A/N: This was a challenge on a list I was on long ago. This fiction has graphic references to sex and rape. As a note, I've attempted to touch on the real horror of rape, so you are warned. This is only a two-part fiction.
When the Night Dies
I'll never know what would have happened if I hadn't heard that soft moan. I might have walked on, and someone else might have found her. Then, the question didn't bother me quite so badly. But tonight, as I watch a movie with her, it bothers me a lot. Some nights, I do consider how different things would have turned out, had I done things differently, but I had never really thought about that night again. True to my promise, I had tried to forget that it ever happened, but tonight, I find myself studying her profile as she eats popcorn, wondering how different things would have been if I hadn't heard that moan. Just thinking about it takes me back to that dark night…
Angel left Buffy's house in a bad mood, his scowl darker than the new moon hiding overhead. Hiding, just like Buffy did when she didn't want to talk. He angrily cut through the cemetery on his way home, sure that he could handle anything foolish enough to bother him.
He heard the moan when he was nearly out of the cemetery. He stopped and listened, but he didn't hear it again. He was about to leave when he caught the sharp scent of blood and sex in the air.
Angel froze in mid-step. In Sunnydale, blood was never split on accident. Someone needed help. The wind was blowing from his left, so he turned and crept through the bushes, following the scent to a crypt. Now, he could not only hear the soft moaning, but the sobs that were intertwined within the moans.
Angel put his nose to the ground, sniffing. He could smell vodka and orange juice, and the blood and sex that were carried along with one another like lovers in a bed. Underneath all that, he could smell the man himself, a mortal who was stumbling with drink—and something else.
Angel stood up, following the sob-moans into the dark crypt. His dark eyes could make out the crumpled figure in the corner. It was a woman, huddled in on herself in a pose all too familiar to Angel; he could remember leaving many a woman in that position as his darker self. But, he reminded himself, he was Angel, not Angelus, and he could help this person.
The sobs and moans had stopped, and Angel realized that she was aware of him. He saw her ball up even tighter, and could hear her choking as she tried to be completely quiet. Angel cleared his throat softly and said, "Ma'am, can I help you?"
"A-a-a-angel?" the figure sobbed, and Angel started as he recognized Cordelia's voice.
"Cordelia?" he whispered to her as he moved closer, his voice dropping illogically, as if whispering would erase this. Angel had no great love for Buffy's snobby friend, but no one deserved…this.
"Go. Away," she whispered back, her words chopped and caught in her throat by her sobs.
"Cordy," he whispered, "you need help. I can call the police or your parents—"
"No!" she nearly shouted. "Don't tell anyone!" she stumbled to her knees and pointed her finger at him for effect as she stridently ordered his silence. They stared at each other, each as determined as the other to have their way. Angel knew how badly she was hurt when her face crumpled and she moaned, "Please. Please, I don't want anyone to know."
Angel sighed. "You realize," he murmured to her, "that if we don't take this to the police, he'll never get caught."
She stared at him with broken eyes as she whispered, "I don't want anyone to know."
Angel nodded and offered her his hand. She looked at it like a snake, and then gently grasped it. Angel hadn't realized how fragile her hand was until now. He wondered if her assailant had thought the same as he had violated her, and then shoved the thought away. That was an Angelus thought, not his own. Angel would never think that.
It was a good thing that she had accepted his hand; her legs didn't support her. As she shakily stood up, Angel caught a quick glimpse under her skirt; her underwear was gone, and there was a white trail of something mixing with blood trailing down her leg.
He ignored both as he helped her to stand. When she was upright, she pulled away from him. He didn't argue with her, but he did keep an eye on her as she stumbled out of the crypt.
"I'll walk you home," he offered. She looked at him, completely startled. "What," he tried to gently joke, "haven't you ever had a guy offer to walk you home?"
"I…I… I don't want to go home," she whispered, and he could see fresh tears trembling in her eyes. "I couldn't, not looking like this without an explanation…" she trailed off, and he saw the tears begin to spill over.
"Hey," he murmured, "its ok—"
"No!" she snapped at him. "It's not ok, and it never will be again! Never! I can never live this down! Cordelia Chase, trapped and ra—" Her sentence ended with a jerk as she clamped her hand over her mouth.
He let her cry, the tears spilling over her face and fingers as she sobbed desperately, but silently, her hand holding the sobs in. After she started to calm down, he said gently, "I meant that you could come to my house, instead of going home."
She looked at him, and he saw fear. He smiled as comfortingly as he could and said, "I won't hurt you, Cordy, I promise. I will never hurt you." He watched as the fear in her eyes fled and was replaced by pain and grief. She nodded after a moment and he touched her arm to turn her.
She slapped his hand away. "Please," she moaned, "please don't touch me. I don't want anyone touching me. I've been touched…" her voice faded away as her eyes darkened with pain again. Angel carefully gestured which way to go, ignoring her new tears so that he wouldn't embarrass her anymore than he already had.
He scouted ahead for her, and it was a good thing that he did. Once Angel stopped her from crossing a parking lot just as a group of students from Sunnydale High walked in front of them, chasing away their spooks and fears with laughing and joking. If only they knew what darkness and horrors existed in the night.
They arrived at Angel's huge house, and he held the door for her as she slid in. In the false brightness of the room, Angel noticed that she had blood running down her leg. He bit his lip and looked away as Angelus hummed in the back of his mind. "I have a shower back here; you might want to clean up…" his voice sounded too big in the room, and he let his sentence drop away awkwardly.
She nodded eagerly, and he showed her into the back bathroom with its full tub and shower. He brought her several towels, showed her how to work the antique knobs on the tub, and left the room with relief. He sank into a chair, wondering how Cordy planned to keep this a secret forever. Her strange behavior was going to be noticed soon.
He kept an eye on the time, worried that someone would call, Giles or Willow or Buffy on the phone, asking, "Have you seen Cordelia, her parents are really worried…" He wasn't sure he could lie to any of them, not for Cordy.
It was his concern over the time that made him realize that she had been in the shower for over an hour. With a touch of worry, he stepped over to the door and listened. All he heard was the shower. He tapped on the door, and called out softly. "Cordy? Are you ok, do you need something?" Still no answer. He took a nervous breath, wondering if he should check up on her, but a vision of Cordy hurting or killing herself in his bathtub flashed though his mind, and that resolved his quandary. He didn't want to explain to Buffy how Cordelia had been found dead in his shower.
He opened the door, mildly surprised that it wasn't locked. Cordy was sitting on the bathtub floor, the water shooting out of the showerhead and down her naked back. Angel called again, "Cordy?" She didn't move.
Angel stepped forward and touched her shoulder. She flinched slightly, but that was all. Angel blinked in surprise; despite the heat of the shower, her skin was ice-cold. She was in shock, he realized, and snatched a towel off the pile he had left her. He held it under the spray of hot, nearly scalding water, soaking it and his shirt, and then wrapped it around her. And then he waited, eyes closed, ready to help her when she accepted it.
After a time he heard the water stop, and Angel opened his eyes. She was standing up, holding the wet towel around her awkwardly. Angel held up a dry one and turned his head. After a few soft movements, she said, "Ok."
He looked back carefully, sure that she had covered up, but also sure that he didn't want to embarrass her further if something wasn't quite secured. She was covered, and looking at her clothes disdainfully. Angel looked at them. They were dirty and smudged with mud, sweat and worse. "You can wash those in my machine," he offered.
Cordy picked them up quickly, and followed Angel to the machines. She threw them in, and brushed her hands against one another as if the dirt were sticking to them. Angel watched her, and then remembered that he had extra clothes. "Um, would you like something else to wear?"
She nodded bleakly. He sighed, wondering if she really could pretend that this hadn't happened. He went into his bedroom, and pulled some clothes out—a shirt, some old shorts, socks and his warmest blanket. He turned around to back to the living room, and jumped back in surprise when he saw she was right behind him. "Cordy, I thought that you were waiting in the living room for me," Angel said, his surprise making his voice harsher than he meant it to be.
Cordy's eyes filled with tears as she whispered, "I'm sorry, I just didn't want to be left alone…"
Angel gave her a reassuring smile. "Oh, that's ok. You just startled me." He chuckled weakly, not sure if he should follow his joke through, but he pushed it out. "Wow, I bet that you never thought that you could scare me, did you?"
She gave a weak grin, obviously trying. "Yeah, I never thought that would happen."
Angel handed her the clothes. "Here, I'll step right outside the door, and you can change, and then… um, we could watch a movie?" He could have kicked himself. She didn't need to watch movies. She needed rest, and a doctor, but he didn't think that he could drag her to either.
"Ok," she whispered, taking the clothes carefully. As Angel started to leave, she grabbed his arm quickly and blurted out, "You'll be right outside, you promise?"
Angel nodded. "I swear it. Cross my heart and hope to be staked."
Cordelia frowned, and for the first time all night, Angel saw the old Cordy. "That's not funny," she growled. "I don't ever want—" she blushed and turned away from him. "I'll change."
Angel went outside and waited. After a few moments, she stepped out, his clothes hanging off of her ridiculously. "Well?" she spun in front of him, her smile forced but present, "how do I look?"
Angel gave her his best smile and said, "Fabulous, my lady. Your couch awaits!" As he finished the sentence, he swept into a ridiculous, exaggerated bow.
Cordelia actually giggled, and Angel allowed himself to hope that he could help her recover. "Why, thank you, kind knight!" She gave an awkward curtsey, and nearly fell. Angel reached out and caught her arm. She stared at him, her nose inches from his face, and then she kissed him.