Title: Gratitude
Rating: PG
Summary: Just a little ficlet, post Not Fade Away…
Disclaimer: I do not own Angel or the characters comprising this story. If I did, would I be pimping this little bit of entertainment across the 'net for free?
"Oh, what the hell. One for the road?" And then she was kissing me, and everything I'd felt for her, everything I'd suppressed after that horrible moment when I saw her with my son, everything I'd dreamed of late at night when my heart took control over what my mind wanted me to believe was lost and forgotten... it all came rushing back. This was Cordelia. She was here, and no matter what she or whatever power that thought it was had to say about it, there was no way I was going to let her go.
And then the phone rang, and my sweet angel got her wings, and she took the last shred of hope I could muster with her.
"Thank you..."
A few weeks later, I felt ready. I'd made my peace with the world, made certain that Connor would be okay despite his destiny, made sure that there was no Shanshu pipe dream holding me back... I felt remarkably light considering what I faced. I stood with what was left of my team for that last moment and felt as alive as I ever would. And I really did want to wing that worm.
"Let's go to work."
Angel rammed the broken edge of his sword into the throng once again. Aim and finesse were a waste of energy when demons swarmed all around him just asking to be cut. He'd been separated from his friends almost immediately, and all he saw now was death waiting to take him at every turn. He knew he had to be wounded, but the adrenalin rush was so intense, he thought perhaps his heart might start to beat of its own volition before it was stopped finally, permanently, somewhere in the midst of this horde. He would be reaped from this very battlefield, he knew, but he would not embrace the scythe until he'd slaughtered every demon he possibly could on its sharp blade.
A fiery blast cooked the monsters to his immediate right. The dragon was powerful, but his aim wasn't worth a damn. However, Angel had no complaints so long as it continued to take out his opponents by the dozen. It was also somewhat comforting to note that the blasts were still being aimed at other locations across the long, wide alley; somewhere in this Hell on Earth, at least some of his friends were still alive and fighting.
He kicked a small, doglike creature away from his knee before plunging the stub of his sword into a demon he couldn't begin to describe. And then, just as he was twisting to swing again, he saw it. Death was coming, in the form of an axe headed straight for his throat. There was no time to stop it, no time to duck. No time at all.
And then time stopped.
He blinked, and looked around him. He was surrounded by a hazy whiteness, as if he had come to rest on a cloud. The battle scene was laid out before him, and he could see himself mere inches from death. It was surreal, to say the least.
"Do you really think it's your time?" she asked. He didn't need to turn to know who was there, but he did anyway. He needed to see her, to drink her in as a salve to the soul that had become more burden than salvation.
"There's nothing left for me there, Cordy. Everything's been given. Everyone is forced to lay down the sword eventually... it was inevitable."
"Once upon a time, you believed in a prophecy that would let you walk away whole."
"Once upon a time, I believed you would be there to lead me home."
She snorted.
"Oh, God, Angel, don't let it be about a girl."
"It's always been about a girl, hasn't it?"
"Not this girl. Not this time. Get out of here. Keep fighting."
"I'm done." He reached for her, and though she let him, she would not give in. Even so, a small eternity passed before she stepped back. For the briefest of moments, the snide ghost of a cheerleader known as Queen C flickered across her features.
"I won't let you give up like this. Now get your ass back out there and fight." He shook his head, but she pressed on, smiling sadly. "Angel, please. Not like this."
Angel turned back to the frozen massacre before him. The blade was so close. All he had to do was give in...
"Come with me."
"You know I can't."
He whirled and grabbed her shoulders and kissed her hard, growling deep in his throat.
"You can..."
When I opened my eyes, sunlight streamed down on me. I lay in a puddle of blood and gore in the very alley I'd been observing what seemed like moments before. I was not alone.
The blue-tinted visage of the woman I had known as Fred watched me curiously from her squatted position in a doorway. Gunn lay partially covered near her – alive or dead, I couldn't tell. I sat up.
"You are the one they called Cordelia," she said softly. "You were dead."
"Where's Angel?"
"How did you come to be here?"
"I don't know. Where's Angel?" She waved her hand at me wordlessly, almost casually. I looked down, confused.
I was covered in dust. Not as much as you'd expect, really, from a man that stood over six feet tall, but there was enough to render its source unmistakable.
I began to scream. Illyria continued to watch me, perhaps expressing the grief that was so unfamiliar to her through respectful observation of my actions. When my throat eventually became too hoarse to continue, I collapsed into the muck, sobs shaking my body. I dimly heard Spike calling to me softly from a hidden shadow, but I could not rouse myself from my place. Every move I made blew another piece of my angel away from me, and I could not bear to let him go.
The sun was near setting when Cordelia finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted and overwhelmed. Illyria remained silent. Sometime during the afternoon, she'd pulled the tarp she'd found over Gunn's face; she heard Spike's anguished sobs from the dumpster he'd dragged his broken body beneath, and sighed in acceptance at the realization that she was woefully inept at expressing her own raging emotions.
The realization came back to her when the shadow suddenly appeared at the end of the alley.
"Cordelia," she called. The girl woke with a start, then hugged herself tightly before looking around. And then she stood, and walked to the figure in something akin to awe.
"Turns out prophecies aren't so simple to sign over after all," he said with a wry grin.
She threw herself into his waiting arms, and as the beat of his heart pounded in rhythm with her own, she spared a glance skyward.
"Thank you..."