Spoilers: Up to
Season Two Finale.
Disclaimer: Joss
and David own all.
I know, I know,
everyone and their mother have written a fic set post finale!!
This begged to
be written so here it is. Apologies if it seems derivative but I have read so
many of these things that I'm not entirely sure where the reading ended and the
idea began. This deals with C/A friendship post Willow's news in the finale. I
think Cordelia would be shell-shocked by the news, torn between disbelief and
her grief for Buffy, Angel and the scoobies, hence this fic:
Please let me
know what you think!
Beginnings.
Everything was
done.
She had
deposited Fred in a room and watched the younger girl shuffle slowly to the
window to gaze upon the starless night. She had discarded the shiny royal
garments, removing them methodically and folding the tinkering metal as best
she could. Moving quietly, she had rummaged in her makeshift room, unearthing
clean clothes from the old wardrobe. She had dressed silently, her eyes gripped
by a black and white picture hanging on the wall opposite. She had never
noticed it before, the small smiling boy having escaped her attention on those
other nights when she had changed here, slept here, her dreams filled with
demons and angels.
The small boy
smiled brightly, his teeth gleaming in the half darkened room.
She had bent
over the sink, short strands of hair slipping forward as she splashed water
over her face. She had scrubbed her skin, rubbing the dead cells from her face
until the new skin pinked in protest.
She had hugged
Willow, quickly and quietly, the small redhead crumpled and broken in her
embrace. She had watched her leave, crooked in the arm of her shy smiling
lover. Her lover with the gentle eyes that burned with strength as she guided
Willow home.
She had smiled
at Gunn's low condolences and paused his awkward fumbling with a touch of her
hand, squeezing his fingers, forgiving him for never having met and known and
loved the slayer. She had watched Wesley make his pilgrimage to the garden, his
figure mute and still among the dusky flowerbeds. He had stood there in his
howling loneliness, his eyes fixed on the moon, a thousand interminable
thoughts occupying him.
He had finally
turned, his feet crunching over the graveled path as he left the garden behind.
He paused for a half step in the doorway, his eyes lingering upon her, his gray
gaze filling with blackened grief and hollow comforts.
"Are you
all right?" Her voice sounded distant and muffled. A stranger's voice.
"Cordelia,"
he murmured, moving closer.
She stared at
him with dread ridden fascination, her eyes absorbing him. Those drooped
shoulders, the staggered step, the burdened body. Yet she found the truth in
his face. In his haggard face, drawn and worn, Cordelia felt the truth.
Buffy's dead.
The disbelief clutching
her mind retreated under the blinding pain of that truth.
Buffy was gone.
Blonde smiling
Buffy was dead.
Wesley neared
her, his hand stretched out in comfort.
He looks so old.
I'm always going to remember how Wesley looked so old today.
"Wesley."
Her voice cracked, her heart fractured,
"Wesley."
"I
know." His hand smoothed her own. "I don't know. I don't know how
this happened. She was…" His expression grew pained. "This will break
Giles. Buffy was a daughter to him."
Cordelia's face
creased with sorrow. "Giles," she whispered, aching for her friend,
for his misery. "All of them. Dawn. She's only a baby." She leaned
forward, her head resting against the Englishman's chest. "This isn't fair
Wesley. Buffy…"
Losing the will
to speak, Cordelia closed her eyes, memories filling her head and quietly, she
grieved for her friend. She finally gulped and pulled away, her eyes creeping
fearfully toward the staircase.
He had walked
there, hours ago, stiff and straight.
Without a word.
"I have to
go to him," she said softly, transfixed by the stairs. By the agony they
would lead her to.
Above her,
Wesley shook his head. "You can't Cordelia. Not now, he needs time."
"He has
forever." Cordelia turned her eyes back to her friend, a sad smile on her
lips. "I have to go to him, Wesley."
Wesley opened
his mouth to disagree, gentle protests lost as he looked down at her. He hadn't
the will to fight this one out. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his lips
softly against her forehead.
"Whatever
you think is best."
With a small nod
of gratitude, Cordelia slipped past him, drawn to another.
********************************
The door creaked
open, announcing her presence with a soft whine. Cordelia lingered in the
doorway, faint surprise tingling through her. She had expected to find him lost
in his habitual darkness, a solitary shadow swallowed by the blackness of the
night. Instead she found an overwhelming brightness. The lamps were switched
on, their glaring light flooding the room. His crumpled coat lay strewn across
the floor, apparently abandoned mid-walk. Absorbing it all, Cordelia's eyes
slowly drifted toward the bed where he sat motionless, his eyes locked on the
L.A. skyline.
His body gripped
by grief.
She stared at
him, her feet glued to the floorboards beneath.
There was
nothing she could do.
Memories
flickered through her mind. Angel and Buffy together. His elusive smile gently
bestowed upon the sparkling slayer. Her quiet glances promising love. The
innocence of their love, the agony of their parting.
Buffy was
everything to him. She had burned him with her beauty, consumed him with her
passion, filled him with his soul.
And left him in
his loss.
There was
nothing she could do.
He was lost to
the misery and pain and suffering and Cordelia's heart broke for him, Cordelia
broke for him.
"Angel."
His name was strangled in her breath, a sob tightening her throat.
"She loved
the light." Angel spoke in a calm monotone, never moving. "She didn't
like to tell me but she loved the light."
Tears carved a
slow path down her cheeks. "I know."
Angel shook his
head almost imperceptibly. "She was full of light."
"Angel."
He shifted
abruptly, standing and pacing toward the window. "I left her to her
death."
Cordelia shook
her head, vehemence in her voice. "No."
"I
did," he said with quiet conviction, "I left her, time and time
again. I left her to die."
"You didn't
Angel. She knew why you left, she understood. Buffy always understood…"
Cordelia paused,
caught by his whisper, eaten by the pain of it.
"Buffy."
She reached him
in a breath, her arms curling around his waist, head resting against his back.
"Angel,
please," she shook against him. "I don't know how to help."
He turned,
folding her in his arms, his voice calm. "It's all right."
"It's
not," Cordelia lifted her head, her face crumpling at the sight of him.
Desolation had swept into his soul, buried itself in his eyes, his face wild
with grief. She couldn't hope to fix him. "I don't want you to be this
way. I don't want Buffy gone. I want her to be alive and happy. I don't want
you to hurt like this."
She felt
childlike in her plea, agony in her heart as he looked down upon her, bleakness
possessing him.
"Cordelia,"
Her name was a whisper. He bowed his head, the burden unbearable as he told her
his quiet truths. "I need her Cordy." A slight smile twisted his
lips, bittersweet. "I need her with me. I've always needed her with
me."
"I
know," Cordelia remembered through her tears. "She felt the same
Angel, you know that."
Angel
nodded. "We have to get back
there. She'd want me to make sure Dawn is all right. She'd want me to…"
His head swayed back suddenly, eyes closing against the battering pain.
"Oh God, Cordelia, how can I do this?" Desperation smothered him,
filling him. "How can I let her go? How can I ever let her go?"
He leaned into
her, his face breaking with sorrow, "How can I do this?"
Cordelia
clutched him to her, her voice filled with tender promise. "You don't have
to Angel. Not today. Today, we hold onto her."
He didn't speak
but instead buried himself in her, finding quiet mercy in her embrace. She
wound her arms around him tightly, keeping him safe as best she could, her
tears smudging with his own.
Time folded
around them, dawn creeping daylight closer as she held him, whispering low
comforts all the while as he found in her arms, the beginning of his mourning.
******************************************