Title: The Painting
Author: corrupt blondie
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Simple, I don't own the characters or the shows. I just like borrowing them from time to time.
Summary: Willow comes across a painting that changes her life. It sets off a chain of events of searching for a long lost friend, discovering a prophecy, and finding the greatest evil in the most innocent form.
Author's Note: I don't know whether this would be my coming back fic, but it's an interesting idea that I had to write (no matter how poorly). Haha. Fair warning, there is some actual French dialogue in this chapter but I have set aside the translated version that will look like (this) and is center aligned. Hope it's not to frustrating to read…

Also, don't expect me to finish my other stories because I'm completely lost with them.

Kennedy had insisted on going to the la-de-dah gallery opening as soon as she heard about it two months ago. Her art friend had claimed that one particular piece was very evocative and that it was the Mona Lisa of their time. Upon hearing this, Kennedy's eyes had bugged out in excitement while Willow had merely snorted lightly before taking a sip of her tea (a habit she picked up from Giles) and turned the page of her book.

Art was never her thing, Willow realized at a young age, much preferring the world of books, computers, and the company of her friends. As she grew older though, some of her previous interests stayed, however she did acquire new ones such as witchcraft, training slayers, and fighting evil. Not to mention that she was working for the newly established Watcher's Council and launching it from an idea to a reality took up most of time. Of course, she always made time for Kennedy and now that designated Kennedy time had turned into 'Let's go to the art show'; something of which she had no interest in.

"Baby, we went to the Lourve last week. Please, no more art." Willow pleaded from the bed.

"The Lourve is art history, Will. Art shows and gallery openings are much different… more contemporary," her lover argued with a smile as she put the finishing touches on her mascara. "Sometimes looking in the past is boring… it never changes."

Willow knew that this was just part of Kennedy's personality. Her girlfriend was more about living in the present and carpe diem rather than studying the past and worrying about the future. It was funny how Willow was leaning more towards the opposite in that description because when she did try 'living for the day' she had nearly died. It wasn't fear that kept her from living life like her lover; it was that being who she was suited her.

"Hey babe, you almost ready? We need to be there by 8:30," The brunette questioned, bringing Willow out of her reverie. They both glanced at the outfit that Willow had planned on wearing that night still lying on the bed and Willow glanced at her girlfriend sheepishly.

Kennedy sighed as she strolled to the floor length mirror to put in her earrings, "I would really like it if you came, Will. Tomas never gets excited over any work… at least not this excited." She then made the final adjustments of her outfit and looked at Willow via the mirror.

The redhead witch stared right back into Kennedy' pleading expression and sighed as well, but in defeat, "Give me a few, but afterwards… you plus me equals time spent in bed… not sleeping."

Kennedy squealed slightly before wrapping her arms around Willow's shoulders and purred into the redhead's ear, "Who needs a bed?"

Willow smiled dreamily before she kissed her Slayer girlfriend soundly on the lips, "I love you."

"I love you too, babe."

The cold air filled her lungs as she and her girlfriend walked hand in hand to the building where the gallery opening was being held. Willow could tell that Kennedy was beyond enthusiastic and just by being in her presence, Willow felt the same energy to a small degree.

As they neared the front entrance, a tall and wiry framed man in his early 30s first greeted Kennedy and then followed suit with Willow. His small amount of stubble on his jaw line grated Willow's sensitive skin as she was kissed cheek to cheek like most Parisians do upon greeting one another. As he leaned back, Willow noticed that his glasses twinkled from the city lights. He smiled at them both before turning to Kennedy, "Oh Kennedy, c'est toujours un plaisir pour voir vous et Willow. Comment ça va?"

("Oh Kennedy, it is always a pleasure to see you and Willow. How are you?")

Willow knew some French from high school, but had forgotten most of it over the years due of lack of use. She knew enough to hold a basic conversation, but not enough to talk to Tomas. Willow was practical and she much preferred dead and ancient languages that were of good use to spells and deciphering prophecies. Besides, she had Kennedy as her translator, who knew three languages other than English fluently. She had relied on Kennedy in the past when they had stayed in Rome with Buffy and Dawn to visit a few years back and when they did some work in Portugal a couple months ago. Now that they were in France, Willow once again relied on Kennedy's upbringing, for she had been encouraged by her parents to learn other languages and had visited many European countries at least once to practice when she was growing up.

Tomas continued on in the conversation with Kennedy as Willow had drifted off, "Maintenant, Ken mon chéri, je dois vous montrer ce morceau. Il est absolument fabuleux. Suivez-moi, filles."

("Now, Ken my darling, I must show you this piece. It is absolutely fabulous. Follow me, girls.")

Kennedy reached for Willow's hand as they entered the building, the Slayer inquired, "Qui est l'auteur?"

("Who is the author?")

Tomas kept his pace but he thought for a moment to recall the name. He snapped his fingers, "Un certain photographe américain par le nom d'Ardonnay."

("A certain American photographer by the name of Ardonnay.")

Kennedy's eyebrows knitted together briefly, "Photographe? J'ai pensé que vous dit lui étiez une peinture, Tomas."

("Photographer? I thought you said it was a painting, Tomas.")

"Il est," Tomas nodded a greeting to the other gallery guests, "Il est son peindre seulement ce nous savent de. Étonnant il n'a pas fait davantage vu son talent avec la brosse."

("It is. Pause It's his only painting that we know of. Surprising he didn't do more considering his talent with the brush.")

"Comment vous le trouvez par hasard, Tomas?" Kennedy asked curiously wanting to know everything about this painting that has gotten her friend on such a buzz.

(How did you come across it, Tomas?")

"Mon associé l'a eu dans sa collection privée après avoir voyagé à New York pour vérifier hors du nouveau talent. Ardonnay montrait certaines de ses photographies avec le même modèle que dans la peinture. Il a eu la peinture en tant que son morceau de foyer et dès que Philippe a vu la peinture, il a dû l'avoir." Tomas stopped and closed his eyes softly as if in a memory, "Obtenir mes bonbons ont su ce qu'il a voulu."

("My partner had it in his private collection after traveling to New York to check out the new talent over there. Ardonnay was displaying some of his photographs with the same model as in the painting. He had the painting as his focus piece and as soon as Philippe saw the painting, he had to have it. Pause My sweets knew how to get what he wanted.")

Willow heard the name Philippe and recalled Kennedy telling her that the man had died a few months ago from a heart attack. Willow could tell by the man's slouched shoulders that Tomas was still consumed by grief over his loss.

Abruptly, Tomas started walking again, "Quand sa maison s'est accrochée au feu, il a seulement sauvé cet une seule pièce hors de son collection entière de travail d'art très cher et fortement connu. D'puis dessus, j'ai su important cet art était à lui, mais je n'ai pas eu une chance de regarder vraiment la peinture. Je n'ai jamais compris pourquoi il était ainsi hanté avec elle, mais une fois que je voyais elle... vraiment l'a bien vue... vous verra."

("When his home caught on fire, he only saved this one piece out of his entire collection of very expensive and highly known art work. From then on, I knew how important this art was to him, but I didn't have a chance to really look at the painting. I never understood why he was so obsessed with it, but once I saw it… really saw it… well, you'll see.")

Kennedy was so enthralled by that point, "Ce qui est il a appelé?"

("What's it called?")

"Cordelia," He answered with wistfulness coloring his voice.

Willow stopped dead in her tracks upon hearing the name. She didn't need to know French to know what the gallery director said.

'Cordelia,' Willow thought as memories of her former high school tormentor surfaced. The Head Cheerleader of Sunnydale High. The May Queen. Angel's Gal Friday. The Seer to the Powers That Bee.

'Certainly it could be just a title, right?' Willow question inwardly, 'Maybe the artist liked Shakespeare's King Lear and it has nothing to do with the Cordelia you know to be dead.'

Kennedy and Tomas noticed Willow hadn't been walking along side them and they met up with the immobile witch who had her eyes furrowed. Kennedy brushed her fingertips across the redhead's jaw line and when emerald eyes met Kennedy's the Slayer asked, "You okay, babe?"

Willow ignored the concern momentarily, "Ask him when it was painted."

Kennedy looked confused by Willow's sudden interest in the painting but asked anyway.

Tomas looked thoughtful once more before responding, "Philippe avait acquis le Cordelia septembre de 2006. Je ne sais pas exactement quand ceci a été peint. En fait, là est beaucoup de mystère entourant ce travail d'art. Une partie de son charme."

("Philippe had acquired the 'Cordelia' September of 2006. I don't know exactly when this was painted. In fact, there is a lot of mystery surrounding this art work. Part of its charm.")

Kennedy translated the information that Willow desired and immediately the redhead became introspective once more. She muttered, "It couldn't be her."

However, with Kennedy's heightened sense of hearing from being a slayer allowed her to hear Willow's words, "Who's her?"

"I knew a Cordelia back when I in high school, "The witch clarified for her lover, "I was just saying it couldn't be the Cordelia I knew."

Kennedy became aware of her girlfriend's distress and turned to Tomas who was looking just as confused as the brunette was not long ago because of the exchange amongst the two women, "Où est ce Cordelia?"

("Where is this 'Cordelia'?")

"Devant vous," Tomas answered and gestured to the painting.

("In front of you.")

Willow followed his lead and gasped. She almost wished that Tomas hadn't taken her to the painting because there was no doubt that it was Cordelia. There were a few differences from when she last saw Cordelia a couple years back after re-ensouling Angel. Her hair was somewhat below shoulder length and framed her now hard face with loose curls. Because it was painted at night, her hair was deceivingly black, or maybe it was, Willow couldn't tell or guess for that matter. If the redhead looked closely, she could see that Cordelia was graying a lot around the frame of her face, or was it just the moonlight? Willow was too shocked to determine anything at that point.

She could however see that Cordelia didn't carry herself in the regal way she used to almost be known for. Her high school bully turned almost friend looked as if standing in front of the window gazing into the night with the moonlight washing over her body was pure torture on her soul. Her lips were pressed into a tight frown, but her facial expression around her eyes was eerily impassive. Even though the painting was of the whole body, there was excellent detail in Cordelia's hazel eyes. There was a small glint of rage flickering just right under the moonlight, but it dwarfed in comparison to the agony and loneliness that practically swallowed it whole in the constant struggle of dominance in Cordelia's hazel but almost gold eyes.

As Willow worked her way down Cordelia's body for more changes from the Cordy she once knew to the one that was being portrayed in front of her, no matter how subtle or obvious it was.

It was then as her emerald eyes widened and as her brain finally processed the tidbit of information that Cordelia was pregnant in the panting.

'Oh Goddess.'

She glanced at Tomas and Kennedy only to see them both in a trance as they both stared onto the painting. Willow realized that there were a handful of others fully willing to join the other catatonic admirers.

Meanwhile, Willow's brain began furiously trying to work out all the new information that was gathered in such a brief time. She began to go over the events that set the stage for the fall of Angel's team and Los Angeles in the spring of 2004. It was now January of 2007 and the painting had been done by the latest of September of 2006. There was a gap of over two years with Cordelia being alive and a possibility that she still is. 'Why no contact? What exactly happened in LA before the fall?'

Too many questions, Willow shook her head to straighten out her thoughts.

'I need to know what happened. This Ardonnay guy knew Cordy for however long it was, painted her, and sold the painting to Tomas' lover. How did he come across Cordelia? Why did a photographer decide to pick up a paint brush to paint Cordelia and only her?'

Willow stared at the painting again, as the others were doing, and began to come to the realization as to why Cordelia was painted. It was because of the magnitude of suffering and turmoil the ex-secretary was in.

Stereotypically, pregnant women, especially women in their third trimester, have this glow of happiness. However, as per her nature, Cordelia defied normal and in the painting, she appeared to be severely depressed and heartbroken. Over what? No one could answer that.

Cordelia had placed her left hand on the lower end of her swollen belly, but it was like she was in pain with the knowledge to have life growing inside of her. Her right hand was gingerly grazing the glass with the tips of her fingers… almost as if she were being confined to a prison of her own making. The window portrayed a world she felt she no longer belonged in and that touch of longing to be near someone or anyone that cared or at least pretended to care was clearly depicted in the painting.

Her anguish and spiritual torment emoted through the artist's eye, through the oil paint and gentle strokes of the paint brush. It moved everyone, including Willow. It made people want to know about the mysteriously haunted Cordelia's story. It made everyone wonder what kind of life she did live and exactly what happened to put her in the state she was in when she was being painted. They were all dying to know who this Cordelia was; it thickened the very air of the room.

"It is her," Willow was finally able to manage some words and whispered to Kennedy, bringing her girlfriend out of her daze.

"What?"

"Willow elaborated just as quietly as before, "I know her, Kennedy."

Kennedy's eyes widened at the statement, "Are you serious!"

"Yes. We have to go," the redhead grabbed her lover's hand before waiting for Kennedy to take a photo of the painting with her camera phone. Once she was done, Willow began to drag her away to the door.

"Tchao, Tomas!" Kennedy called as she retreated with Willow out the door. Her friend merely raised his hand in acknowledgement for her never left his gaze off of Cordelia's sad hazel eyes.

They arrived at their apartment shortly after leaving the gallery. Kennedy had kept on interrogating Willow throughout the cab ride about Cordelia.

"How did you know her, babe?"

High school, Willow had responded.

"What was she like?"

She had told Kennedy that she didn't even know where to begin on that question.

"Was she always like how she was portrayed in the painting?"

No, Willow had answered a little curtly. Her annoyance was starting to surface.

"What do you think happened to her?"

Willow pinched the bridge of her nose at that point. It wasn't Kennedy's fault that Willow happened to know the soon to be infamous Cordelia. It was just that she didn't have all the answers that she so desperately wanted and Kennedy's eagerness wasn't going to make them magically appear.

If only I could, Willow thought with a sigh, knowing that the ethics of magic prevented her from such things.

Upon entering their apartment, the redhead told Kennedy to look through her first edition 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'. Her girlfriend looked confused but Willow told her to flip though the pages. The book itself was a gift from Giles a few years back and Willow cherished it along with the photo inside.

As Kennedy scrolled through the pages, Willow began typing frantically on the computer to search for Ardonnay on the internet.

Kennedy emitted a small gasp, "You look so young in this."

"It was taken the night of graduation. Look to your right of Xander and you'll see," Willow instructed as she clicked some links on Ardonnay.

The redhead couldn't see it but her lover's eyes widened once again that night, "Wow."

Willow found Jackson Ardonnay's official website and tried to ignore the haunting portrait of Cordelia's defeated soul. She clicked on the link simply entitled 'Cordelia' and she suddenly became overwhelmed with pictures of her former high school bully. Willow saw an introduction at the top of the page and feverishly began to read the photographers words:

Here she is… the subject of my first and only painting. Cordelia, who never gave me a last name, fascinated me from the first moment I saw her. I was in Chad looking for some inspiration for my work when I came across this woman sitting on the side of the street sobbing to her heart's content. I swear her pain was caught in the wind for I had felt it about 100 yards away without even seeing her. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame, I drew closer to the cries. Everyone around her had ignored her and continued on about their daily lives, but I was like a sailor under the spell of a siren's song.

Out of habit, I readied my camera and took a couple shots. One shot in particular sent shivers down my spine and still does as I happen to gaze on it from time to time. She was still oblivious to me and in the full throws of her sobs; she raised her head to the sky and screamed this guttural scream so powerful the whole town stopped. Just for a moment, a moment none the less.

They continued about as if it never happened, but she finally noticed me and I finally got to see her and let me tell you… I was blown away by her beauty.

She looked at me, unashamed to be caught in such vulnerability, and studied me carefully. She stood up and introduced herself to me and I did the same for her. I still don't know how she could have shut off her emotions so quickly and efficiently but I let it go because she had decided to hang out with me that afternoon.

It was the weirdest but by far the most important day of my life because not two days after first meeting her, I had invited her to come to New York to live with me and be my muse. Much to my surprise and delight, she had agreed.

During our year and a half together, I took photos of her and talked to her. She told me that she was pregnant and that's why she was crying the day we met. I was confused as to why pregnancy was so traumatic for her and why she kept the baby in the first place, but Cordelia was always confusing me.

As I said before, Cordelia was my inspiration and her being in my life led me to the decision that she had to be painted. Mind you, I had never painted in my life, but I knew that it had to be done. I asked her to sit for me and she had agreed, but it had to be at night because she said her truth will show in the darkness.

Painting her was so mind-numbingly beautiful and the most painful experience of my life. It was like her pain became my pain and seeing her in the night made me see why she was adamant about painting her at the time. The daylight disguised her agony. The sunlight would coat over her sadness but under the moonlight, I bared witness to the full extent of torment she was living in. Of course, she had told me a few things when she had become really intoxicated a couple of nights throughout the time we spent together, but I never really took it in until that night.

Willow took some cursory glances at some of the photos with Kennedy over her shoulder. They were both mesmerized by the tormented brunette and couldn't get enough of her drug-like pain. However, Ardonnay was apparently obsessed with Cordelia because there were around two hundred shots of Cordelia taken during pregnancy. Curiously, there were no pictures of Cordelia's child. It was just another question added on to the long list of 'What the fuck happened in Cordelia's life?' that Willow was determined to figure out.

Then the redhead saw a link that led to a video of Cordelia on the lower right hand corner of the page. Willow clicked on it eagerly and waited for it to download. Both Kennedy and Willow held their breaths in anticipation as the media player began to show the video.

It was black as they both heard a female voice whisper; Willow recognized it to be Cordelia's. "You like my pain. It intoxicates every fiber of your being and leaves you begging for more. I know this. So you want my pain?" Silence. "Do you?" Then Cordelia's voice turned hard like she wanted it to cut through steel, "You need to feel my rage first."

Then there was a scream and the black fizzled out into the face of Cordelia screaming in the mirror. Her eyes were narrowed into slits as she glared at her reflection and muttered, "You weak little bitch. You should have known what was going to happen to them, but your ignorance clouded your judgment… Not like your judgment has ever been stellar to begin with."

Cordelia snarled into her reflection before punching the mirror. The glass shattering to the floor faded out to another scene. This one was of Cordelia holding a burning cigarette in one hand and a glass of what seems to be water, but the half empty bottle of Stoli on the table said otherwise. Hazel eyes starred at the camera with unwavering attention for the longest time before saying, "Don't you see it?"

Willow didn't know what to look for. This little movie was shocking to her and very disturbing to her implanted image of Cordelia that resided in memories.

Cordelia let out a heartless chuckle before taking a drag of her cigarette. The blue-gray smoke escaped from her slightly parted lips like it was a snake slithering into the former seer's mouth. Cordelia bared her teeth in a way that would have been a smile, but it ended up looking like a sneer. "You don't. That's alright." She took a big sip of her vodka, "It's not like I give a shit anymore." She took another drag of her cigarette, "You want to know why? Well I'll tell you."

She faded out again and a new scene emerged from the black abyss. It was Cordelia trashing a bedroom in all her pregnant glory. In the midst of throwing lamps across the room and hearing the shattering impact were screams of pure unadulterated fury. Cordelia yelled through gritted teeth, "Why did they have to die you bastards! Why did you have to let them die, you fucking pieces of shit!" There went the bookshelf being pushed over. "Tell me why! Did you want me alone? Do you want me this way?" She ripped the mattress off the bed frame. "Is this your fucking plan!"

Her anger spent, only silence filled the room. It took a moment before there was a choking sound that was being stifled. It wasn't contained the second time as Cordelia succumbed to her agony and crumbled to the floor. She curled herself into a protective ball as she wailed.

Seeing the true extent of pain Cordelia was in caused Willow to be emotional as well. Her emerald eyes began to well up and her nose began to clog up from the pressure of her tear ducts filling with tears. She could hear Kennedy was sniffling behind her. However, like a car accident, they couldn't tear their fixation off of the screen that faded back into the scene where Cordelia was nursing a glass of vodka and smoking a cigarette.

"I've been hitting the ceiling of my breaking point for quite some time now," the brunette blew a couple rings into the air above her. For a brief moment before the smoke dissipated, Cordelia looked as if she had a halo, but each would disappear like she wasn't meant to wear it.

"It's only a matter time before I break through and officially become insane from grief." Her long and narrow fingers were trembling slightly as she light up another cigarette. "I lost my family, the very people I loved in one fell swoop. I didn't do anything. I don't know if I could, but because there is a small chance that I could have saved at least one of them… it's been haunting me."

The scene fades again to Cordelia staring out the window at night, a pose similar to that of the painting; however, instead of the long and flowing gown Cordelia was wearing red sweatpants with the words Sunnydale Razorbacks printed near the left pocket on the front. The sweats were riding low on her hips to accommodate her protruding belly while a plain white tee shirt rested on the top of abdomen as her mammoth breast stretched the shirt to its limits.

Cordelia was looking out the window, her back facing away from the camera. Her slender arms wrapped around her lower torso to cradle her stomach as if to prepare for the baby to come. Then suddenly, the afternoon sun that was shining so brightly through the large window quickly began to darken into night. The film itself was obviously edited to shorten the amount of time filming Cordelia in this particular scene, but the effect still remained because for a whole day, the brunette didn't move from her spot.

I think they call that time progression,' Willow wondered idly before returning her attention to the computer screen.

The movie cut back to Cordelia sitting at the table smoking a new cigarette. Those haunted hazel eyes sparkled with anger as she flicked her ashes away, "You're probably wondering… why all this drama? What happened to me?" She stared into the screen with an apathetic face, "You don't deserve to know. Like I said before, you wanted to see my pain? Well you got the abridged version, boys and girls." She finished the rest of her vodka and grimaced slightly. She took another drag of her cigarette while exclaiming, "Hey! Don't give me the looks… I didn't say anything about explaining myself."

Then it was black, but you hear Cordelia soft cries, "Oh God, I want… please..." A small sob was heard. "Please… I just want…" Then a murmur, "I want to be at peace."

Then there was a scream, "I didn't want this!" Another shriek of sorrow, "I never wanted any of this you fuckers!"

Startling both Kennedy and Willow, another voice came through, "Okay, you need to push, Ms. Cordelia."

"No!" Cordelia screeched, "I don't want this baby, bitch!"

The screen had been black the whole time, but after a few more moments of screamed obscenities there was a moment of silence before the high pitched cry of a baby was heard.

Then nothing.

The words 'The End' scrolled onto the screen and Willow exited out the media player. The room was silent after watching the short film, both women trying to come to terms with what they just saw, especially Willow.

Suddenly, Willow went to a web site to purchase a plane ticket to New York, "I need to find her."

"Well, I'm coming with," Kennedy stated as she wrapped her arms around Willow from her position behind the redhead.

Could be continued if I see that enough people want to read it…

One question though… did you guys miss me? wink