Blood Money, Revisited
by Nicole Clevenger (c) February
2001
The fight had been too close to
call the first time, and the second followed in its footsteps. His entire body
felt pummeled, bruised, bleeding. The bag of money meant for the shelter lay on the floor between him and the
unconscious demon. He needed to get up, to get the money back to the girl...
He had just managed to reach his
feet - however unsteadily - when a noise from the direction of the lobby caught
his attention. His demon face transformed his features without his consent, the
predator taking over instinctively, still running high on the adrenaline from
the fight. Someone was approaching the large front doors of the old hotel.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a rational voice reminded him that it might
not be an enemy -- it could be someone who needed his help, someone coming to
him for salvation.
They all wanted him to save them.
With more effort than was usually
needed, he forced his face back to its human guise. He wouldn't be caught like
that, not knowing who it was who was coming. The door opened, and he willed his
eyes to focus, willed his body not to fold beneath him. He felt himself sway
drunkenly, a surge of energy coming up from his demon as it strove to give him
the strength to fight against this possible new threat.
"Look, I know you kicked us
out of here and all, but - "
The voice seeped through the fog
that was swirling around him. His body -- recognizing that there was no threat
even as his mind still struggled to keep up -- was already reaching toward the
bliss of unconsciousness. Again he tried to focus, but the figure in the
doorway remained a stubborn blur.
"Cordelia?" he managed
to force out through cracked and swollen lips.
And then darkness.
~~
When he came to, he still couldn't
see properly. Animal panic flooded his throat, choking him, until he realized
that one of his eyes had swollen shut. The other was simply having difficulty
functioning on its own so unexpectedly in the darkened room. Having determined that
there was no immediate threat, he closed his one good eye and lay still, using
his well-honed senses to determine where he was and what was happening.
He was lying on something soft -
the couch in the main sitting room? The smell of old, worn leather reached him,
even decayed as it was by time. His entire body ached, feeling -- quite
appropriately -- as if it had just been beaten within inches of its undead
life.
Someone was talking in the other
room. He concentrated, pushing past the pain, trying to make out the words.
"Yep. Got rid of them. Can
you believe it? How rude, seriously! I mean, just because a person leaves
something behind for a few days - hectic, messy, demon-slaying, saving-the-world-on-your-own-because-your-boss-doesn't-want-to-do-his-job-anymore
kind of days, I'd like to add - doesn't
mean that you can just get rid of it like it's yours. There were some good
things in there, Wesley. Like expensive *and* cute."
A pause.
"Well, knowing Mr.
Monochrome, he probably gave it all to some bag lady. So now there's some
spectacularly dressed homeless person wandering the streets of Greater LA, and
I don't even have a job to replenish... Duh, I know you don't either. I was there
too, remember? One stop firing shop."
Another beat of silence. Then,
"Puh-leaze. Like anyone would take that stuff you wear... Unless there's
some kind of Watcher Resale or something..."
Cordelia. What was she doing
there?
A flash of her in the doorway of
the hotel. And then...
Damn it. Now he had to get rid of her before she had Wesley over there as
well. He couldn't... He didn't know if he could do it all again. See that look
on their faces; knowing that they cared too much, that he had to make them go
before they followed him somewhere they wouldn't be able to get back out of...
"I don't know. He looks
pretty thrashed," he heard her say, echoing his concern.
He almost managed to stifle the
groan that tried to slip out his slightest attempt to shift position. Left arm
was definitely broken; beginning to heal, but at a considerably slower speed
than his body was capable of. Couple of the ribs felt cracked or broken as
well. Add the plethora of assorted cuts and bruises... He needed to feed, he
knew, so that his body could repair itself.
But first he had to get rid of his
house guest.
Getting to his feet was near
torture, but he'd been tortured before and knew the drill. His injured arm was
a poor brace for wounded ribs, but he used them both to try and keep each
immobile. The pain clouded his thoughts, and he had to fight to get a handle on
himself. Not allowing any time to indulge in his weakness, he forced his feet
to move, one in front of the other, momentarily losing himself in the simple
pattern.
Again he pulled his attention
back. Cordelia would never leave if she thought he was badly injured. Focus.
Push away the pain. Focus. Push away the pain. Focus. Push -
"Omigod, Angel! You scared
me."
He looked up from his feet to find
that he had already reached her without realizing. He mentally chastised
himself even as he forced himself to stand up straight. Much to his dismay, he
was unable to stop a soft gasp from escaping as fire ripped through his ribs
and chest. Clamping his mouth tightly closed, he stared at her, practiced in
his lack of expression, and hoped she hadn't noticed.
Mercifully, she didn't seem to --
or, if she had, she wasn't saying anything. "What are you doing
here?" he asked, secretly pleased that he managed to keep the pain out of
his voice.
"I came to get the clothes I
left here. Which you've already gotten rid of. Jeez, Angel. Waste no
time."
His gaze dropped to his shoes
again, this time in a flush of unexpected embarassment. "Didn't think you
were coming back."
"Obviously. If I didn't know
all about your finances, I'd take a paid shopping spree as an apology. But
since I was the one who kept track of
our lack of cash..."
She trailed off, and he looked up,
wondering why. She was looking at him oddly, her head at an angle. He stood
stiffly under her gaze, trying not to fidgit or wince -- the way he'd often
felt under the eyes of his mum when she'd check him over before Sunday
services. He was tired, and he had to... something...
He blinked when Cordelia snapped
her fingers in front of his face. "Hello? Angel? Where's the new crazy
scary loner vampire?" She frowned. "Not that, uh... Okay, maybe "crazy" isn't the best
choice, but..." He vaguely noticed her awkwardness. Cordelia was very
rarely at a loss for words, especially around him. Things had changed so much
in so short a time.
"You're totally zoning out on
me here. Are you okay?"
No, not okay. Hurting, in so many
more ways than just the physical. It was like he needed to breathe, but
couldn't.
Then, like the snap-back of a
rubber band, he remembered who he was supposed to be and what he was trying to
do. "Fine," he tried, but it came out hardly more than a whisper. He
cleared his throat, tried again. "Fine." Better.
"Uh-huh. Besides the fact
that your face looks like you fought that guy." Her forehead crinkled.
"You know, the boxer guy..."
His legs were beginning to feel a
little weak. "Who?"
"That guy who bites people.
You know."
"Bites...?" He was
having trouble concentrating. He had to get rid of her before he collapsed in
front of her again. And feed. He was so hungry...
She flipped a hand past his face
-- a careless, dismissive guesture -- and his eyes tracked it distractedly.
"Not 'bites' in your sense of the word. Human bites." A dramatic sigh
when she realized that he still wasn't paying attention. "Forget it. What
happened to you?"
Boone. The demon would probably be
unconscious for some time yet, but it was still another reason why he needed to
get Cordelia out of the place. And the money. He had to take the money to Anne,
for the shelter.
He turned, and his ribs screamed.
Unprepared for the sudden sharp pain, he gasped, only barely stopping himself
from crying out. His knees buckled slowly. Having little say in the matter, he
slid down the wall behind him, ending in an almost-sitting position on the
floor, bent over, reflexively protecting his injuries.
"Angel? God, you really are
hurt." She knelt down beside him. He had his face turned away from her,
his eyes tightly closed, but he could smell her. So close, leaning in closer,
trying to tell him something... So warm her blood smelled. So fresh. Behind his
eyelids he could see her pale neck, that one beautiful vein waiting for him,
offering its rich bounty up to him...
The feeling of his features
shifting brought him abruptly back to himself. He was breathing hard, each
inhalation another stab of pain; he forced himself to continue, using it to
clear his mind. At least she hadn't been able to see his lapse in control. This
was why... He was too dangerous to them. He didn't belong among them, pretending
to be like them. He was a monster, an evil. A threat.
"Angel, you're bleeding all
over the place. Let me --."
His hand shot out unerringly,
grabbing her wrist and surprising them both. "Or not," she said
slowly, not moving.
He opened his eyes, narrow slits
against the pain. "I... It's okay. I just need..." He realized he
still hand a hold on her, and dropped her wrist immediately. "You should
go."
"Beginning to get that
vibe." Despite her words, she remained where she was, rubbing her wrist.
"You're hurt. Quit pretending to be so macho and help me get you back to
bed. You're too heavy for me to carry you," she added. "I had to try
the last time. Bad news."
He wanted to, wanted to let her
help him so badly that it surprised him. He had grown too accustomed to having
them around; to their friendship and everyday courtesies, to their concern for
him and their willingness to watch his back. He'd grown soft, weak. He'd become
unable to protect them, or anyone else.
"Angel? Stay with me
here..."
He looked up at her, making an
effort to look like he'd been listening to her the entire time. He didn't know
how much longer he could keep this up, however. He opened his mouth to tell her
again to go, but she jumped to her feet before he could utter a syllable.
"Crap, I left Wesley on the
phone," she explained, obviously just then remembering. Before he could
stop her again, she was heading for the phone. "I'll have him come
over."
"No, Cordelia..." The
pleading in his voice made him want to retch. He couldn't seem to help himself.
But the thought of both of them over here, worrying and complaining and getting
in the way of his new direction, his new life... Maybe if he compromised with
her. "Please..." That got her attention, her hand hovering over the
abandoned phone. "You..." he forced out, trying to keep the swords
from slurring together, "you, but no one else, okay?"
She looked at him for a long
moment, and he found himself looking away. He hoped she couldn't see in his
eyes what he had realized: He really did want her to stay.
~ You can't be her friend, Angel.
~ Darla's voice, always. She had
reminded him of who -- of what he
was. ~You don't belong with them... ~
So whispery-soft her voice could
be. So delicate, yet always backed by the insistence that she be obeyed. Other
times, her voice was demand itself. If one were to disobey that voice...
"No, really, he's fine. Totally already healing right up.
Wesley, I can see him from here. Sheesh, you're such a hoverer sometimes... I
said I would, didn't I? Of course I know. Duh... Uh-huh. Okay, bye."
Darla was talking to Wesley? That
wasn't right. But was that her perfume? No, she couldn't be here; she'd hurt
them...
He was on his feet without
conscious thought, so fast that it took the pain a moment to catch up. Then it
hit him, and he felt himself waver as grey began to cover his vision. Someone
grabbed his arm, followed by a voice almost in his ear.
"Hey, slow down. You're far
paler than usual. Definitely not a sign of good."
Cordelia, he identified, slowly
coming back to the room. They were moving slowly and awkwardly toward the
couch; he made an effort not to lean so heavily on her much smaller frame. He
grit his teeth, barely able to force himself to make it the last few feet.
Exhausted and drained, he fell heavily onto the leather, causing even more
aggrevation to his battered body.
He let his head fall back against
the couch, but refused Cordelia's suggestions that he lie down. He couldn't let
himself relax, to lose hold on reality again. The girl got up and left the room
without a word; he had to fight the impulse to call out to her like some little
boy left alone in the dark. Don't leave me...
~ Not one of them. The predator
among the prey. And sooner or later, you'll let the predator out... ~
He couldn't remember any more what
she had actually said to him, and what he had just told himself in her voice.
But it didn't matter, really -- It was all true. And he knew it.
The smell of blood reached him.
Not human, but warm. Coming closer... His face shifted, and he could do nothing
to control it. He needed... He needed.
His mind was whirling, his need consuming him. But there was something nagging
there, just out of reach... Some reason why he couldn't lose control...
"If you were that starving,
you should have just said something."
The voice was gentle, calm.
Somehow he managed to open his working eye, to submerge the need just enough
that he could focus. It was important that he focused. It was important that he
get control, though he wasn't entirely sure why...
Cows. There were cows in front of
him, little cartoon cows. A mug. And... Cordelia. He had to keep control for
Cordelia. He could smell the blood, almost taste it.
It took every bit of willpower
he'd ever possessed not to rip it out of her hand right then, maybe taking off
her arm in the process. Taking a deep, painful breath, he used what felt like
the last of his strength to transform his face back to its semblance of
humanity. He grunted with the effort, but concentrated heavily, determined.
He was not an animal.
The instant he completed his
victory, he let himself reach for the mug, hands shaking so badly that he
couldn't hold it steady. Didn't matter; he didn't notice the red sloshing over
the rim and onto his pants leg as he finished the contents of the cup in one
greedy swallow.
Need temporarily sated, his hand
and the cup dropped to his lap. He looked down at them both blankly, not having
the energy left to do anything else. Besides, he didn't want to look in
Cordelia's eyes, to read the revulsion and horror that he knew must be there.
She had seen his face, seen his darkness, his craving...
He always tried not to drink in
front of humans -- yet another way he pretended that he was one of them. Not a
vampire or a man, but a creature trapped somewhere between.
"Feel any better? I'm such a
blonde for not thinking of that right off."
Confused, he dragged his eyes up
to her face. He could see lines of worry around her eyes, not quite hidden by
the false charm of her practiced smile. But, amazingly, no fear. No disgust.
But how...?
Did they truly accept him that
much? Trust him? As if his soul made him less of a danger to them?
"Okay, Angel, you have to
talk to me here. 'Cause I told Wesley that you were fine, and if you're not,
then we need to fix that somehow." She stood up, taking the empty cup from
his still-trembling hands. "Even Dennis makes more noise than you, half
the time," she said, when he didn't respond. "You want more?"
He shook his head, lying to both
of them. Except he'd never been able to lie to himself, not really.
Apparently, he couldn't lie to
Cordelia either. She returned from the other room, mug again full with the
steaming liquid. It didn't send him into the uncontrolable haze of need that it
had moments before, but he could still feel it pulsing, straining, just below
the surface. The yearning made him feel weak, and the weakness made him angry.
"I said --"
"I heard," she said,
handing him the warm cup. "But we both know that you need it. So drink,
and then you can tell me what happened."
With a sigh he took the mug from
her, holding it between his bruised hands. He made himself take a moment like
that -- just holding it, feeling the warmth seeping into his skin -- before he
took a drink. His hands were still shaking, but less now, and he was already
beginning to feel stronger. Cordelia was right; he needed this.
When exactly had Cordelia Chase
become the voice of reason in his life?
"A smile? That's it, I'm
calling the papers."
He blinked, looking at her again.
"Huh?"
"You smiled."
"I did not."
She wagged a finger at him.
"Don't deny it. It might have been tiny, but there was definitely the hint
of a smile there."
Had he smiled? Probably not. She
was most likely just trying to get a reaction out of him. Cordelia tended to
say whatever it was that popped into her head -- that candidicy was one of the
things he missed the most about her not being around. He kept catching himself
waiting for her comment on whatever was happening, and then being vaguely...
lost when it didn't come.
No. He didn't need her around.
Didn't need any of them. He was alone, as he was meant to be.
But then why did it hurt so much
to wake up to the silence every night?
He forcifully pushed that thought
away. He had things to do.
He finished the blood, pointedly
setting the empty mug on the table beside her. Happy now? he asked her with his
eyes.
Of course she wasn't. He should
have expected. "More?"
"No. It's time for you to
go."
Cordelia arched an eyebrow.
"Don't they teach gratitude in hell?" At his frown, she mumbled,
"Suppose not." She took a breath, like she was preparing herself for
something. "Look, Angel... This isn't good." Her guesture took in the
whole room, and beyond. "You playing Brooding Boy all alone in this big
empty hotel. Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't seem to be doing too
well."
When he said nothing, merely
glared at her, she hurried on. "Maybe you think you don't need us. But I
think you're wrong. Big time. And, well... I think we need you."
The last words hit him like
Boone's built-in brass knuckles. His stomach clenched, and he had to fight to
keep the impassive expression on his face. He missed them so much that it was a
physical pain, gnawing at him like something inside fighting to get out. But he
couldn't do it, couldn't put them in danger any longer. This was something he
had to do on his own.
This wouldn't be the first time he
lost something he cared about. But he planned for it to be the last.
"Go," was all he said to
her.
He couldn't miss the hurt that
flickered across her face before she quickly hid it beneath her actress' mask.
She got to her feet a little too fast for the movement to be nonchalant.
"Okay. I'm going. But, Angel, if you need anything..."
He didn't say anything. Neither
did she. There was nothing else to say, really.
Cordelia turned and left him
there, alone in the darkness.