Title: Drowning in the Fountain of Youth
Author: Melpomene
Email: melpomene@stories.com
Rating: PG to PG-13, not really sure yet
Distribution: Just let me know.
Disclaimer: The characters and backstory of Angel: the Series belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, etc. I intend no copyright infringement with the writing of this work of fan fiction, nor am I receiving any profit. Due to the very fact that I am using the creations of others, I am similarly agreeable to anyone who might wish to use any of the original characters herein (not that anyone would want to)… Let us not be hypocritical now and try to copyright material that we do not have permission to use in the first place.
Author's Note: Have a nice day.
Timeline: Early third season, prior to Cordy's demonization (yup, I'm making up new words as we speak) but after Gunn's old buddies wreck Caritas.
prologue
Cordelia slowly sank into the downy coverlet that was smoothed across the bed, her legs crossed and her arms loosely resting against her knees. Closed lids blinded her eyes to the extravagant display of colors that painted the clouds in ever-changing pinks and purples just beyond the bedroom window. Silently, her lips moved, forming a repeated succession of words, a voiceless mantra that stalked in syncopated rhythm through her tumultuous thoughts.
An evening alone.
It had been such a long time since she had been able to indulge in the relative emptiness of her apartment, too long in fact. She had very nearly forgotten she had an apartment of her own, a living space removed from the hotel but with Lorne out on a house call for the evening, Fred and Gunn on their way to retrieve a package from Topanga, and Angel and Wesley with their noses buried deep in the books trying to research a new case, Cordelia had managed to slip out of the over stimulated confines of the Hyperion undetected.
A long hot bubble bath that had filled the small bathroom with the scents of lavender and rosemary helped her find the first stirrings of peaceful relaxation and she had luxuriated in the complete lack of noise, allowing its calming effects to wash over her slowly. She had continued her course of leisure afterward with a favorite pair of soft fleece shorts and a well-worn T-shirt left over from her cheerleading days. It had been a long time since she had tried her hand at meditation.
Complete and total nothingness. No sounds of computer modems or the dry rasp of ancient scrolls unrolling, no pointless chatter or brooding grunts. No sound at all save the gentle hum of the electric lights and her own soft breathing. She could almost hear the beating of her own heart as it pumped blood through her body.
She hadn't realized how much she had needed the break from the stresses of their everyday lives until the opportunity had presented itself and she had jumped at it like drowning man, not even pausing long enough to leave a note for those who might worry about her sudden disappearance.
A small smile played at the edges of her lips, disturbing her attempt at meditation. How was she supposed to cleanse her soul if she was just sitting there grinning like a loon? Shaking the thought from her head, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She could feel the tension melting away, falling from her muscles to slide into the bed and sink to the floor below.
Meditation was good.
Visions on the other hand…
She felt the force of it even before the pain hit, blinding and treacherous upon its arrival. With no arms to catch her, she fell back against the bed, landing among the pillows and slamming her head into the wall.
A table at the end of a blue cobbled road. A brief flash of shattered crystal and scattered silver. Disjointed and unfamiliar emotions and images washed through her mind in a viscous and unrelenting tide of pain and agony.
A long scream ricocheted through the apartment, echoing off the elegant furnishings and designer décor. Suddenly the cordless phone was airborne, hovering just beside her as an invisible finger pressed the appropriate speed dial number.
** *** **
Wesley peered at the thick and crumbling paper, straining to decipher the faded ink characters. He had been slumped over the scrolls in the same position for hours although his back would have argued that he had been there for days. He was so involved in his translations that when the phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his chair.
His bobble drew Angel's attention more readily than the ringing of the phone had and he quickly stood in an attempt to cover his initial fright. "We should answer the call, Angel. Perhaps it's a potential client." He nodded toward the piece of machinery that was perched on the far end of the counter.
"Cordelia didn't turn the answering machine off this morning. If it's a client they'll leave a message," Angel replied, returning his attention to the books spread before him.
Wesley glanced at the contraption that had started him. Angel was right, they would leave a message. He didn't feel up to chatting with the poor and defenseless regardless of their plummeting financial situation. He glanced around the lobby, noticing Cordelia's absence for the first time. "Where is Cordelia?"
Before he had even completed forming the question, the sounds of Cordelia's torment filled the lower rooms of the hotel. Both men turned toward the answering machine, half expecting the woman in question to miraculously materialize there on the desk.
A hurried look at the call box answered Wesley's query.
"She's at home." Angel was through the basement door on his was to the sewers before Wesley caught his breath.