For the wind whipped up again, lashing and digging furrows
into cold flesh like needles, scraping. His arm rose up, a shield, boot crunching
something sound and—
He always wondered if there would be snow in California again. Minus the
tragedy aspect.
Angel stopped, seeing the lumbering ice creature come thundering towards
him. Snow kicked up by furry hind legs sprayed all around. Ice and snow spattered
on Angel's face as it approached, lurching up fluidly like a snake.
A second, and his fingers closed firmly on a shaft of wood he snatched up
near a garbage can. It penetrated the creature's back, but not before
the Iguion reached out and batted him away, the frozen skewers on its knuckles
tearing into his brow, making him cry out in pain and fury.
Blood spattered, but only less than five bloody rubies touched the ground,
their master lunging up and grabbing hold of the last rung of the fire escape
above. Angel kicked back from the wall, the snow demon's muscles like
coils of a spring. It jumped up, good and worn leather boots plowing into
it with force. Falling, Angel looked up from a crouched position to see the
improvised stake dig deeper into the Iguion's flesh after hitting the
wall with its back. A rag doll flopping harmlessly to the ground, the creature
issued a final mewl—soft like a kitten, though far from the
truth—before taking its last breath.
Pause. Breathe. Not over.
It's never over, Angel thought, picking up the disheveled bag
of gifts and straightening his clothing. An actual gaze of the alley, narrow,
garbage cans in brown and black, the soft blue glow of light falling on bricks.
He crossed the alley, ignoring the soft spurts and splashes of his boots
meeting the remaining water and slush of the Iguion demon, instead heading
out into the chilly and yet warmer night air.
O, holy night
The stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth
Carolers. What luck.
No worries. Should be home early. It was only half past eleven. Okay, real
terms, not that early, but in Vampire Savings Time, bright and early as a
Sunday morning. On second thought, did it matter if he got there early? Living
alone—well, with Fred and Lorne—something that suited Angel perfectly.
Alone. Alone, alone.
He could lie awake a thousand nights, back making an indentation on the wall,
and still he'd feel her voice and the hole she'd driven into his
heart. Still his bed would be empty.
Alone.
Digging his hands further into his pockets, Angel buttoned up his duster
to block the wind. He'd taken up wearing it again, a flowing sheet of
black, warm, and for December, a shield for gifts. Fred, Gunn, and Lorne.
That—that was it.
Angel checked his bag. Grand Theft Auto for Gunn's PlayStation, a journal
set for Fred, and cuff links for Lorne. Dice. He'd love it or get all
whiny about Vegas again.
Ah, Vegas.
That was it. That was all. He would *not* go through it again. He wouldn't.
No. No. Safe, tucked away, AWAY from him. Bought, useless, not needed. She
wasn't there. Nor would she be for a long while. No, it was only the
allusion, the allusion of brown and blonde tucked away under silk and satin
gauze trimmed with golden thread. Wrapped up in tissue paper, thrown into
the bag that was now ripped, the crevasse growing wider. He noticed this
time, for once, having been oblivious to the shoppers doing their last minute
dashes for trinkets and baubles.
It was this time that Angel paused at a red light, dark brown eyes looking
up at the soft glow, cars sloshing by on streets slick with rain, that he
realized he hated Christmas.
Everything I touch turns to ashes
Slipping through fingers, burning down, the feeling assaulted his senses,
making him almost stagger to the other side of the street. Walking by the
haunted ringing of bells, pots cold and gleaming, Santas eager to reach home
and spend time with their families.
Families, huh? I had that once
I remember. I remember her touch him—nicely, not not
further—lift him up, put him on the bed Between us. And she nursed
and coddled him, cooing, singing a lullaby.
Before she comforted him with flesh and sorrow—
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Angel continued walking. He'd decided
to walk, to drive through the night and grimy streets, to clear his mind.
Devoid, ignoring the bright golden orbs blinking on storefronts, those Christmas
ornaments. A watered down quality to it all, red, pink, blue, and green lights
casting reflections back up at him. Trees for Sale, 25% off. Christmas Ornaments:
$5. Wreaths and Stands.
Mundane, trivial, black boots carried him, darkness and wind ruffling his
duster.
Tired as he was, Angel could take no joy in the sights. No joy to see the
absence of puffs of smoke coming from his lips—it scarily felt that
cold—nor even pulling the corners of his mouth into a small smile so
as to not put off the atmosphere. The jingle, the jangle, the damn caffeinated
carolers kept on with their constant singing, and if they let ONE more word
out, he'd—
Bowing his head, Angel paused the thoughts tossing and rolling around his
mind, wild dogs snapping for a solution. He shuddered, the flash of red painted
on eyelids, the taste of crimson in the air. Eyes looked up, and he could
see quite clearly someone struggling on the roof two stories above. A scream,
grunting, another roar. Vampire. The stench was unmistakable. He wished it
was
No, no matter. A brief look cast at his surroundings—the street devoid
of vehicles, the drunk on the corner, the warm glowing lights of a coffee
shop opened late—and he vaulted, a strong hand grabbing the bottom rung
of a fire escape before he clambered his way onto it. Angel ran, ran as fast
as his legs could carry him—from the roof, away, far away from his
loft— up the slippery walkway, so many steps towards the sky. It was
then that he came crashing down onto the roof, letting his bag of gifts fall
near him not unlike a familiar red suited gentleman known by all.
Her scent struck him blind for moments, eternities, enough for him to hesitate
before vamping out.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth
Fingernails dug into flesh, wrenching hard and clawing the vampire off. Cordelia
staggered to her feet, mouth set in a grim line, avoiding the sexual advances
of the grungy vampire on her. The small little trench coat he'd given
her so long before, gave her money, told her he had liked it—
which, by the way, not so big a surprise—was open, expose the flesh,
pull away from the nicety of lace and silk.
Orbs lift, avoid, and keep away, as the forehead changes, and he lunges.
Angel pummeled the vampire with a couple of blows, both fast and slow motion
making them hurt more, more, the thing crying out and roaring. He grabbed
its jacket, pulling it up while sending a knee crashing into its midsection.
Disoriented, it could only stumble before Angel plucked a stake from his
coat and dusted the cold demon with an equally horrible face.
So equal
He imagined her coming to him, asking if he was all right. Watched her touch
his brow with her fingertips, vampire face be damned, and tell him she was
worried. The ministrations of her hands kneading the flesh of his back,
reassuring him, wiping his brow, patching him up.
Those flashes never, ever happened.
Are you all right? Angel asked, looking down, right. Avoiding.
Avoiding speaking and letting it' out. It, the horrible little
creature clawing his innards, scooping the meat from his cold and unbeating
heart.
Guess so. Can't even buy a decent handbag for Christmas without
running into a couple of weirdos. Jeez. What is the world coming to?
Answer her. Answer HER.
The demon rose, teetering on the edge of glory and madness. Egging him on,
telling him, damn well explaining that Cordelia, having chosen to live with
Connor, does not care for him. No. She doesn't. And who could, honestly?
He'd have his heart torn and ripped up more than she could ever mend
it. Live longer than she could ever hope to dream. Did she think about that?
Did she ever think about that? Did she?
He did, sometimes, to drive thoughts away from flesh and bone
We need to get off this roof, Angel responded flatly.
Cordy blurted, taking a glance left and right before moving
to him. She pulled her coat closer around her, covering the white blouse,
a shaky and cold hand pushing a dark lock of hair behind her ear. No.
You're not leaving that easy.
You're one to talk.
Her eyes widened, stopping from gazing far off, to look at him, nostrils
flaring.
I left the hotel by my own will.
And moved in with my son. I know.
And remember, wasn't like you were so eager to protest that
decision.
I know, Angel repeated tiredly.
Eyes at half-mast, looked down at her shoes, Cordy continued, I
just couldn't stand the way you kept looking at Connor
after—
Yeah, well, I couldn't stand seeing you have sex with my son.
Didn't leave because of it, Angel bit off. The dagger cut through
cleanly, as he loathed and wished for, the glimmer of hope and familiarity
on Cordelia's eyes gone, replaced by a deep aching sadness.
It's all my fault
You wanna be like that? Fine. I'll play, Cordelia retorted,
regaining the cruel exterior seen previously in Sunnydale. She was hurt,
Angel knew, and all the more felt worse. What little of her Christmas shopping
that remained had been shot to hell, her trip cut short by a fangy felon.
A little Christmas, he could see in his mind's eye, the loft decorated
with sparse lights, Connor staring blankly at a small, twelve inch tree Cordelia
bought. He did that a lot sometimes. Stared, and looked at her, her skin,
the softness of it under his fingers.
Skin I knew, tainted and touched
You know me, Cordelia. I could—Just that—You—
Angel fumbled for words to conveyed something, something human and warm and
alive. The world was ending. Couldn't you have given him
a hug instead?
The stare. The storm brewing. Wait for it, wait for it
I wanted him to feel something—REAL, okay? Something outside of
the pain and suffering that poor little boy had to go through, all for nothing.
No one deserves that, Angel. No. One. Being whisked away and raised in a
hell dimension by a psychopath? Not too keen on the sanity, got that?
Cordy snapped, crossing her arms in front of her, looking up at him.
That still doesn't mean you had to go and FUCK Connor! he
growled.
She faltered, but lo and behold, for after that, her mind made up, Cordelia
went over to Angel and smacked him hard across the face.
Shut up. Just shut up.
Angel turned away from her, flicking her arm away when she touched his arm.
Her posture relaxed, a soothing quality to her eyes and voice when she nodded,
clearing her throat. I know I can't say anything to make it better
this time. Because it won't. It'll keep hurting you. Always.
Until—
Until what?
He looked at her, jaw set, eyes glancing briefly at the bag he had dropped.
Presents. For friends. For those he loved and cared about. Would she be on
his Christmas list? Would Connor be there?
Take your new boyfriend and get the hell out.
Cordelia let her body relax further, slowly, her hand reaching out to stroke
his back.
He raised a hand, indicating for her to be silent. Confused at this, Angel
nodded his head in the direction of the side of the roof, towards south,
dark sky reddened with ominous storm clouds. Red. Red like— Wait. Wait.
There was a sound, skittering, claws scratching stone, sparks sent down.
Suction, brief, skittering, clambering. Fire escape, hollow, melodic sounds
of metal and ice. More, and more, and more—
A hollow scream cut through the night, a lumbering shadow jumping from the
side of the building only to fall hard onto the roof on all fours. A slam,
solid. Then another, and another. Three. Three echoes into the night. A triad
of demons shaking snow and moisture from their backs, like dogs stretching
and mewling. On their haunches, eyes thin as slits, glaring deeply into the
vampire's soul. Cutting, digging. They were pretty pissed off.
Great. Just great.
What are they? Cordelia asked, Angel pulling her to stand behind
him. She grunted, pushing his arm away hard to stand near him. A glance at
her, then the creatures, before he took a step back with her, the shopping
bag now firm in his hand again.
Brothers and sisters. Not so Angel answered, looking
cautiously around the roof. General debris near the air conditioner vents,
boxes, chicken wire. Pipes, papers flown up, screws, shards of metal. All
the aforementioned lay near the edges of the roof, tucked and discarded away.
He left her side to pick up a rebar ten feet away, a small twirl before grasping
it.
Cordelia, when I tell you, get to the edge near the front.
Okay?
But Angel—
Do as I say, Angel snapped, all the while taking quick, fluid
steps forward. A low sweep up, catching one Iguion by the chin. The other
two leaped as the stricken one fell, trying to tear a piece out of Angel.
He struggled, seeing Cordelia out of the corner of his eye grab a shaft of
wood, smaller than a two-by-four, but larger than a stake, to slam one of
the Iguions in the head.
Fists clenched, grabbing skin before the other would punch, and she was there,
smacking, slamming, kicking, and yelling. Side by side they fought again,
and the world fell to black, their zone. Ignoring the chills of ice seeping
down her spine, Cordelia shouted, indicating for Angel to duck before slamming
another demon right in the face. She was slowing down, Angel knew, due to
the proximity of these frigid creatures, and soon she would not be able to
fight. Every passing second, and soon they could take her. Take her away.
He couldn't have that.
Staggering for a moment, he pulled away from the scuffle after slamming one
down to the ground, insuring it was out cold. Angel dug into his jacket,
pulling out a book of matches. The flame was small, but soon grew quickly
when he called Cordelia over, fending the demons off to light the plank of
wood, a makeshift torch. Pulling back, the girl winced, seeing the fire catch
on, Angel having smacked the trembling and slathering creatures away.
Get to the edge, Cordy!
Her nickname, so sweet and caring, sprang from those lips she knew—
Cordelia complied with Angel's wish, swiftly grabbing the bag of gifts
he had left. An afterthought. A silly little thing, in comparison with his
life, or even hers, dark and death—
The vampire plowed into her, startling her, but not before those hazel eyes
took in the sight of bodies twisting from flames. Her nose told her of the
smell of gasoline, cans found amongst the debris. And although he did not
ask her, she felt calm and serene. For he had taken her into his arms—loved
her? Was it ready yet? Ever again?—instructed her to hold onto his neck,
and he made a crude handle from shucking off his duster. Angel grabbed her,
a nod of his head and that there it was! There it was again! The crooked
little smile of his, carefree, reckless, now daunting.
He jumped over the side of the roof with her.
The ground rushed up to meet them, for a fraction of a second, air under
her feet, but then a sharp tug brought her back. Back from the fall, her
whole body spasming tight, to lock her arms round Angel's neck
as he grasped each end of his duster. The two sailed down the suspended line
very quickly, away from the screeching demons. Cordelia glanced down for
a moment before burying her head in Angel's neck, fingers gripping the
shopping bag on his back. Weightless, the air beneath her feet, they sailed
down the line to the other building it was connected to. All seemed perfect,
exciting, thrilling, air rushing, adrenaline pumping, but the wall.
The abandoned building's wall grew closer, detailed, ominous and
unstoppable.
Breath caught in her throat, hazel orbs snapped shut for impact—
Angel let one hand loose so as to fall, the other gripping his duster, having
gained enough momentum to carry himself and Cordelia through the gutted window,
rolling and crashing down. Leather providing a shield from debris, he could
feel himself falling and rolling down a couple of steps to land on a mattress,
alone and abandoned.
Dust flew up from the crash, a thermal of air sending papers, bits and chunks
of wood up and from their setting. Particles of dust hung in the air after
the entire racket grew silent. The tableau was finally set; a burning effigy
sending a funnel of smoke into the sky, never getting other floors, the sky
reddened, tinged with blue for sawn, the abandoned room, a loft once used
by vagrants with its mattress, dust, stray candles here or there.
They never needed the light. The flames provided enough.
The fall had caused Angel to land on top of Cordelia, bracing himself with
an arm. His eyes searched her face, and with a gash on his ridged forehead,
asked, Are you okay?
He asked her
Before she knew, before she could scream and shout and yell at herself, never,
ever, her mouth was on his lips. Her hands were digging into his scalp, pulling
him to her mouth, fingers looping round those ambitious, soft strands.
Rough, violent, her mouth engulfed his own and he responded fervently, almost
tearing from the sheer passionate intensity. He breathed her breath and she
stole a sliver of his soul away.
It was bliss, it was hell, for a minute.
No.
Soft swirl—
No.
A lick of elongated canines—
Oh, God
Angel pulled away, his human face on, staring at her open mouthed. He stared,
getting a good, long and hard look at her, before proceeding to unbutton
her miniature trench coat. So slowly worked his fingers, so quickly worked
her own, walking down the chest above her, to stop at his waist. To have
him reach down, grab her fingers, her, apprehensive, and all Angel did was
kiss them softly, the same spot again, guiding her there. Cordelia continued
to unbuckle his belt, pull on his zipper, while Angel lifted her up, one
hand behind her back to view the growing expanse of her neck and chest as
she leaned her head back.
He kissed her chest, her neck, then down again, his mind made up while doing
so. There went the tight sweater over his head—gel be damned—there
went his trousers, his boxers, there went sanity and logic out the window.
A kiss deserved another, and it wasn't until a minute or two later that
Cordelia found herself wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. Even then,
soon those would be off if the vampire could contain himself
Those fingers trailed along her skin, along her thigh. Over her, condescending
was it? Overbearing? Watchful? Protecting? Angel, a champion, had many names
and many attributes, but she'd rather have him known as Best Fucking
Masseuse in the World, as he pulled her up to sit on his lap, kissing her
shoulders before kneading the flesh of her back tenderly. Her own head lolled
like a doll, brown and rare strands of short blonde in her eyes, sucking
on his lip for a second or two. Head turned down, those two hundred and forty
something years of experience giving way to new techniques, new spots she'd
never felt this way
Angel couldn't have perfect happiness but that did not stop him from
giving HER perfection.
When called into the matter, one could wonder if she deserved this. If she
deserved the tender way he let her lie down on the bed, so gentle, enjoying
the soft strands of hair under his fingers. Or how he mischievously took
her underwear off, there, that crooked grin, only to drape them on the mattress.
How he guided himself into her carefully, so as to not upset her, a woman
who proclaimed her love then slept with someone else. Family. Blood.
Blood didn't matter when two people were in love.
Did it?
Crashed into her again, he did, enough to make her say something unintelligible,
something raw and fierce, feeling his hands over her breasts. Caress, pause,
caress, leaning down. Kissing every inch of her collarbone while studying
her skin, setting up a thrusting rhythm inside of her that made her twist
fingers around handfuls of bed sheets.
Ignore the idea crawling in the back of the mind. Ignore the yelling, harsh,
deliberate, malice. Her face, crestfallen, his face smug and confident at
seeing Angel react so Angel-y. Heck, even Connor had picked up on some
of Cordy's vocabulary.
Angel didn't like that much.
Small, with the quality of a little girl, Cordy gasped. So tiny, delicate,
her eyes rapid and rolling back, forward, closing.
It was at this moment that Angel came at a crossroads. Contrary to her looks,
so sweet, innocent even, he could not help but feel a bubble of rage seep
up in him. The demon from a place deep down did not care for lights or trees
or gifts. It cared for slitting Angel's stomach with knives, twisting
it enough to make him sick and wanting to hurt her. And he did. Wanted to
hurt her. To use her, to pour all his grief and sorrow into her, to drive
her into the mattress until there was nothing left but a shivering young
woman.
A feeling of loathing came over him, enough to make Angel shudder—another
thrust, areas uncharted—with disgust.
Day-by-day, clawing at his innards, the demon did its work, remorse and sadness
filling Angel's heart. It was ironic that such a dark thing could see
its demands met without ever acting out. How many times had he—deeper,
down, she bit a scream in—nearly fallen? Too many now, and being here
worried him. Those many long days, weeks he ignored her, unable to look at
Cordelia. To feel that burning skin and piercing hazel on his back, watching
him turn away.
To feel her pluck his heartstrings, one by one, only to slowly peel and tear
each in half.
Angel wouldn't let her hurt him again, not if it meant being away
from—his hand moved past her thigh, took hold of her buttocks to pull
her up and sitting—Cordelia.
Up he pulled her, in her, Angel, shoving himself into her, one hand on her
back and the other on her ass, pulling her to him, up and up
A thrill of Hope
The weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
Cordelia arched back, giving Angel a good view of her breasts, only to have
him bury his face in her cleavage, nuzzling and he pulled away, still thrusting.
Arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tight—let him go and your
fall from grace will be complete—only to view a streak of gold on the
floor. Another, another, the window reddened, and soon there it was, a
semi-circle of pure, blinding golden light, soft against the red background.
The sun rose, unrelenting, casting its light upon a tired city and equally
tired residents. Home from parties, work, and one would roll over and pull
the shades down, pull the blanket over, ignoring it. But how could you, Cordelia
wondered, ignore such a beautiful thing?
The answer came to her in the form of Angel's thrusting deep within
her, again and again, and another rhythm bubbled up into the form of gasps
issuing from her lips, her mind a million miles and crashing down to earth.
How could you ignore such a beautiful thing? He'd done it for
weeks
The crescendo rose, his grip on her thighs firm enough to pick her up, to
literally pull her up and him in deeper. Mouths kissed feverishly, painfully,
bittersweet fire and brimstone. Taking her away from the sunlight, almost
reaching, but their place a few steps down—from grace—prevented
him from getting burned.
Not that way, at least
He groans, his pleasure evident, previously serious and stoic. Now only
restraining the urge to tear her up, so loving, so hateful—calm, ignore
it, push it down—all at once. Only to view that neck, Cordelia's
head rolling back, her motions building, his thrusts mounting, fire, metal,
bullets, wood, flash, water, blood, so much blood
Cries were muffled against his mouth, lost, everything fragmented and shifting.
Desperate, lonely even, lips bitten as if anchors to cling to this mortal
world, anything, something real. Something beyond the fights, the arguments,
the blood and pain and glory. He pushed in deeper, and she responded back,
just enough to keep her sane. Just enough to break her heart, and love him,
hate him, all in one.
To cling to a shred of normality, to ignore his snapped comments, to love
him desperately and truthfully, for he was always there, always.
She shuddered, trembled, and he fell—
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels voices
O night divine
O night when Christ was born.
An explosion within her, through her, scintillating. Scorching every cell
of her body, making her cave in, arch back, in and out, and from her mouth
the most heavenly sound issued forth. The vampire could only moan in response,
eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, falling, falling so fast From grace,
from living, from pleasure and pain. Two sides of a coin, the soul yearning
to bestow its soft embrace on her, the demon willing to tear into her, rip
her up deep and drink her dry. However, there was no time, no time, to go
over such notions, having fallen onto his back on the mattress. The dangerous
prickling along his skin didn't matter. He'd only pull away from
her sweet and soft, deep embrace to stare, to glare at the malicious ball
of fire rising into the sky.
Oh, how it caressed her lovingly and cast him down into the shadows.
Dark orbs lifted to view her, her own eyes widening as if realizing the impact
of what she had done. The ferocity of kissing him melted away the pain of
losing him, so close. From her own doing. Her damn decisions based on insecurity
and the end of the world, and god, did he HAVE to keep STARING at her like
that?
Angel nodded to the dilapidated shopping bag. Open it.
For what?
Your – present.
A breathy sigh and she rose from her position, legs
this way and that like a marionette. Soft steps took her to the bag from
which she dragged over to the mattress. Clutching the trench coat to her
breast, she pushed away the other miscellaneous items before stopping at
a small box. Perhaps for jewelry, perhaps not, for it wasn't covered
in velvet nor shaped as that of one for a necklace, or even a ring. It was
square, the size of her fist, glass and gold, opaque, with antique hinges.
Quietly, Cordelia opened it, and slowly her eyes widened, disbelieving. Struck
blind by such a sight, she could only let her soft touch fall upon his abdomen,
and he rose to greet her. She would have none of it, instead pushing him
down gently to kiss a trail up his stomach. Ignoring the dread that filled
her. Ignoring logic or reason, or any shred of normality. She kissed a corpse
quite truthfully, lovingly, his touch falling as hard upon her as the compassion
in his eyes.
Cordy would push away those other thoughts. Connor, the world ending, all
didn't matter. Only watching the building moisture on his
chest—tears—and the building moisture, coldness of the room. For
even if Angel didn't say anything, anything at all, she knew his thoughts,
read them clearly. It would take time, Cordelia knew, for old wounds to heal,
but he didn't need to love her again.
He always had and always will. So for now, she settled for him brushing away
her tears, to pull her to his chest, feel her skin.
It kept away the coldness building just as one of the figures in the shadows
lunged to strike.
Thunder crashed, a shattered piece of glass met her skin, and all the world
fell to black.
FIN