Disclaimer:
Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt own everything.
First
of all, many thanks to those who reviewed my previous fics so kindly. It is
great to get feedback of any kind, except of course the evil flame variety.
This fanfic, like the others focuses on the early relationship between Cordy
and Angel. This is the first chapter of most likely four, but its still a work
in progress so who knows… :)
As
always it's a platonic friendship between C/A. Its practically canon, except
that its set before Expecting and Wesley already works for Angel
Investigations. Serena and Emily were featured in the episode Expecting and
Jarod is my own character. Let me know
what you think, its hardly ground breaking fiction and is probably irritatingly
slow paced, but hell writing the stuff makes my nights at work pass quickly!
Review box is at the end, for some reason there's always a big space between my
fic and the review box.. any tips on formatting would be welcomed… On to the
fic….
Body Armour.
"It's not
here."
Offering a silent prayer to the gods of patience and
serenity, Cordelia released a long breath and lifting her eyes from the
blinking computer screen, she levelled a hazel gaze at the befuddled looking
vampire in the adjoining room.
"Yes it is," She craned her neck backward and
regarded him calmly, "I told you to check the second drawer down on the
left. You haven't checked it."
His dark eyes glinted with enlightenment.
"On the left," Angel echoed, clicking his fingers as he
twisted around to his desk. Sliding the darkened wood drawer outward, Angel
rummaged through the medley of weapons, stakes and scrolls contained within,
his hand finally tugging the Text of Aberyion from beneath some withered
manuscripts.
"Found it," he declared cheerfully, waving
the eleventh century journal at his young associate.
"Oh good" Cordelia murmured disinterestedly, her eyes shifting
back to the computer screen. "Now, just sit and read your old book while I
try to figure out how to print this invoice." Her face creased with concentration as she tapped the keyboard
with tentative skill, the effort provoking an uncooperative beep from the
obstinate computer. Slamming a hand against the side of the monitor, Cordelia
inclined forward with a dark frown.
"Print, goddamn you."
"Need
some help?"
"No," came the curt response from the reception
area of Angel Investigations, "I've seen you struggle with a calculator.
Angels head jerked up, the movement quickened with
indignation. He was quietly proud of his increasingly proficient technological
abilities, as well Cordelia knew. Mastering the modern evils of computers and
fax machines was no different to conquering the telephone or wireless and he
had managed that with little
difficulty. Angel would have informed his errant young assistant of as much,
where it not for the small wax bound book tucked in his hand. His fingers
curled around the spined binding, his thumb flipping the pages. Deciding that
the passages within would prove more rewarding than a verbal battle with
Cordelia, the vampire swallowed a retort with grim effort and instead clamped a
hand on top of his leathered chair.
Sitting down, he languished back comfortably, his long legs
extending beneath the mahogany desk till his feet tipped against the newly
polished wood. The vampire trailed a hand across the smooth waxed cover of the
newly retrieved text, enjoying the sensation of texture rippling beneath his
touch. A familiar anticipation gripped him, fuelled by an expectation of the
countless wonders lurking beneath the ornately decorated binding. Reading a new
book was for Angel, a very old pleasure, and one that he enjoyed with
ritualistic reverence. Slimming the cover upward and overleaf, he hunched
forward and read the text with vigorous concentration, his understanding of the
long dead language rusty but adequate. The accompanying illustrations caught
his attention for a time but it was the words written by a long dead prophet
that captured him and completely absorbed, Angel lost his thoughts in the
ancient prophecies.
***********************
"Good computer. Good clever computer." Cordelia's
congratulatory exclamation disturbed the brief silence, a few moments later.
Chin cupped in palm, Angel lifted his head from the aged script and watched his
assistant hop up gleefully to pad toward the dusty and rather temperamental
printer perched on Doyle's old desk.
Must replace
that printer, the vampire mused absentmindedly, every-time she tries to print something off, it causes …
His thought hung, suspended. Something about Cordelia had
caught his attention and suddenly alert, Angel bestowed it upon her, undivided,
his eyes clinging to her every movement. Her slim body curved forward as she
leaned to inspect the invoice chugging shakily from the machine.
Something…
A taut rigidity stiffened Cordelia's long back, her slight
frame strained with sudden tension and recognising the signs of an imminent
vision Angel sprang to his feet, the sudden motion sending the chair beneath
him flying backwards. The vampire pushed it aside with a grunt of impatience,
his eyes trained on the almost imperceptible sway of her body as he moved
toward her with an unnatural speed, fervency ground in every step.
He had to
reach her.
Cordelia jerked in the first throes of her vision, her head
snapping back, the first plaintive cry escaping her thinned lips. Angel circled
her swiftly from behind, looping a firm arm around her waist, his free arm
pinning her outstretched hands downward. She lunged away from him with a
violent desperation, instinctively fighting for freedom. Angel coaxed her back,
a gentle but insistent tug drawing her closer, his grasp only tightening as he
felt her weaken beneath the almost unendurable strain of the vision. He spun
around, she leaning against him. The vampire flung a quick gaze the length of
the office and inwardly berating himself for leaving the Manthorian Demon Lore
Collection scattered upon the nearby sofa, Angel finally settled on the
windowsill.
"All right Cordelia, it's all right," Angel
promised soothingly as he eased her shivering frame against the ledge.
Cordelia's face contorted in pain, some fresh agony rocking
her head forward so that it tilted against his chest. Angel inched closer and
placed a cold hand upon her shuddering back, a vague hope of sheltering his
friend from the imagery battering her mind lurking in the recesses of his own.
Dipping his head downward, he strained to hear the foreign utterances she
whispered to whatever darkness invaded her mind, ardent promises of
acquiescence begging for release from this torment. Cordelia's insensible
mutterings were caught by a sudden wincing sob, some new sight evidently
shredding the last vestiges of sanity. Subduing a familiar rising helplessness,
Angel contented him-self with raging against the PTB.
Send
me my own damn messages. Can't you see how hard this is for her?
She clutched him tightly, calming slowly as her wrenched
breathing grew even, whispers familiar. Gathering herself with painful effort,
Cordelia pulled back and looked up at him, her misery bound eyes filling with
tears.
"You have
to go."
She tipped backward against the window, it cool from the
chilled night air, and hugged herself wearily. "You have to go," she
repeated, her eyes dulling with resignation.
Angel nodded slowly, giving her a little time to adjust,
regretting as always, that the inevitable interrogation he inflicted upon her
in the aftermath of a vision couldn't be helped nor avoided, and allowing her a
few half breaths, he began.
"Where?"
he asked softly, deliberately keeping urgency from his voice.
With a nod of practised assent, Cordelia slid to her feet
and slipped past him, a fragile grace in her step. Angel was beside her in an
instant, drawing back as with an unsteady wave of her hand the teenager shunned
his support. Instead she moved hesitantly but independently toward her desk,
the anxious vampire hovering behind. One hand clutching the desk-edge, Cordelia
reached for a pen and with trembling fingers, she scribbled the address on a
memo, sinking into her cushioned chair as with a swift stroke, she underlined
it. The girl held the small scrap of paper mid air.
"That's where you need to go. There's a demon waiting
for a girl that owes him something. It looked like she had completed half a
calling ritual and he needs the rest done."
"Got
it," Angel tugged the small scrap of paper from her light grasp, studying
the address as he stretched down to open her drawer. He plucked a small bottle
of aspirin from her open vanity case, nodding at the vial as he popped it in
front of her. "Take two, if you need to. No
more than that though, it can't be healthy taking painkillers too often."
He shoved the slip of paper into his pocket and tugged his black duster
from the coat hook. Shouldering it on, Angel cast an uneasy glance at the young
girl, "I can call Wes if you like, he can come stay with you till I get
back."
Cordelia shook her head with careful movement, her small hand fluttering
to her temple. "Believe it or not, Wes has a hot date tonight and I doubt
he would appreciate my headache interrupting. Besides, I'm really not up to
humouring his bedside manner tonight."
Angel exhaled as he glanced reluctantly toward the open doorway. "I have to go," his voice was
filled with quiet apology.
"You do" Cordelia affirmed with firm conviction. Opening one
painful eye, she managed a half smile, "Angel, don't just hover there
wasting a good vision, go, shoo, do the whole demon kill thing"
Angel nodded shortly, a fire for battle already surging through his dead
veins, "All right, just go downstairs, get some rest and I'll grab
something for us to eat on the way back."
Cordelia nodded wearily as she massaged her temple, the circular motion
doing little to ease the relentless throbbing behind her eyes. "Just be careful"
He swung the door back with a quick smile of
reassurance. "Always am."
*********************
She could smell him, hear the heavy rasping of his
breath as he neared his prey. She could feel his dark intention, his promise of
death, insidious evil embraced with every fibre of his demon being.
Cordelia awoke with a start, the sudden movement immediately
wobbling the precariously stacked manuscripts upon which her head rested. She
lifted her head gingerly, the thoughts of toppling the painstakingly
alphabetised pile too awful too bear. Her hands guided the journals into secure
vertical uprightness and satisfied they would hold steady, Cordelia
straightened, wincing as her muscles screamed with discomfort. She hauled her
feet up and curled back into her chair, head leaning against the cushioned
side. Her eyes drifted toward the window and the glittering city beyond, dark
remnants of her earlier vision haunting her troubled mind.
A sickening dread settled in the pit of her stomach as with
every vivid sense, she remembered the demon. She could smell him, see him, hear
him. She had sent Angel out to fight him. The knot tightened in her stomach,
ravelling itself into a cold fear.
"God
Doyle," she whispered in the silent night air, "You never told me it
was so damn hard."
His name spoken in the cold night inspired a familiar
loneliness. A grief borne smile twisted her lips as memories of her friend
played through her mind, a montage of stolen days, weeks, barely months,
mockingly promising life without him. As a solitary tear escaped and strayed
down her cheek, and closing her eyes, Cordelia remembered.
I
can hear him laughing. I can hear his voice. As though he's just in the other
room.
He's
not. You're alone. You're all alone.
She brushed the rogue tear away with a slow sweep of her
hand. "No more crying," the girl resolved softly, "No more
crying." A smothering grief threatened, her words hopelessly meaningless
beneath its weight.
I
can hear him laughing.
Cordelia swallowed and scrunched her eyes tightly shut.
Fighting an aching grief, she sought comfort in isolation. She clung to it,
embracing the control it bequeathed upon her, allowing it to envelop her, its
strange emptiness calming. Cordelia pulled her eyes open and rose to her feet,
each limb uncurling with slow elegance. Standing perfectly still, in a surreal
calm, she swept a long gaze around the dimly lit office, her eyes finally
resting on Doyle's old desk.
You're
all alone.
Cordelia shook
herself as though to dispel the whispering voice from her ear. "No more
crying."
Eyes dry, heart cold, she spun shortly on her heel, tugging
her bag from under her desk. Cordelia dipped her head beneath the strap, the
velvet clothed bag crossing her chest. She paused, her eyes still drawn toward
the empty desk opposite.
"Goddamn you," she said finally, and her gaze
fixed firmly upon the door, Cordelia walked toward it, fighting the urge to
run.
A deep pounding roused her from sleep. A loud deep thumping
pounding that was accompanied by an equally loud voice. The teenager groggily
lifted her head from the uncomfortably hard sofa arm and pulled herself into a
sitting position with a soft groan. Drowsily running her hands over her
sleep-smoothed face, Cordelia tugged her hair over one shoulder, her eyes
moving dazedly toward the source of all the noise, her gaze darkening at sight
of her brand new door straining at its hinges.
A sudden brittle energy tightened her limbs, spurring her
jump upward and Cordelia stalked toward the entrance to her apartment in a few
angry paces. She flicked the lock off with a sharp turn of her wrist and
grabbing the handle, she flung the door wide open, finding as expected, a
245-year old vampire apparently preparing to slam forward with all of his
might. Or at least of much of his might as would be needed to free her door
from its hinges.
"I knew it!" Cordelia glared furiously at the
surprised vampire, "I knew it. You were going to kick my door in.
Again."
Angel
straightened self- consciously. "No I wasn't."
Her glare
darkened.
Angel cleared
his throat. "I wasn't going to kick it in. More like, gently nudge it with
my shoulder."
Cordelia released a breath of deep frustration, stepping
back to motion knowledgeably at the door. "An entire week's wages Angel. That's what it cost to replace it after
you bashed it in last time." A grimace stretched her lips, "Which
admittedly was when you came to save my life but that doesn't mean you can make
a damn habit of flinging your great big hulk of dead flesh against it every-time
you take the fancy. Got it?"
Angel shifted
from one foot to the other, "You weren't answering. I was worried."
Cordelia threw her hands in the air, exasperation carved
into every nuance of the gesture. "Okay, that would be because I was
asleep. You know, sleeping, common mortal thing, hell you even indulge in it
most days yourself."
"Its barely after ten, you didn't leave a note at the
office, I thought maybe something was wrong…"
The
Pope couldn't keep his temper in a situation like this.
Cordelia gave up trying.
"So what, you were going to cause criminal damage
because I didn't leave a note? Geez, overreact much Angel?"
"And you know what with the lights left on, office door
wide open and no sign of you…" Angel shrugged with deliberate nonchalance,
"But you're right, I overreacted."
"I turned the…" Cordelia began hotly when memory
struck, silencing her momentarily. An expression of burning mortification
worked its way onto her face, and she turned away from him, taut fingers raised
to her forehead. "Oh" she said, pacing back into the apartment.
"Oh. Oh God."
She swung around to face the vampire still hovering in the
doorway. "Oh Angel, I am so sorry. Really, I am."
Angel stepped inside, his gaze scouring the apartment.
"Its all right, I just wanted to check and see that you were okay."
His eyes narrowed, "You are okay right, nothing happened earlier?"
Cordelia balanced herself on the edge of a chair.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just whacked and I didn't think. I can't believe I
didn't think."
Her employer dropped onto the sofa with a weary sigh and
propped his feet upon the smoothed edge of her coffee table. He sank his head
against the soft panel top and allowed his battled body to relax. Reaching
over, Cordelia pushed his feet down mechanically, her eyes still trained on the
tufts of carpet gathered around her shoes.
"I can't
believe I did that."
Angel shifted his head sideways, "Forget about it.
All's well that ends well and all that and are you even listening to me?"
Her head jerked up, an uncharacteristically shy smile
jumping to her lips, "Sorry I know, no big deal right?"
A frown
buckled his forehead. "Are you sure you're all right? No headache?"
Cordelia smiled again. "No, nothing, like I said, just
tired." She pushed herself backward into the chair, swinging her legs
around deftly, "So, you caught the demon guy?"
"Yeah.
Pretty ugly guy."
Cordelia shivered as echoes of the vision renewed their
whispering. "Yeah tell me about it." She shifted abruptly, digging
her heels into the corner of the chair, immediately regretting the movement, as
she felt Angel's scrutiny of her intensify. She pulled her eyes upward to meet
his own, pushing a fresh smile onto her face.
"So, bad
guy killed, forgetful associate reprimanded, what else is on tonight's
agenda?"
Angel didn't answer but leaned forward, his dark eyes
contemplative. "What is it?" he asked finally, unconvinced by her
apparent composure.
Cordelia shrugged blankly. "What's what?" She
regarded him with outward calm, the quick moistening of her lips the only sign
of her disquiet.
Angel nodded thoughtfully, as though her response had
confirmed some silent suspicion. He ignored her question, instead pulling a
slow gaze over her small peaked face, his eyes gradually attracted by the
rhythmic tapping of her hand against the dark patterned cushion resting upon
her lap. Suddenly aware of the movement, Cordelia stilled her fingers and slid
her hands beneath the cushion with awkward unease.
Angel surveyed her, a quiet anxiety brewing in his dark gaze.
Cordelia was rarely downcast and never subdued. There was an unnerving air of
despondency about his young Seer, an uncharacteristic and a disconcerting
vulnerability that he had sensed for some time now. Old angers surfaced and
Angel fought them firmly. Getting pissed at the PTB or the demons who had
killed Doyle or Cordelia's parents for allowing her to come to this hellhole
city in the first place, was as Angel had discovered in recent weeks, a
pointless exercise that inevitably led him to the same thought.
I
don't know how to help her through this.
And yet, Angel mused, they muddled through. The visions, the
investigations, life without Doyle, he and Cordelia were getting by. Though by
the looks of his Seer, just about.
"Cordelia," Angel finally broke the pensive
silence, his voice low and undemanding, "Are you going to tell me what's
wrong?"
Cordelia
smiled tightly. "Nothing Angel, I promise. It's just…"
Angel lifted a
questioning eyebrow. "Just what?"
Cordelia
twisted the frayed cushion threads through her fingers. "Tiredness, just
tiredness."
"Tiredness" Angel's voice was filled with quiet
disbelief. When Cordelia grew tired, she grew cranky. Not strangely quiet.
"That's all?" he prompted gently.
Cordelia pulled the cushion from her lap, dropping it to the
floor. "That's all," she promised brightly "So, you know, I
really should head to bed, catch up on some rest. Clambering to her feet, she
mustered a quick smile. "You don't mind, do you?"
Vaguely conscious of the unnatural pitch of her voice,
Cordelia stretched her smile, an inward hope that Angel would leave slowly
dashed by the way in which he held her gaze, his eyes a peculiar mix of
hesitant concern.
Please
just go Angel.
Angel sensed her quiet desperation. She didn't want him to push.
And he decided, pushing himself to his feet, he wouldn't, at least not,
tonight. "Get some rest, take some time to yourself in the morning,
there's no need to rush in."
Cordelia nodded and smoothed an invisible crease from her
skirt, the task apparently consuming her attention. A distinct feeling of
unease chilling his stomach, Angel stepped closer and tugged the soft cuff of
her sweatshirt, pulling her reluctant attention toward him.
"You do
know" the vampire said quietly, "If anything is bothering you, I'm
here."
Cordelia evaded his searching look, dipping her head as she
edged past him, so that he barely caught her whispered reply.
"I
know."
*********************
A small smile crept onto her face, every trace of despair
forgotten as she watched him, childlike in the mist, his figure lone beneath
the arches. Her heart leapt with sudden pure pleasure and she chided herself
for ever believing he had left.
What
was I thinking?
Leaning against the cool marble walls, cold from the
twilight chill, Cordelia followed his playful movements. He lifted his hand,
only to drop it, watching with fascination as it vanished into the dense fog
that curled around him. The Irishman lifted his head idly, his gaze caught by
her own, a silent surprise leaping into his blue eyes. His sheepish grin
acknowledged her presence and with an outstretched hand, he beckoned her
forward.
Want
to kiss a dead man Princess?
Cordelia eyes snapped wide open, the dark of her bedroom
almost smothering. Dragging her sweat layered body into an upright position,
Cordelia struggled to catch her breath, pulling short gasps from the warm night
air.
Just a dream,
the girl reassured herself as she shifted backwards, her spine knocking against
the headboard, Just a dream. She
kicked the duvet to the far end of the bed, and curving a clammy hand under her
heaving ribcage, Cordelia concentrated on easing her breathing.
Beside her, the bedside lamp flicked on, throwing a dim
slant of light across the bed. Cordelia turned nervous eyes toward it.
I
am awake right?
Anxiety faded, a low jolt of relief rippling through the
girl as she remembered that she wasn't alone after all.
"Dennis," she murmured, momentarily closing her
eyes in quiet gratitude. Everyone should
have a dead roommate.
Her cell-phone slid from the polished surface of her
dresser, dipping down to float toward her. Drawing to a slow halt above her
hands, the phone hovered uncertainly mid-air.
Cordelia pushed her sleep-tangled hair from around her face,
"I'm okay Dennis, it wasn't a vision, I don't need to call anyone."
The ghost was
apparently unimpressed by her response for the cell-phone jerked a little
closer.
Cordelia sighed, a sudden irrational irritation surging
through her, "Drop it Dennis" she said shortly as she slumped
backward, "It was just a
nightmare. Remember those from your non-dead days? Geez, I'd have thought your
Mom inspired more than one."
The room temperature plunged to an icy cold, and the
cell-phone dropped to the bed with a soft thud, the lamp switching itself off
with equal abruptness, leaving Cordelia sitting in the pitch black of darkness.
She sat in the quiet for a short time, her thoughts alternating between
penitent ruminations and annoyance at her own thoughtlessness. Dennis was
particularly sensitive about his mother and she knew it. Worse still, he knew
she knew it.
Only
I could manage to piss off a dead roommate.
"Dennis," she began quietly "Dennis, I'm
sorry. I didn't mean that. I really didn't. I just, I just…" Her voice
trailed into silence.
The lamp sparked beside her, her faltering apology evidently
enough to appease the offended ghost. Cordelia exhaled deeply. "Thanks
Dennis," she said softly, stretching to turn her alarm radio around.
5.30 am. A whole three hours sleep.
With deadened energy, Cordelia swung her legs around the
side of the bed and stood, her feet sticky against the carpet. She padded to
the bathroom, its clinical freshness jarring every weary sense.
Shower. Dress.
Work.
Cordelia focused on the three simple tasks, managing to
preoccupy her mind with the detail of each so that it wasn't until she stood
under the streaming water, hair soaking wet, eyes closed tightly, that the
dread, a sinking weight, returned.
************************
"You
found the Text of Aberyion?"
Sudden enthusiasm lightening his accent, Wesley stretched
forward and swung the journal around, dropping into a chair with an air of
veritable delight. "I thought you had mislaid it."
"Hmm? Yeah it was in my drawer, Cordelia reminded
me." Angel answered from the open doorway of his office where he stood,
coffee mug in hand. He sipped on the hot drink, curls of steam gradually
masking his face with a clammy mist, "Have you noticed anything odd about
her lately?"
His fingers
delicately separating the pages, Wesley murmured vaguely, "Ever so."
Angel lowered
his mug, his eyes fixed on his employee. "Ever so what?"
Silence
answered him.
"Wesley?"
The Englishman spared him a distracted glance. "Hmm? My
word Angel, the quality of this edition is quite astounding. I haven't seen a
copy in such pristine condition from that era before, I rather think…"
"Wesley" The vampire's voice was filled with quiet
demand, "I asked if you had noticed anything odd about
Cordelia."
Wesley looked up reluctantly, a hand settling his glasses
more securely on the bridge of his nose. "Odd?"
Satisfied that he had the other man's attention, Angel
leaned against the sturdy doorframe and took another gulp of coffee, "I
think maybe something's wrong."
Wesley considered the vampire silently. So that was it, he
might have guessed as much. Angel had been muttering quiet concerns about their
young associate for some time now, concerns that couldn't be entirely held as
unfounded. A hand loosening his tie, Wesley cleared his throat as he shifted in
his seat. "I know she has been quiet lately…"
Exactly" Angel interrupted, wagging a finger
knowledgeably at his fellow associate, "Quiet and listless and a bit too
reasonable for my liking." He pushed himself from the oak doorframe and
slid a hand over the polished wood. "Something's wrong" he said in a
tone of certain finality, "Something's definitely wrong."
Wesley looked at him in quiet amusement, wondering not for
the first time, just how Angel had survived for so many years. Considering he
had lived through two centuries, numerous wars, countless battles and the
perilous Sunnydale Class 99 Graduation ceremony, he could be exasperatingly
dim.
"Angel," the ex Watcher said, mild irritation
trickling into his voice, "Of course something is wrong."
Angel's hand stilled and he turned slowly toward the
Englishman, his expression askance. "She's told you something?"
Wesley smiled thinly. "Angel, I don't pretend to know
Cordelia as well as you do. However, I can only surmise that any individual,
let alone a nineteen year old ex May Queen would find a new city, the loss of a
dear friend and mind numbingly painful visions quite a lot to contend with. I
would imagine that yes, something is quite wrong, I would go so far as to say
Cordelia is struggling with all that she has had to face recently."
The vampire's face pained with sudden truth, the expression
quickly masked by another of practised reserve. "I know," he said
softly, running a finger the length of the Text of Aberyion, "I know she
has had a lot to cope with. This city, the visions." His finger circled a
wooden crevice. Throat dry, he swallowed. "Losing Doyle hasn't been
easy."
Wondering if that sad guilt would always settle in Angel's
eyes when Doyle was remembered, Wesley tried again, his voice filled with
characteristic kindness. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories
Angel, I simply wanted to point out that for a nineteen year old, Cordelia
lives a very strange life. Its entirely natural that from time to time, she
grows a little reticent."
"That's
all you think it is?" Angel asked slowly, "Just reticence?"
"Cordelia is a remarkable young lady," Wesley told
the vampire, quiet confidence etched in his tone, "She has the strengths
and resources to carry her through. But there's no harm in keeping on you and I
keeping a close eye on her."
Angel nodded
in thoughtful agreement. "No harm at all."
*********************
Winding the fluffed towel around her damp hair, Cordelia
tightened the belt of her bathroom robe, the fabric light and wispy against her
bare skin. She wrapped her fingers around the crystal glass and drew the vessel
to her lips. The scotch burned her throat, its liquid smoothness heating her
deep within. Cordelia lazily ran her tongue over her teeth, soaking up the
bitter taste of the spirit. Enjoying it.
"Dennis?" she pushed the words from her mouth with
effort, this third glass of scotch taking effect, "Phone please?"
The telephone skidded through the air, slapping abruptly
into her outstretched palm. Cordelia squinted at the dial-pad and with great
concentration, punched the number of Angel Investigations. The girl sat
upright, ignoring a sudden wave of dizziness.
Clear
head, clear head.
"Angel
Investigations. We help the hopeless."
A smile broke
on Cordelia's face. Wesley, not a problem.
"Wes, hi
its me."
"Cordelia,
good morning. I was just about to call and see if you were…"
"Wesley" Cordelia couldn't quite manage a
conversation and she didn't intend to pursue one. "I'm not going to be in
today. I'm a little tired."
Well
done. No slurring.
"That
sounds wise Cordelia, Angel and I were just saying…"
"I know,
he told me to take it easy, which is what I am going to do, so I'll see you
tomorrow okay?"
"All
right then, have a nice day Cordelia."
"Bye
Wes."
Cordelia
watched the receiver slip from her hand to the dark carpet beneath.
"Easy peasy, lemon squeezy," she murmured as her
hand grappled for the scotch bottle. Refilling the glass, Cordelia watched the
liquid swirl and churn its way around the vessel and as she stared, entranced
by its agile swishing to and fro, for a time, she forgot.
***********************
The dance floor, sporadically illuminated with colourful
flashes of artificial light, teemed with barely clad bodies.
"I'm clad," Cordelia announced, her voice ground
with firm conviction. Serena slid a cool look sideways.
"Clad?"
"Clad" Cordelia confirmed gravely. Hands
outstretched, she invited Serena to inspect her outfit, "Look at me, Clad
girl, I'm clad".
Serena's lips twitched, a half smile escaping her. " To
think I had to bully you into coming out with us tonight. Happy pills starting
to work, Cordy?"
"Oh yeah" Cordelia agreed blissfully. She tilted
her head back, her world weightless and free. "Happy, happy, happy."
"It's a
good way to feel," the words floated past her, the voice smooth.
Cordelia spun around on her barstool, the movement slowed in
motion. Steadying herself with a giggle, she looked up and found her gaze
settling on a dark-haired stranger. He looks like Angel, she thought,
immediately revising that impression as she scrutinised him more intently. He
was tall and dark, yes, but shared nothing of Angel's striking features. There
was something intriguing about him though, his slim face besetting a natural
beauty, his quiet confidence drawing her closer.
"Feeling
happy is good" she said with a small smile.
"But
new?"
She hesitated, confusion furrowing her face. Her gaze
clinging to his own, she studied him silently.
What
would he know?
Exploring the depths, she found a wealth of experience in
those eyes, a dark chasm of knowledge. He
knew.
"Very
new," she agreed slowly.
"It
shouldn't. You should always feel happy. There's so much you have, so much you
could have."
He spoke plainly, without fervour, the words delivered as
undiluted fact. He stared into her eyes and she fancied whimsically, her soul,
with steady conviction in his gaze. The music faded, those near diminishing in
presence so that all else was forgotten.
"I understand
Cordelia. I promise you, I know what it's like."
An irrational
rush of happiness burst inside her, chemicals pushing through her.
He
knows my name. He knows me.
"What's your name?" Out of the thousand questions,
she chose the most important. Her voice was strangely calm and sounded terribly
distant for she didn't feel at all calm or collected.
A smile glided
across his face. "Jarod."
"Jarod."
She liked the name. "How do you know me?"
His smile widened marginally, as though her question was
ridiculous. As though she should know the answer. He leaned a little closer,
his light breath warming her lips. "I would know you anywhere Cordelia.
You're one of us."
