I Woke Up L.A.

Author: Melissa

Spoilers: early Season 3.

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Her legs tangle in the sheets as she stirs, lying from one side to another and her eyelids fluttering slightly. Rays of the morning light peek from under the slowly moving black curtains, a protection against the world living and breathing under the yellow orb.

The sound of traffic is a quiet hum in the background as a silent vigil sleeps on, a guardian to a seer, oblivious of the world waking up outside.

She doesn't expect it to be so dark in the room but then again, she realizes she's in Angel's room, in his bed with him sitting a few feet away.

Keeping his distance but close enough to be there in a second.

She always leaves the curtains at home open, just so she can feel more normal, more alive and not like she's slipping further away in the shadows.

Watching Angel slumped in his armchair, lashes resting against cold pale skin, Cordelia pushes the covers, her feet landing heavily on the carpeted floor of his suite.

Ignoring the open bathroom door, she makes her way to the heavy black curtains, and careful not to allow any light streaming in and on her nightly guardian, she slips between them and steps on the balcony.

The bright morning sun forces her to shut her eyes hard enough to make her see stars and she has to grip the concrete railing to steady herself, her headache coming back full force.

So tired.

She lets her eyes adjust slowly and the pounding in her head turns into the ever-present dull throbbing.

She welcomes the sun with open arms, soaks in its warmth as if she's been confined indoors for years when it's only been a couple of days.

The visions and resulting headache were too strong for her to expose herself to the unmerciful sun.

So fragile.

The concrete feels rough underneath the soft skin of her palms, the morning wind a little too forceful for a frame that goes thinner and thinner every week.

Yet, standing there in the sun, she feels like she belongs to the land of the living again.

(and tries to ignore the way her arms are shaking as she leans against the railing for support.)

So weak.

But not dead yet.

I'm still here, she shouts with all the strength she has left. She wants to be heard up to a small town where people never really cared about her - not like the people sharing one man's fate with her.

Not like him.

She watches as a man walking down the street pauses and turns, a wondering look on his face before he walks away.

She looks over her shoulder when the French doors in the corner away from the pouring light - his safe haven - open and he appears in the doorframe.

Somehow, she can't bear the way he looks at her and they both know why. She looks back to the immensity of L.A. before her, the city of Angels and she doesn't miss the irony.

She lets him watch her because it's his way of standing beside her during the day, when he's not allowed outside and under the sun.

She wants to see him step into the light so badly but knows she will no longer be there when he does.

The End