Author: Pirate Turner
Rating: PG due to language
Spoilers: Basic Season 3 and 4 spoilers
Summary: Things were finally going right in Angel's life, and then Cordelia started acting strange . . .
Disclaimer: Angel, Cordelia Chase, all other characters mentioned within, the Hyperion, Prada, and Google are & TM their respective owners and are used without permission. Everything else is & TM the author, Pirate Turner. The author makes no profit off of this story.
Author's Note: This story has been sitting on my hard drive for years; I can't believe I've finally finished it! When I was writing this story before, there were several reviewers who tried to deny that the excuse for Cordelia's behavior in this story could actually do what it has done to her herein. I know it can for I have lived this horror myself and spoken to others who have, as well. If you think I'm wrong, take it up with the doctors who diagnosed me during my time dealing with this situation, but don't just post to tell me I'm exaggerating or lying. Thank you.
Chapter 1
Angel slowly worked his way down the stairs. If his heart had still been beating, it would have been hammering like crazy against its prison in his chest. As it was, the Vampire's face was darkened even more than usual by his scowl, and his eyes flitted nervously around, as if expecting danger to pop out at him from any crevice of his life at any time. If he had been any other man, he would have been smiling, his eyes joyfully dancing at what he should be about to find -- the vision of loveliness who, for a full two weeks now, had met him at the base of the stairs with a cup of blood accented with her little extra touch and his son on her hip --, but he was not any other man. He was Angel, the Vampire "cursed" with a soul, the warrior who must never give up the fight, the Demon that could never repay the world for all the harm he had previously caused it as the Scourge of Europe.
Things had been going great for him lately. A single case hadn't popped up that they couldn't handle, and his life was rounded out by a full circle of loving friends; a gorgeous woman who he was beginning to think might actually, by some miracle that he did not and could never deserve, feel something more for him than just friendship; and a smiling, healthy baby boy. Everything was going just right for the first time in his long life, but that was exactly what worried Angel so much. It was just too right. Trouble was there. He could feel it, lurking just below the surface. He could smell its foul stench just waiting to snap him up and whisk away all those he had come to care so deeply for. It was there, so close that he could almost reach out and . . .
"Crap!" The sharp exclamation and the crash of glass that accompanied it cut Angel's thoughts off for just a moment, but as he leapt the rest of the way down the long staircase, he couldn't help thinking that yes, it was most definitely there. He ran to the kitchen and straight to Cordelia's side. "Cordy?" he asked in concern as he took in the shattered mug and the blood pooling on the floor. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she quickly reassured him. "Just klutzy," she added with a half-grin.
Looking down at her hands, he found, to his surprise, that they were gloved. Blood dotted the smooth satin of the long gloves. He felt her tense and heard the sharp intake of her breath, though only through his superior hearing, as he gently took her hands in his. "You're hurt."
"No." She shook her head, but he could tell that she was in pain. "It's just some of your blood that fell out of the mug. I'm sorry. I can make you another one."
He eyed her in deep concern. "I'm not worried about that blood. I'm worried about yours."
"Angel, it's not mine. Honest."
He saw the betraying flash of pain in her hazel eyes as he lifted her hands higher with all the gentleness that he would use with Connor. He lowered his head over her hands and sniffed. Her scent instantly heated his hormones, but his concern overpowered the natural attraction. He could smell the mixture of blood and cinnamon that had stained her gloves as well as their new scent. He frowned. The only blood of Cordelia's that he smelled was that that flowed through her veins, but he knew she was in pain. "What's wrong with your hands?"
If it were possible, she became even tenser with that soft question. "Nothing."
"Cordelia, you're in pain."
"I'm fine."
"Then what's with the gloves?" he demanded, his eyes raising to meet hers.
She shrugged but looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. "It's the latest fashion craze. They're new gloves, made by Prada. I just bought them yesterday, and they're totally ruined!" she exclaimed hotly, snatching her hands from his with a grimace. "Now, if you're done with the interrogating, I've got to go see if I can salvage them!"
He did not speak but watched her turn away from him and storm out of the kitchen. His brow remained furrowed, and his dark eyes ridden with deep concern for the woman he loved. She was lying to him. Something was wrong, and he would find out what it was . . . no matter what she did to try to keep him from doing so. He sighed. He had been right. Something was wrong; something was always wrong.
Angel turned back from the weapons cabinet to look inquiringly over at Cordelia where she still sat before the computer console. "Aren't you coming?" he asked her.
She shrugged. "It's just a new nest. I figured you didn't need me."
He always needed her, but he couldn't tell her that. He gripped the axe in his left hand, testing its wield before walking back over to her. "You could always come along anyway."
"Let me see," she replied, pretending to actually think about her choices. "I could go with you guys and get hot, sweaty, and totally slimed or I could stay here and see if I can find us any actual paying customers. Hmm." She cocked her head to one side as she looked up at him, and he couldn't help noticing that the usual glimmer that would have accompanied her teasing tone was lacking from her eyes. "It's really a tough decision, but I think I'll go with staying here and away from the battlefield."
He nodded understandingly. He came to a stop before the desk and started to hand Connor down to her. She hesitated to take him, however, and Angel frowned. "Is something wrong?"
"Of course not!" she exclaimed, a bit too quickly, with a forced laugh. She stood and started to take Connor from him, but he saw her grimace when her hands brushed his strong arms.
"Cordelia, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, Angel!" she sharply retorted as she took Connor from his father's arm. "Now will you stop being such a worry wart and go out and kill something?" She grinned, but he was not fooled for her smile did not meet her eyes.
"Fine," he replied, turning from her so that she would not see his own eyes and the duel between concern and frustrated anger that warred within them. He snatched the axe up and stormed outside. Cordelia watched him go with sad eyes, and for once, the small bundle in her arms did absolutely nothing to comfort her. Instead, as soon as the guys had gone, she turned and handed Connor to Fred. "I've got something I've got to do."
Fred's brow creased in confusion as Cordelia turned and stalked away. She shut the door behind her but did not bother to turn on the light. Instead, she slipped her gloves off and gently held her hands, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from crying aloud in pain.
They found more trouble than they had originally bargained for with the nest, and so it was much later that night when Angel and the others finally returned home. Cordelia and Fred quickly set to work on their injuries, Cordy unhesistantly tending to Angel first while Fred dealt with Gunn and Wesley and the quarrel bickering between the two. Angel had a nasty cut on his shoulder, and although she had had no apparent problems applying the anesthetic, Cordelia had been fighting with the same piece of tape for over five minutes. She could not seem to simultaneously keep the tape from sticking to her gloves and apply it to Angel's wound, no matter what she tried.
"You know," Angel finally and quietly spoke up, "you could just take off your gloves." She ignored him at first, but after a moment of watching her still struggling with the tape, Angel asked, "Cordy?" Still, she continued to fight with the tape and ignore him until he finally gently clasped his hands around hers. She quickly bit her bottom lip to silence the cry that rose in her throat. "Cordelia," he spoke her name softly, lowering his head and then looking up into her eyes, his gaze forcing her to keep from looking away, "why are you being so stubborn over nothing? Why won't you just take them off?"
"I'm not taking off my gloves."
"Why?" It was an innocent question, but she glared at him nonetheless. "Do you have a wart or something?" he asked her. She shook her head. "Then what is it?"
"I already told you, Angel. It's the latest fashion . . . "
He cut her off. "The Cordelia I know would never let what others deem to be the most fashionable item of the day keep her from seeing to her friends."
"What?" she snapped. "You're concerned about how they're affecting my job?!" Her hazel eyes blazed.
"Of course not, Cordelia!" he exclaimed, his angry voice bordering on a roar. "I'm concerned about you, damn it! What the Hell is going on?!"
"I already told you, Angel, -- nothing!"
"The Hell it's nothing!" he barked in response. "Now take off the damn gloves!" He realized his mistake even as he was exclaiming, but he had been unable to shut his mouth in time to keep the words out. "Cordelia . . . " he tried, but it was already too late.
Cordelia Chase drew herself to her full height as she glared down the legendary Vampire with a soul. "I am not some little dog that you can bark at and order around, Angel! I don't have to take off the damn gloves unless I want to! Nobody tells me what to do!"
"I," Fred's soft, timid voice hesitantly spoke up from where she stood with the others at a safe distance from the arguing couple, "thought he was the boss?"
"He may be," Cordelia snapped, her blazing eyes darting back to Angel, "but that doesn't mean I have to do everything he says!" Tossing the tape down at the desk, Cordelia turned and began to stalk off, but Angel deftly caught her wrist.
The look she shot him made him swallow hard, but he did not fail to question her. "Where are you going?"
"Home. Got a problem with that?" He started to nod, but her next words shocked him so that he completely froze. "Then my resignation can be on your desk first thing in the morning," she told him flatly with a single rose eyebrow.
"Cordelia! You . . . You wouldn't --" he stammered out, clearly taken aback.
"I don't want to," she admitted, "but I refuse to be treated like your little slave, Angel! Now I'm going home, with or without your permission, and I hope you've got your mess together by tomorrow!"
Angel's jaw dropped, joining the other four open mouths in the room as he released her and let her go. It took a few minutes before any one managed to recover from the shock of Cordelia's unreasonable fury, but Gunn was the first to speak. "Monthly?"
Fred blushed a brilliant shade of red at the word that slipped out of her lover's mouth, but Angel shook his head with a surprising calmness. "No. It's something more." His eyes shifted to Lorne. "What do you know about Prada?"
"They make handbags," he answered, looking at Angel in confusion, "and shoes, but what in the world does that have to do with this?"
Angel ignored the question. "Do they make gloves?" Lorne shrugged, and he turned to Fred. "Fred, find me anything you can on . . . "
"I'm on it," she answered him, already moving toward the computer, before he even could complete the order.
Outside, Cordelia sat in her car, looking at the steering wheel in horror. Taking a deep breath, she put her hands on the wheel, curled her fingers, and instantly cried out in pain. She quickly released the wheel and looked down at her hands through tear-filled eyes. "Damn it!!" There was no way she was going to be able to drive herself home that night. She was going to have to leave her car there, take a cab home, and pray that they wouldn't ask her about her car tomorrow.
She sighed. What was she going to do about Angel? She knew he was worried and had every right to be, but if he found out what was wrong . . . She closed her eyes against the red-hot pain that swelled in her chest at the mere thought. She couldn't let him find out. She couldn't lose him. Before the horrid thoughts could fully grasp a hold of her, she hardened her eyes as best she could against her sadness, fear, and pain; opened her eyes; picked up her gloves from beside her; carefully slid them on over her aching hands; and got out to hail a taxi.
To Be Continued . . .