Author's Note: This follows my previous story, A Chink in the Armor. It's meant to give a little more depth to Angel's reasoning, and add little more fight in the A-team.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. None of the characters are mine.
A pedestal. That was what they had put him on. He could see that now, and it somehow made the guilt weighing on his chest inflate even more, so much that even though he didn't need to breath, he was suffocating in it. Drowning. He was crashing down hard, and they were worried.
They had right to be. He was falling, infinitely tumbling off the proverbial cliff, and he couldn't stop--he wasn't sure that he even wanted to, because whenever he wasn't falling, he felt like he was landing. And that was far worse--so much easier to be taken with the descent than to duck and tumble with the brunt of the consequences.
He looked at them intently. They were all he had. With the small exception of Buffy, the only people he had ever dared to count on and, most of all, trust were sitting in front of him, begging him to see that things were far from ok, that he needed to stop what he was doing.
They were his entire life--it was why he had to let them go. Working with him, especially after the Hell he had just willingly unleashed, was going to get them killed. Darla and Drusilla weren't just his problem any more--they would maim and kill their way through the city, most likely starting with everything and everyone close to him. All because they wanted Angelus back. Which meant that he had to get his friends as far away from him as possible.
He would rather have them hate him than have them dead at his Sire's bloody hands, or, even worse, his own. His whole body shuddered at the thought. He would rather burn in Hell for all eternity than let them be susceptible to a possible attack from Angelus--a very real threat, as far as he was concerned.
The Scourge of Europe was there. Screaming inside him for release. At least, that was how he preferred to think of it--so much easier to attach a name to his baser desires than to admit that they were as much a part of him as his soul. As Darla had begun to awaken the sleeping Angelus inside him, the one that no curse could ever, EVER, contain, he found it harder and harder to distinguish where he began and where his demon ended. Were they really two separate things, or was it all just him?
That's right. I AM a part of you... it growled in his head. It made him feel unclean. Dirty. Just let me out to play...
Dark.
And the more dark he felt, the farther he fell, the more Angelus seemed to run around in circles in his head, stuck in a vicious cabin-fever frenzy. The demon wanted OUT, so much that it occasionally pained him. And, as Dru had observantly stated, "Daddy" was getting close to the surface, clawing his way out even as Angel sat there--he had felt the painful pressure when he'd been faced with letting Darla and Dru frenzy or saving a cadre of his worst enemies.
His decision had thankfully appeased the demon for a while, but the pain was returning like a slowly building brush fire. He doubted he could contain it much longer, because it felt like he was trying to contain a part of himself, an appendage of his own personality. Even with a soul, even with the knowledge that if he simply gave up so, so many people would die, a part of him knew it would be easier to just let go. He didn't think he had enough strength left to care.
Darla had severed the leash he had on his beast.
Cordelia and the others didn't need to watch him fail, nor did they need to destroy that pedestal image any further. They needed to get out of his life before it destroyed them all.
"You're all fired," he finally managed to say, far more resolutely than he felt. They all stared back at him with astonished looks, as if he had actually raised a hand and struck him with all of his vampiric strength.
His insides trembled, quivered in fear at being alone again, to the point that he thought he felt his flesh melting off of his bones.
He didn't want to be alone.
But he had to. You want to kill them.
No...
He had to let them go.
Kill them, kill them, kill them! Angelus screamed in bitter fury, sending a shot of dismal clarity and pain through Angel's head. Blood. Kill. Gorge. Feed!
Raising himself up on unsure feet, he managed to exit the room before his hands began to shake, before his legs threatened to give out. Hah! Coward... He paused, listening to the triplet set of mortal heartbeats emanating from his office. His eyes burned with the searing heat of unshed tears. Anger. At himself. He couldn't have just done that... Hadn't Cordelia just told him that morning that she was there for him? She was lying, fool. Kill her. Kill them all! FEED! EMBRACE ME!
They weren't words, really, more like impulses, dark urges that he simply couldn't get a handle on. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed Angelus silent, but the whining pain in his brain told him it wouldn't last long--his formerly vast control of the demon was gone. The downward spiral had started earlier, but Kate's rich human blood had cemented the change in the balance.
Alone. Could he really fight it alone?
Despite the risk, he wanted to go running back in the room and tell him he was joking, crack one of his rare smiles and wish it all away--to go back to the time right after they had discovered he would Shanshu. But Darla couldn't be wished away. Only a stake wielded by his own unsure hands would be the death of her, as it had once been before. And all the while, Angelus was smiling--a peeling, wicked grin that was threatening to rip his sanity into shreds.
His hands trembled.
With a heavy sigh, he reached the banister, grateful for its support. That long flight of stairs looked even more intimidating with every passing moment.
He was so tired...
He didn't want to fight anymore.
"What the HELL was that?!" He heard the shrill cry from the office and he cringed. She probably hated him now. A large hollow thud tumbled through the air, and he suspected that it had been her hand impacting with the desk.
"ANGEL, YOU STOP RIGHT THERE!"
He closed his eyes and felt a brief sanctuary there in the self-induced darkness. Why did she have to follow him? Why did she have to make this so damn hard? Didn't she already know it was killing him? The pain Angelus's balance checks caused him was intense and physical to the point he wanted to stake himself, but having her look at him so accusingly was far, far worse.
He was so tired...
"Cordelia," he whispered, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat. "Please, please, go away..." His hand fell from the banister, dead and numb. God, he didn't want to argue with her.
He didn't want to fight.
"No. Not until you tell me why we've suddenly returned to 'Angel. Cave Vamp. Me alone. You bad...'" she mocked. He could feel her breathing heavily with fury, and he wanted to crumble into ashes right there, if only to save her from the hurt he had obviously caused.
She grabbed his arm and wrenched him around, so quickly that he almost lost his balance, and where her fingertips touched his forearm he felt a searing heat of shame where comfort had once been. She hardly ever touched him, and never before had she done so with the intent of getting physically violent with him.
He floundered there under her glare of daggers, felt himself begin to curl inwards, felt his knees threaten to buckle. Why did the Powers have to send him such a ray of hope, only to screw him and make him give her back? He could see Gunn and Wesley peering hopefully through the windows of his office--his personal foundation. They were the people who grounded him, kept him sane.
And now he had fired them.
"Answer me, Angel!" she demanded, and if it weren't for the small wavering quality of her tone, he would have thought she had returned to the Old Cordelia. Queen C. Had he hurt her that much?
An ache was beginning deep down in his chest, and he wasn't so sure it was loneliness. Angelus was garnering for another rip at usurping him. Tear her throat out! Gorge on her, that will shut her up! the base whine of sensation speared his skill, and unwillingly, he glanced at her neck with less than friendly intent before he was able to silence the yearning in his gut.
And yet all he could picture was painting the walls with her blood--warm flowing crimson lacquer. So good... He suppressed a primal moan as the image flooded his head, followed by a lancing pain. This is what you could have... Let me out and I will show you bliss.
"It..." he finally managed, his voice a bare whisper, "It isn't like that."
She looked at him strangely, and it made him think that she may have noticed what he was trying so hard to hide--the fact that he was about ready to collapse under Angelus's mounting assault.
The fact that Darla had destroyed him.
Kill her! Kill her! Have the British boy for desert. The blood is all that you want... He grimaced. Angelus. His chest constricted as the demon clamped his jaws around his own unbeating heart.
Cordelia was staring at him. Whatever she had seen, she chose to ignore. Her voice began low, and threatening. "Oh? Listen, Broody-boy. Did you think I just gave you that speech this morning for MY health?" she asked, not relinquishing her hold on his arm, as if her weak mortal grip could hold him there. Surprisingly, it did.
"Cordelia, I fired you. Get out." He managed to say it without his voice trembling, but he didn't look her in the eye. Angelus was a vice. It hurt too much, and he didn't want to hurt anymore.
He didn't want to hurt her, either. And he would. Angelus was getting powerful.
"No," she said evenly, and then she grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled him over to the chair, forcing him down into it with a shove.
He didn't stop her. A part of him didn't want to.
So tired...
"Cordelia, please, please, no..." he sighed, but he didn't have the strength to do much else. More spears of pain. He felt dizzy. Take her, take her, take her! the demon chanted like mantra, louder and louder until it sounded in his head like a freight train flying by his ears.
"What is your trauma!? Why the Hell did you do that? Why fire us?" she snapped, ignoring his quiet pleading with her to, just for once, let something go before she was through with it.
He brought his eyes up to look at hers, blinking under her recriminating stare. "What do you want me to say?" he asked softly, even as he felt his insides crawling. It was his fault she was angry. His fault. He was the one who had hurt her...
A stinging, ripping pain jolted through him as the demon flexed his muscles. He squeezed his eyes shut against the ache and the possibility that his soul was ripping apart right then and there--the same kind of bitter pain that he'd experienced after he and Buffy had finally made love... Clenching his teeth, he managed to withhold a groan.
"I want you to say that you didn't mean it and that you're being annoying and stubborn again," Cordelia replied icily, the hurt practically dripping from her gaze.
He had hurt her.
He hadn't wanted to do that...
He swallowed. "I..." A sharp twinge shot through his head, causing him to pause. "I can't," he bit out, his voice wavering slightly under the crushing weight of his demon's onslaught.
Cordelia peered at him, her eyes growing concerned. "Why?" she asked, softer this time--not nearly as threatening.
"Because I don't want to kill you and I very well might," he mumbled through clenched teeth, standing up abruptly. He felt like Angelus was pounding on the inside of his skull with a sledge hammer, and he started to shake as his precarious balance almost failed him. TAKE HER, TAKE HER, TAKE, DAMN IT!
Resist, resist, resist... How could he resist himself? The lion wasn't tame anymore...
"What?" Cordelia asked, a hint of panic becoming evident.
I'll end the pain if you do... Just look at her pretty little neck...
"Please," he practically moaned as he drunkenly swayed away from her. They needed to get out of there. "Please, just do as I ask. Just this once..." His voice fell into the barest sighing whisper. Every sinew in his body was screaming, every cell threatening to burst and die.
So tired...
She looked at him with no trace of the anger that had been present only a moment ago. "Angel..."
"Please, Cordelia," he pleaded, his voice cut short by a pained gasp. A sinking feeling began in his head and his vision started the waver in and out. All the while, Angelus was laughing maniacally.
"All right, Angel. All right. But don't think this is over..." Cordelia ground out. From the look in her eyes, she wanted to ask him what was wrong, why he was in such obvious pain. Her hands, which she had withdrawn earlier, looked eager to reach out and comfort him--he saw one twitch forward an inch before she halted it. He was glad for that.
She turned away from him with a sigh, and he could have sworn he heard her whisper, "Why don't you trust me anymore?"
Squeezing his hands into fists so hard that they turned an even paler shade, he forced him self to turn away from her and the friendly sanctuary she offered. Please, Cordelia, I'm so sorry, he wanted to say, to scream until she knew how much he meant it, and yet he dragged himself back to the banister.
Alone.
He made it to the top of the stairs before he collapsed, sweat pouring down his brow as he attempted to hold onto his soul, but it felt like he was trying to get a firm grip a melting icicle. He felt himself slipping through his fingers, talons clawing at his flesh from the inside out.
He could see it there above him--the peace that all he had to do to reach was let go. Let Angelus take him. He almost did, almost couldn't take it anymore, but the drum beat of three hearts, still downstairs, made him clutch even harder to the fleeting thought that he might be able to beat this. Angelus was strong, but maybe he was stronger...
Alone. He was alone now.
Biting down on his hand was the only thing that stopped him from screaming. They hadn't left yet, and if he screamed, they'd never leave. The blackness that was cascading before him like a waterfall looked liquid enough to drown in--at this point he would have welcomed such an end, anything to stop the bitter pain. Writhing on the floor, his whole body spasmed and hitched as though he were going into convulsions.
So tired...
He heard the door swing shut, three sets of footsteps fading into the shrill ringing in his ears.And just when he was about to surrender his exhausted self, an amazing crescendo of pain ripped through his veins and then went silent. Starting with a deep rumble in the pit of his stomach, so low it was barely audible, he yelled until he was howling so hard he shook, shook until his lungs spat out every last drop of air they held. He slouched to the cold floor limply as his own sweat drenched him to the bone, too exhausted to move or care.
He was alone now. Weak and alone.
And somewhere within him, deep and content, he could feel Angelus smiling.
FIN