Author's Note: I have been unhappy with the way the A-team has been acting lately towards Angel. It seems to me that if they're the friends they say they are they would be trying harder at helping him. This is my small attempt to rectify some of it--a different way the first part of Reunion could have gone. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the Angel on the edge thing that they've been doing lately, but I think they could have gone about it without having Cordy and everyone else completely give up on him...

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. None of the characters are mine.

"So, do you think..." Cordelia couldn't finish her sentence. The look of pain that Wesley gave her was enough to render her silent.

"I don't know what to think," the ex-watcher stated sadly. "It's almost sunrise, and..." His voice trailed off forlornly.

Cordelia hopped off of her stool and threw her arms in the air, agitated. "No, no, I refuse to think that Angel would..." she replied, shaking her head firmly. "He WOULDN'T. He wouldn't kill himself for little miss bleached blond Buffy substitute..."

Wesley looked down at his lap. "Wouldn't he?" His voice was soft, hesitant, as if he felt he would be punished for his words.

Cordelia glared at him, eyes pained, but said nothing. There was nothing she could honestly respond with. Because Wesley was right. She knew it, and so did he.

"We should have Gunn check her hotel ro--" his words were cut off abruptly as he looked up towards the entryway.

Angel.

Cordelia's lips pursed in a tiny 'o' of surprise as she turned in the direction of Wesley's astonished stare, her hands falling limply to her sides. "Oh my..." she whispered before reflex kicked in and she raced forward.

Angel stood in the doorway for a moment, looking utterly lost, before his knees buckled and he pitched forward. Cordelia caught him in time, only to be overwhelmed by his weight. They toppled into a heap on the floor.

Cordelia let out a yelp of surprise, but was silenced with a wheeze when Angel's sheer bulk impacted with her much smaller torso. Weakly, she pushed at his shoulders, trying not to aggravate whatever injuries he had accumulated. "Angel, oof..." she grunted, becoming frightened when he didn't move. At all.

His head remained limply slung over her shoulder, but oddly she could hear him breathing softly next to her ear--a habit he had developed long ago that she had grown to appreciate-- one that he was only able to maintain when he was awake. "Angel!" she cried, this time a little more insistent as she found it harder and harder to breathe under his crushing two-hundred plus pound weight. "Get off me, you oaf, I know you're awake," she finally let slip, despite the twinge of panic that was beginning to settle in her stomach.

"Cordelia, don't do that, he might have broken bones..." Wesley commented uselessly.

Cordelia blinked, and could see Wesley standing over them with a concerned look on his face. "Duh, Wesley! I'm a bit more worried about the fact that I can't BREATHE!" she snapped nastily and gave Angel another good shove.

Wesley grabbed the back of Angel's duster and, with a mighty heave, slid Angel's huge form off of her. A small whimper of pain fell from the huge vampire's lips, and then he curled up in a fetal ball. "Dear lord," Wesley commented softly as he knelt down beside Angel, who was beginning to quake.

Cordelia sat up and crawled over to her shivering boss, shooting a concerned look at Wesley. The former watcher just shrugged. "Angel?" she asked hesitantly, placing her hand on his shoulder. His dark chocolate eyes stared back at her through his lashes, watery and pained, but he said nothing, like he was catatonic or something.

"Angel, can you hear me?" Cordelia prodded again, trying to get some reaction, ANY reaction, out of him. She placed a hand on his cheek, rubbed her fingertips fleetingly across his smooth, alabaster skin. The coolness of his face startled her, and she briefly had to remind herself that the friend lying before her wasn't even human.

His lips parted slightly, and she felt her chest lighten, thinking that he was finally going to say something. His eyes closed for a moment, bringing a reddish teardrop cascading down his face. "Angel, what happened?" she asked softly.

He said nothing.

"Cordelia, help me move him to the couch," Wesley prodded her, his voice unobtrusive, as if he expected the softest noise to send the shivering vampire into hysterics.

She looked up at him. Until he had spoken, she had forgotten he was even there. "Wesley," she asked as they each slung a limp arm over their shoulders and lifted, "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know..." was the response she received--far from comforting. Her co-worker grunted as Angel's weight drooped between them. Practically collapsing under the heavier man's bulk, they dragged him across the floor and set him on the couch.

Their boss was so still, she would have thought him a statue were in not for his soft, sighing breaths. She didn't even want to think about the obvious and painful looking burn she saw on his right hand, or about the injuries that his duster was most likely concealing. "I'm going to kill her..." she mumbled, frustrated, as she placed her hand on Angel's cheek again. He didn't even flinch.

Wesley turned to look at her. "Darla?" he asked, "There's no way she could have done this to him... She's a human, now."

Cordelia huffed, turning back to Angel. "Well, it's probably her fault, anyway." Wesley looked for a moment like he was going to retort, but he remained silent, probably realizing the same thing that she was starting to understand.

They had spent so much time trying to get Angel un-Darla focused that they hadn't realized the inevitable--that he was already irrevocably affected and that they should have been helping him instead of chastising him. And he'd actually felt it necessary to lie to them so they wouldn't bug him anymore. He'd lied. They'd probably driven him to whatever was causing this, and the fact that neither of them had any clue what the problem was, was entirely their fault. The realization pained her.

"I'll... I'll go get him some blood, perhaps that will help," Wesley explained as he got to his feet and went up the stairs.

She watched him briefly as he ascended the steps.

"I couldn't stop them." The words were sad, lost, and very quiet, but Cordelia heard it as clearly as if he were shouting at her, and her eyes wandered back to Angel.

She place her hand on his knee and squeezed reassuringly. "Stop what, Angel?" she asked, fearing that her vocal intrusion would render him silent again.

He blinked. His shoulders hitched a bit, and she scooted up off the floor to sit beside him. Trembling. She could see that he was trembling--the way his skin fluttered slightly as uncontrolled shivers raced through his body. The muscles in his jaw worked furiously, small bulges rippling under the skin of his cheeks as he repeatedly clenched his teeth. "I should have stopped them," he whispered, his voice wavering just as much as he himself was.

Cordelia, for a moment, was shaken. She didn't know what to do. Angel, the master of cool, looked like he was about to break down--his unflappable image of dark broodiness was replaced by something she couldn't quite identify. At least... not on him, because she had never seen that face on him before. There were at least four or five different degrees of depressed brooding and about twenty seven Angel-patented varieties of 'witness my lack of emotive expressiveness' macho guy crap that she could nail in nanoseconds and pointedly choose to ignore, but this... This rattled her.

Without thinking, she hugged him. Throwing her arms around his quivering shoulders, she pulled him to her fiercely, so hard that she probably would have knocked the wind out of anyone who actually had to breathe. "It wasn't your fault," she assured him as she rested her cheek on the caressing soft suede of his duster. She didn't know what this was about, or even if it was genuinely his fault, but frankly she didn't care.

A small whimper fell from his lips--like a scolded puppy. Cordelia felt her heart constrict at the pitiful sound. "Shhh," she soothed, pulling his head down into her lap as she desperately tried to calm him. He didn't resist at all.

His torso bucked weakly in her grasp, and she could hear him suck in his breath as though he were gasping for a last dying gulp of air. And then the process repeated. The strange jerking motions of his chest only took a moment to register. He was crying...

Angel was crying.

She ran her hand through his hair, surprised that the gel he used didn't make it sticky or gross at all, quite soft, really... As she shook her head, a hesitant smile fell across her face, despite his distress. She had always found his ridiculous sense vanity so amusing, considering he didn't even have to look at himself in the mirror ever day.

Breaking herself from her musings, she looked back down at him. He had brought his hands up and was desperately clutching at the fabric of her pants as though it were a lifeline. "It's all right," she whispered calmly, continuing to caress his forehead with her hand as his body was wracked with terrible, agonized sobs.

Wesley came down quietly with a mug in hand and sat across from them. So taken in grief, Angel didn't even notice, making Cordelia even more worried.

At Wesley's questioning look, all Cordelia could do was shrug. She was helpless, a feeling she didn't much care for. But just when she thought Angel would never tell them what happened, the story came tumbling from his lips between frantic sobs. "Almost, almost... died for her ... and they still... still couldn't save her..." he whimpered through agonized, sucking breaths. "She... She finally understood and then they took her away... Dru... Dru turned her... made me watch... Why couldn't I save her? I should have been able to save her..."

Wesley leaned forward. "Angel, you obviously tried your very hardest. If she's not here now, then there was nothing you could have done," he stated resolutely, his voice low and soothing. He looked as though he thought Angel was on the brink of something even worse than the state he was in now.

What surprised her more than she would have liked, however, was the fact that Wesley's cautions were well-founded. "I wasn't good enough..." Angel whispered before he started into a another waterfall of grief. "I wasn't good enough..." he repeated, his voice dangerously low and full of self-flagellation.

Cordelia sat there quietly as he let it all out, spiraling down into vicious throes of indescribable sadness. It started with the Trials--a whole sadistic lot of terrible trials that had all been for nothing. And then it migrated into about twenty thousand different other sources of Angel's pent up grief. Cordelia had known that Angel brooded about things--even known that he kept everything deep inside him, but she hadn't even begun to contemplate the sheer ferocity of his stoic nature until everything that it kept hidden behind his stony gaze came bursting forth at once.

She and Wesley listened as he related the unmitigated terror his nightmares of Hell brought to him. Cordelia hadn't even realized that he still had nightmares about that, let alone almost every other night. They listened to him describe the wrenching agony that he had gone through when his soul had been ripped from his body, his never flagging yearning for Buffy--he even started going into things that had happened before either of them had been born.

They listened until exhaustion gradually crept up and left the weeping vampire still and quiet. The blood in the mug had long since cooled and coagulated. "Oh, Angel," Cordelia whispered, in tears as she continued to stroke his head, trying her best to soothe him. Her legs were numb from lack of circulation, but she couldn't bring herself to move.

Wesley stood and stretched, the look on his face grim. "I had no idea," he said, his concerned eyes never wandering from the sleeping vampire's face.

For a few moments, there was only silence.

"We should try and get him up to bed..." Wesley finally suggested.

Cordelia nodded. She hated to wake him, but she didn't think her body could take much more as a human pillow, no matter how much she wished to stay there. "Angel," she whispered, "We need to get you upstairs..."

His eyes fluttered open, a look of disoriented terror marring his flawless face. For a moment, she thought he would bolt, but gradually, his gaze relaxed into that of woeful acceptance. At least he didn't wake on alert like he usually did. She could recall several times where she had gone to wake him up, only to get viciously snarled at. "Angel," she prodded again, gently helping him stand.

He didn't say anything, only swayed slightly on his feet while he gained a precarious sense of balance. The look on his face was terrifying--a strange combination of exhaustion and pain that made Cordelia suddenly wish for the return of the almighty stoic Angel--Sir Unflappable of old.

She doubted even Buffy had ever seen him crumble like this. He had always been strong for her... He had always been strong for everyone. And now he needed someone to be strong for him.

Cordelia watched him. He took a limping step forward before she realized that his leg had been injured in some way. Without a second thought, she grabbed him around the waist and was surprised to find that he graciously accepted her aid.

Wesley moved to help as well, but she shook her head. She could handle this. The former watcher nodded, understanding the meaning of her silent gesture. I'll see you tonight, he mouthed. She inclined her head to show that she understood before turning back to her silent Angel. Behind them, she could hear his footsteps receding, and then moan of the door swinging shut as quickly as it had been opened.

It took several minutes for them to reach the stairs. She wasn't tiny, at least not compared to Buffy, but Angel was very bulky--a large frame housed by even larger muscles. Had it been anyone else but Angel, she probably would have become dehydrated from excessive drooling.

He gasped when they hit the stairs, in obvious pain. "Only a few more, Angel. Come on," she soothed, urging him forward. She clutched his waist tightly, trying to show him that he could lean on her a bit more than he was currently. But even if he had realized that was what she was indicating, he probably wouldn't have taken her up on it-- that whole male ego thing, probably.

Finally, they made it to his dark room. He stared blankly at the bed, making no move to collapse into it as she had expected he would. "Hang on a moment, Angel," she said softly, although she didn't really need to. He was already standing pretty stationary.

"I'm going to let go, ok?" she asked, looking at him for any sign of acknowledgement.

He nodded minutely, almost to the point that she thought she had imagined the motion. Releasing him, she walked around to his front and grabbed the lapels of his duster. He didn't even give protest as she slid off his sacred coat.

He even stood quietly while she unbuttoned his rust-red silk shirt and slid that off as well, but she couldn't help but flinch at the state of his normally gorgeous chest. The burns that marred his pectorals and upper abdomen were red and angry--slightly blistered. One look at his forlorn expression, however, made her refrain from saying anything. She doubted he wanted her sympathy right now. He probably just wanted her to leave.

"Ok, you can lie down now," she suggested, giving him a light shove in the direction what she hoped would be much needed rest. Luckily, the vampire collapsed onto his silk sheets as though his legs had suddenly turned to boneless mush, and as soon as he was off his feet, Cordelia removed his boots and socks.

She would have even considered getting his pants too, but she doubted even in this state he would let her go that far. She was remarkably surprised he'd even let her touch him. He was big on personal space.

"Angel?" she asked hesitantly, leaning over his prone form.

He looked at her sleepily, probably confused as to why she hadn't left yet. She placed her hands on his cheeks and smiled encouragingly. There was that trademark flinch she'd been waiting for, but she didn't relinquish her hold...

"Angel, you may not think you're good enough, but you are. You're good enough for me, and Wesley. You're not alone, don't ever think you're alone," she told him sincerely. She couldn't recall a time when she'd ever explicitly told him how much he meant to all of them. And he needed to hear it. Badly.

"You, are my best friend, Angel. Don't ever think I'm not here for you, even though it might not seem like it sometimes, well, most times," she stated firmly, releasing her grip finally and sitting beside him. The bed sagged a bit under her weight, but Angel didn't appear to mind.

He stared at her--a long, intent sort of look. And she could see it, in his eyes. The gratitude that he didn't seem to be able to utter verbally. He blinked, finally, and a lone tear strayed down his cheek as his eyes wavered with emotion.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" she asked softly.

For a moment, he hesitated, and there was a look of longing in his soulful eyes that she had seen before--that 'woe is me, I'm so lonely' look that he got every time he brooded, but after he took a moment to regather himself he managed to shake his head. She briefly considered staying anyway, but decided against it. Even lonely people needed time by themselves...

She nodded and stood, turning to leave, but the cool touch of his hand stopped her. Rotating back to peer at him, she found his face again a mix of emotions that she couldn't quite identify. His lips pursed as tried to formulate something to say, and she waited patiently while he bolstered his own confidence enough to finally speak.

"Thanks," he mumbled, the small one-syllable word wavering on his tongue as though it were some world-altering truth.

"You're welcome, Angel," she whispered, before leaving him to rest.

FIN