Disclaimer: Yeah, right, sure I own 'em. In my dreams. Cordelia, Angel, Fred, Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, Connor, and any other characters mentioned here are the property of Joss Whedon, WGN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's notes: This, along with the other Angel stories I'm posting tonight, is something I wrote quite awhile ago. I don't feel that it's my best writing, but I wanted it posted nonetheless.
In all my life, I don't think I've ever been this scared. Not even when we pushed Professor Sidel through that portal, not even when I thought Charles was gone for good; not even in Pylea. Because even in those, some of the hardest times in my life, I knew at least that I would live. It would be hard, I might be living in constant fear, but at the end of the day, I would be alive. For a little bit longer, at least.
Not now.
I'm so scared because I never thought I'd have to feel this way - knowing that I will die any minute. It's a horrible feeling. No person should ever have to experience it.
Now the whole world is experiencing it. Not just LA - all of California. All of the US All of the continent. All of the entire earth. And there's been one common thought amongst us all:
It's not fair.
It's really not. I'm not ready to die anymore than anyone else. There are so many things that I still want to do, that I'll never have a chance to do.
I want to get married; I want to travel. To Greece, to Rome, to Italy, to Ireland, to New Zealand. I want to get more of my writing published. I want to spend more days around the office with nothing to do, surrounded by the best friends anyone could ever have. I want to take each and every single one of these people - Angel, Gunn, Wesley, Cordelia, Lorne, and even Connor - and show them just how precious and special and important to me, and what an impact they've had on my life in the short time I've known them. I want to go back and visit my parents and tell them how sorry I am for not being the daughter they deserve. But most of all, I want to know that I've made a mark on this world, in some way, no matter how small.
Or, at least, that's what I used to say. But now, being a part of Angel Investigations, I know that I've done just that. How do I know? Well, the world's still here, isn't it? Even after all the apocalypses, the vampires, and the demons have tried to throw at us, the world still stands. Because of us. Together.
Not this time. This time, it looks as if evil has won. We've been working around the clock for weeks on end trying to find a way to stop this thing and still we have nothing. Some champions we turned out to be.
Of course, we might work better if everyone wasn't at each other's throats. Wesley and Gunn have their petty jealousy, and Gunn and I have been at odds since Sidel. Angel and Connor are as bad as Wes and Gunn, fighting over Cordy, And poor Cordy can barely look either one of them in the eye. I don't know what's going on between the three of them, but it's something big, apparently. Between Angel and Wesley, too. I think Lorne is the only one of us that hasn't gotten in the middle of some sort of fight or misunderstanding.
The thing nobody else seems to get is that there are much bigger things at stake. Much bigger than even our biggest, most complicated problems. This thing is coming - and it's not gonna stop because we're all fighting amongst ourselves.
It seems like just yesterday, when everything was perfect. Gunn and Wesley were friends, Connor was nothing but a baby, and Angel and Cordy were slowly but steadily moving towards something more. We were happy; there was laughter.
Everything started going downhill the night of the ballet. What started out as a magical night ended up being the first event in the chain reaction that led us to where they are now. Without even realizing it, Gunn and I hurt Wesley more than we knew. Just as badly as Cordelia hurt Gunn by running back to Groo.
From there, it became a downward spiral. Connor was taken, Wesley tried to take matters into his own hands and got a slit in the throat and a dose of hostility from us in return. Then Connor was returned, but as a teenager who had been raised to hate his true father. Holtz died, leaving Connor in the hands of that very man. In an angry rage, he threw Angel to the bottom of the ocean. Groo left, knowing that Cordelia was in love with Angel, and not him. Gunn and I were left on our own for three months not knowing where our friends were. Angel was returned. Shortly thereafter, Cordelia. Cordelia's memory was restored. Cordelia and Angel took one step ahead, then leapt two giant steps back, over and over and over again.
Etcetera, etcetera. One bad thing after another. And then this thing shows up. This very large, very powerful, very invincible thing, and instead of doing something about it, we're sitting here bickering and giving each other the cold shoulder as if that will accomplish something.
Well, it won't. We've seen time and time again that we're better, stronger together. So why can't we all just get over it and get along like we used to? Call me sentimental, call me naive, but it's not like it's impossible. We're just too stubborn and proud to try. The words have been tossed around, but ultimately, nothing's been done about it.
We're moving in that direction, though. Maybe within a month or two, everything will be back to normal. But a month or two doesn't quite cut it. We need to get our act together, now, if we ever hope to see the light of day again - and quite literally, given our current predicament.
As all of this is running through my head, I make my way out into the lobby to see how everyone is faring. What I am greeted with, however, seems too good to be true: Gunn and Wes sit behind the counter, chatting easily back and forth as they flip through the heaping mounds of musty, leather-bound demonology books. Off to the other side of the room, Angel is training both Cordy and Connor, running them through a sparring match. The atmosphere is light and relaxed, and every now and then I hear a laugh emanate from one of the five adults in the room, bouncing off the marble floor, columns, and ceiling.
And sure enough, it is too good to be true. Angel instinctively wraps his arms around Cordelia from behind to correct her grip on the broadside she wields, and all hell breaks loose. Connor snaps at them both and storms off. Angel seems to realize what he's doing, flinches visibly, and pulls away. Cordy looks helplessly between father and son, her eyes filled with deep sorrow and, for some reason I can't understand, guilt. Meanwhile, seemingly picking up on the negative vibe, Gunn and Wesley have begun a shouting match as they fight over the same book.
With a disgust, I spin around and return to my room. They can be as catty and immature as they like. But if they do continue on this way, we'll die. All of us.
It's as simple as that.