'All That Is Left…
…For You Now'
A/N (Do people still read this pairing?)
Right, so this is an old (we're talking like nearly two years) fanfic I found on my hardrive. I gave it a once over, a title (from 'Gypsy') and an ending. It's probably not great as I don't exactly make a habit of actually looking at my old work. But I think for my own closure's sake, this needed to be shared - for recent personal reasons as much as fandom ones. I don't think I'll ever be 100% happy with it but I'm glad it's off my chest for now. Dedicated in part to whoever we lost in the last year. I guess you could call it part of my own grieving process.
All That Is Left
The room had gone untouched for some time. For a while Cordelia had even kept the door locked, closed off from prying eyes or curious students who had 'wandered too far' along the corridors. Now the door was open. What with new students arriving in a few weeks, the Academy was already somewhat struggling with space and after other rooms had been turned upside down and inside out to make room, it had been decided that this one too could be – should be – cleared out. Cordelia had been initially reluctant to the idea, but now stood in the room that used to belong to the swamp witch, surrounded by half-filled boxes and odd piles of little things she seemed to be more in a rush to be done with it all than either Zoe or Queenie both of whom had volunteered to help her clean out the space.
They had started late, after classes had concluded for the day so it was less likely for them to be disturbed. Once or twice someone did have to disappear to deal with one thing or another, but with the three of them working their way through the boxes it had been a relatively smooth process. Conversation came in fits and starts, usually sticking to studies or something relatively topical for the three of them to discuss. Anything that didn't drag the ghosts from the walls in the room. Zoe had suggested perhaps playing a record on the player that had been left to gather dust in the corner to make the time pass, but Cordelia had refused such a suggestion, citing how it would have been inappropriate for the occasion. Despite a number of potential arguments to the contrary that the other witches could have easily supplied, they kept quiet. Dropping another record into one of the boxes to the left, Cordelia had been offering her own opinions on the value of insuring the latest lot of curtains against any further pyromaniac incidents and the difficulty of explaining away the frequency of such accidents calling over her shoulder as she turned back to the cupboard.
"I'm only saying there are only so many times we can blame an overabundance of candles befor-…" Cordelia fell silent, causing the other two to look up in her direction as to the cause of such sudden quietness. The look upon her face was enough to unnerve anyone with a heart still beating in their chest.
"'Jesus girl, it's been months…" Queenie said with a sigh as she saw the Supreme's slender fingers caress the frayed familiar scarf in her hands. The younger witch had almost expected this. In fact she had been surprised it hadn't happened sooner. The shawls, the ones that had not been lost or turned to dust at least had already been packed and compressed in the bottom of boxes, beneath books and records, kept out of sight and out of mind. Cordelia had been rather adamant about that, claiming it was to keep them from being damaged although the other two witches had their own inkling that reasons ran a little deeper than that simple excuse. But this was different. Besides the shawls, the scarf had been one of the only things the Supreme had seen so consistently back then. Cordelia had never asked why whether it was just an accessory or if there was something more to it… The thought honestly hadn't crossed her mind then. Not until now. When it was too late to ask any such thing… She was stood so still, after so much moving back and forth, it was as though she had frozen in place. Frozen in time. Another time.
Zoe finished folding one of the last skirts in her hands and dropped it into the box beside her. Standing up from where she had been kneeling on the floor, she kept her eyes on Cordelia. She knew that look that lingered in those warm dark eyes. She had seen it before. Glimpses mostly, when Cordelia had been caught lost in thought or lingering awake late at night. Lost seemed like the right word for that dark gaze. But in that moment, Zoe knew just where, just when, the Supreme witch had slipped away to.
"Queenie's right, Cordelia," Zoe said quietly, knowing full well she was treading on tentative ground. With only silence as her answer, she continued, "you did what you could, there's nothing you can do now, except let it go…" Somewhere to Zoe's left, Queenie had also stopped packing things. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the voodoo witch shake her head a little. Having made a few steps across the room towards where Cordelia still stood, Zoe brushed her hands swiftly down the side of her skirt to ease the dust before holding out a hand, offering to take the scarf from Cordelia's grasp. For a moment neither of them moved. "We'll just put it in with the rest, then we'll take…" Zoe's prompt fell flat as the Supreme shook her head even before she had finished.
"No, I-…" Cordelia herself seemed at a loss for words in defence of her refusal. She had made it through everything else so far almost on auto-pilot, refusing to let her thoughts intrude upon the process and now something so simple, something so close to the end of it all threatened to be the undoing she had longed to avoid. The moment she saw it, she should have thrown it into the nearest box, or dropped it into the already small and diminishing pile of clothing that had to be sorted through. Perhaps it was because she hadn't seen it until it was there in her hands again… Parting so easily with something she had already thought long since lost… Her eyes flickered from the material to the expectant eyes of the two other witches in the room. Her council, her students, her friends, both patiently waiting for whatever her next move might be. She made no move to place the scarf in Zoe's open palm that was still outstretched towards her, but did not pull away either. Instead, she flicked her wrist and glanced at the time on her watch.
"It's late girls, you should get some rest. We can finish this tomorrow," Cordelia said, briefly taking in the various boxes. In truth, they looked to be almost done, as there hadn't been much to pack away to begin with. Apparently she was not the only one to notice this.
"Are you sure?" Zoe asked, her tone betraying a hint of skepticism as her outstretched hand drifted slowly back to her side. "We can keep going," she offered but once again Cordelia shook her head, this time with more certainty than before.
"No, no, that's hardly fair on the pair of you. You have classes to take care of tomorrow." It was a gentle reminder, but a gentle push all the same. Queenie seemed to give a groan from her corner of the room, but it was merely in jest as she too dusted off her hands and made her way towards the door.
"Alright," Zoe relented. There did not appear to be much point in challenging that argument and judging by the look that still lingered on the Supreme's face, she could do without a rebuttal. That didn't stop her adding, "you should take your own advice though." Cordelia only offered her a meek smile in response to the remark. She may have hidden it well more often than not but every once in a while something in those dark eyes resurfaced and reminded the younger witch that even with all her outward appearances, perhaps Cordelia was not always as quaintly composed as she made herself out to be.
"Yeah, get some sleep yourself girl. Don't think we don't see when you don't," Queenie pipes up from the doorway, having stifled a yawn of her own and eyed the Supreme with a somewhat skeptical glance. They couldn't fault the headmistress for keeping busy and they helped lighten the loads where she allowed them, but keeping busy and being restless weren't quite the same thing. Still Cordelia dismissed their concerns and with a half-hearted wave of a hand, ushered the two of them to bed, insisting with one last look from Zoe that she would be fine. She watched the two of them go without another word. Having left open the door, presumably expecting Cordelia herself to retire soon enough, she saw Queenie shrug. They could have merely been talking about anything. They could have also been talking about her. If only it were easier to free herself of such pervasive thoughts…
With another wilted wave of her free hand the door was pushed to a close. Silence filled the room and in spite of the boxes of packed things, the space seemed larger than it had in a long time. Almost too big with the white washed walls; the absence of colour, absence of life. Easing the heels from her feet, Cordelia felt the smooth wood beneath her toes. It was surprisingly cool as she walked soundlessly across the room, dropping the shoes by the foot of the bed as she passed, feeling so small in the solitude.
The chair is more comfortable than she remembers. She had no intention of sitting down there in the corner; her feet had all but carried her forward regardless of her own distracted thoughts. With a few candles lit on the dresser and the windowsill, along with the light turned off, the ambience of the room seemed to settle down. The walls weren't so imposing when bathed in the warm glow. Shadows that flickered across the floor buried the boxes from sight. Anyone else could have said the room almost looked normal. Like it looked almost lived in…not almost empty. For Cordelia though, it still feels hollow.
Perhaps the silence had been a mistake. Such quietness… Like if she listened hard enough, she would be able to hear a heart still beating somewhere. Maybe even her own.
No, the silence was good. Peaceful. Tranquil. Still. A word she would not have otherwise considered using to describe the academy that lay beyond those bedroom doors. Cordelia can hear the very cadence of her own breath as another sigh escapes her lips. Looking down at that scarf still wrapped in her hands, there seems to be no other way for the air to leave her lungs.
"I miss you." It is a quiet confession, no more than a whisper that sets the nearest candle to shiver. At least her voice no longer trembles. Not this time.
"I miss you too." She looks up again at the sound of the second voice, eyes searching earnestly for the owner of that sweet timbre. There… by the flickering light of the candles on the dresser… as though she had not aged a day…as though she had never been gone at all…
Something seems wrong in the way she has to watch her step past all those boxes to get closer. A life so swiftly collected, so easily walked over… The look in Cordelia's eyes could have been called hopeful once, those dark irises with their shining, glassy reflections in the candlelight. The eyes of blue that look back at her are filled with sadness at the sight. The fringe of the shawl about her shoulders just grazes the floor as Misty kneels before her old headmistress, her friend, her…
"You know I'm not really here, right?" The distance between them in the moment, previously barred only with boxes and a bedroom floor may be closed, but the true distance is one that Cordelia cannot bear to think about. "I'm not here…" Misty's hand reaches for where Cordelia's still lay cold in her lap. The scarf shifts a little, but their fingers never touch. It seems a brush of material between them is the closest they will get now.
"I know," another sigh. A sad smile. Warm tears begin to blur black eyes… "But to see you is…"
"I can't stay." The opposing voice is as abrupt as always. Cuts to the quick before Cordelia can let her mind continue any illusion. It has happened in her dreams a number of times…At least the times she hadn't woken herself or been shaken by someone else.
"You never do." The acknowledgement was intended to be simple enough but it leads the Supreme to another unbidden thought; 'you never did like to stay here.'
"That's not true." The swamp witch – or is she still just a spectre? – shakes her head and Cordelia still cannot help but admire the way that unruly hair falls about her shoulders… "I want to. I wanted to. To stay with you." Silence pervades the room once more. Cordelia's throat feels thick, filled with all the things she wanted to say, stoppered by such words she could only wish were true. Now she would never know for certain, but for now it was what she wanted to hear. Truth ceased to matter the second she appeared. Which is why the older witch falters when it looks like she would leave.
Whilst Cordelia struggles to say something, say anything, Misty rises from her kneeled position to stand before her. It is only as she begins to turn away that Cordelia finds the strength – or something else perhaps – to reach for her again. The fringe of the shawl slips like silk, or like sand, between her fingertips as her voice finally breaks the silence.
"Wait a minute…stay with me a while…" No more than a fractured whisper. It is enough. Enough to make the tall witch turn back. The smallest of smiles tugs at her lips. The crease of her eyes, the light that lingers there, shows her approval before she says anything of the sort. After all they both know why those words seem so familiar.
"Sounds like you've listened to Stevie," she says. Cordelia nods.
"It helps…" For the slightest of seconds her gaze falls away and flickers to the boxes across the room. "…When you're not here…" The music, lost somewhere in amongst the boxes now, buried beneath the other belongings… She never did tell the others how much she still played it all in that greenhouse of hers when she was alone and the door was locked and the thoughts all came rushing back… She looks back when she sees the familiar tilt of Misty's head. Such an insignificant gesture but one remembered so fondly for all the times she saw it.
"Do you think she misses me?" Any other time, perhaps any other person, and Cordelia could have laughed at such a question. The question coupled with the look is almost too endearing to be true. That desire for approval, for acknowledgement from someone so admired who probably has no idea just how much you mean to them. Then again, one had to wonder how many times Cordelia had probably hidden that same look herself.
"Of course she misses you, we all do," she says with a smile. The same smile that trembles just a little as her bottom lip begins to quiver. Again there is the smallest of pauses. "I do."
There is a shrug. There is a sigh.
"I had so much left to learn…" Cordelia nods and draws the blanket tighter about her shoulders. There is no blanket to warm the chill of cool regret that settles upon her chest and pools into her stomach. Her insides ache at the very thought.
"I had so much left to teach you…"
"It will never feel like long enough." She is right. As always. Just like all the times before. It never will. It never does. Alive or in dreams.
"No, no, I guess not…" she sounds so small. So childlike. So unlike the Supreme she is supposed to be now. But acceptance seems like such an adult concept. And if that is the case then she would rather not be so responsible. But what she would rather and what she must are two very different things now more so than they have ever been. "I guess, this time, I have one last thing left to learn from you…"
They found her in the morning, in the armchair, blanket draped around her shoulders like a shawl as she slept. The candles had burned low, burned out, reduced to stubs before the arrival of dawn. The boxes filled, closed and shoved together in the corner leaving the room empty of evidence. All aside from the scarf that lay folded at Cordelia's feet, creased and sunken only in the center as though someone had been sat there a long time…
…All that is left…is to let you go…