A/N: I do not own Angel; this is solely for my pleasure, not my profit. AU, set roughly in late Season 1 or Season 2; Season 1 spoilers.

Juxtaposition

Juxtaposition - jux·ta·po·si·tion
Pronunciation: "jahk-sta-po-'zi-shun
Function: noun
Etymology: Latin juxta near + English position
Date: 1654
the act or an instance of placing two or more things side by side; also the state of being so placed

Sometimes this life feels wrong, like my story isn't mine. Perhaps that has to do with the unreality of my situation; when you compare my life to the world, my life seems fantastic and false.

Light invades my dark sanctuary with a blinding light, reminding me of what I try to forget by sitting in the dark. The shadow that falls through the open door is familiar, one of the few things I don't long to forget.

But he reminds me of the other things, and my heart hurts with a dull thud.

"Cordy?" Angel calls out, and I sigh at the sound of my name on his lips. I love him, and have done so for a long time now. I remember that it started not long after Dyane died. We were mutually broken by our loss, and I remember clinging to his presence so that I wouldn't feel Dyane's lack of presence anymore.

"Yes?" I answer, keeping the resignation out of my voice. I just want to sit in the dark and wait for the next monster to stop or the next person to help. I don't want Angel coming into my room and chasing my comforting darkness away with his light, laughter and life.

"I was just wondering if you were in the dark brooding again," Angel said lightly as he snapped on the light to my room. The light coming on hurts my eyes with the sudden flash of brightness, but I don't blink. I don't blink for all those who I have hurt, and my small pain chips away at my redemption-price.

"I wasn't brooding," I say, aware that my comment sounds childish and immature. We both know that I was, so that I could forget everything that has passed – my sire, my childer, my lost love.

"Right," Angel says with a knowing smile. He walks over to me and drops onto the couch next to me. After a moment of silence, he asks, "So what is the topic tonight, Ms. Broody? Elijah? Damien? Or some dark memory of what you have done?"

I wince at the melodramatic tone in his voice. I know that it's intentional, designed to make me realize how silly I'm being. But I'm not being silly. I can see them every time I close my eyes; a long line of victims, most of them people who thought me friend or lover, stretching back though two hundred years of blood, pain and fear.

"I told you I'm not brooding, Liam," I retort, and then want to take those words back. He knows that I only call him by his given name when I'm angry with him, or trying to distract him. I can only hope he doesn't notice.

He notices. His eyes narrow at the mention of his hated 'normal' name, as he calls it. He prefers Angel out of a vain desire to promote his 'angelic face' to movie producers. I wonder when he's going to realize that he can't act unless it a life or death issue.

"Cordelia," he says, and I know that he's serious now too. He only calls me that to make a point. "I know you're brooding, and you know you're brooding, so why not stop brooding and have some fun? We could go out, to a club and have a good night. Or we could go to my apartment to watch movies. Please, for my sanity?"

He has me. For someone who doesn't know he can twist me around his little finger, he is effective at doing it. I sigh and pull myself to my feet, reaching for my coat as I wonder once again why I put up with him and his attempts to humanize me. Angel's face breaks into a satisfied smile and I know why; I love to see him smile.

Damn it, he did it again. The darkness inside is fading before his smile. I give up and let it happen, let him steal my darkness one more time. He's getting too damn good at this.

He gasps suddenly, his hand flying to his head. I see his knees give out, but I'm there, catching him easily in my arms. I pull him against my chest, knowing that he needs my cold support right now.

"Girl in a warehouse… she's homeless, I think," Angel grinds out through his pain. "A big, ugly demon thingie is attacking her. Off Watson Street." He collapses suddenly, the tension in his body gone.

I set him down on the floor, cradling his head gently in my lap. "They're getting worse, aren't they?" I ask, fear clenching my heart.

"Nothing I can't handle," he gasps out, holding his head with both hands. "The girl needs you, you should go."

"Are you going to be okay here until I get back?" I ask.

He's a touch surprised by the question; normally I don't delay helping someone like this. "Yeah, I'll be great as soon as you kill the demon," he mutters.

I nod and carefully slide my legs out from under his head and carefully pick him up. "Where are you taking me?" he gasps softly.

"To rest," I answer tenderly, aware that I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve at this moment, but hoping he's too out of it to notice. I carry him into my bedroom and lay him down on the bed. I ignore the weak part of myself that wants to crawl in next to him and drink in his warmth. "I'll be back as soon as we're done killing it, ok?"

He nods weakly and throws an arm over his eyes, resting finally, or at least pretending to for me. I want to kiss his forehead, but I can't bring myself to do so; in part because I'm worried that would upset him and in part because I'm afraid that I couldn't stop if I start.

I leave the room and shut the door partway, leaving him enough light to see, but not enough to hurt his eyes when he opens them. I've become a great judge of light and dark.

Wendy's head comes up when I fly down the stairs to my weapons compartment. "Is something wrong?" she asks in that tightly clipped accent that reminds me so strongly of Willamina. I shake off the memory of my grandchilde and snatch up a crossbow.

"Angel had a vision," I answer abruptly, and Wendy grabs the phone.

"Where should I have Gunn meet us?" she asks as she dials.

"Warehouse on Watson Street. Tell her to follow the screams," I answer and run to get the car pulled around front. When I get there, Wendy is waiting with her ax and another crossbow.

The drive is longer than I want it to be. Part of me is counting down the minutes we have left to save the girl, and the other part is counting the minutes until I can relieve Angel's suffering. He's so young and alive; he doesn't deserve to suffer like this.

We park in front of the warehouse. Wendy grabs my arm and points; I look up to see a girl crawling in through a window. "We have a couple of moments," Wendy observes as she pulls her long dark hair into a quick bun.

"Then lets get ahead of the game," I state.