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THE OTHER HALF LIVES
by Yahtzee
Yahtzee63@aol.com
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PART THREE
At sundown, Angel went to the car; he had a few errands to run before going to Cordelia's, the
first of which was swinging by Wesley's before he left. Not to be nosy about the incipient romance -- given that Angel Investigations was housed in a fairly tiny office, Angel figured he'd learn more than he ever wanted to know, and in short order. But something about their battle with the Velga demons was still troubling him; it had haunted his dreams all day, and they'd gotten no solid answers on Friday. If he could do some research with Wesley's books tonight at Cordy's house, Angel knew he would feel a lot better.
"Wesley?" he called as he knocked on the motel room door. No answer. He knocked again and
was once more answered by silence.
Filled with a sudden foreboding, Angel took out the spare key and opened the door. "Wes? Are
you okay?"
He stepped inside the apartment, grateful that Wesley had invited him over for coffee once. At
least he could get in and find out what was wrong
Nothing seemed wrong. Wesley was not lying in a coma induced by demonic venom; no ransom
notes were hung on the walls; nothing. Just a very shabby, very messy motel room.
Very messy? Angel frowned. Wesley was the type to straighten the magazines on the coffee table
three times a day; sometimes, he would even resharpen all the pencils so that they were the same
length, although Cordelia usually threw a fit about halfway through the process. So why would he have clothes and books strewn around? It looked almost as if it had been ransacked -- as if someone had been looking for something he couldn't find.
"I don't like this," Angel said to himself.
"You look wonderful," Wesley said warmly.
Cordelia twirled in place, happy as ever to bask in masculine adoration. "My clothing budget may not be what it once was, but I don't think that's any excuse for lowering my standards."
"The outfit is pretty," Wesley said, "but I was referring to you."
"When did you get so smooth with the compliments?" Cordelia said.
The coffee table shuddered, then tipped over on its side. Cordelia sighed histrionically. "Phantom Dennis, enough!"
Dennis was not so easily appeased. To Cordelia's shock and horror, blood began running down her walls. "Oh, yuck! Dennis, stop it! You're grossing me out!"
The bloodstains seemed to be taking more definite shapes; Cordelia squinted at them and saw
Wesley doing the same. "Is he writing something?" Wesley said.
"Yeah, but what?" The lines and shapes were unfamiliar to her. "Is that even a human language,
Phantom Dennis? Or is this some kind of ghostly graffiti thing? Either way, you are so on my list."
"Now, Cordelia, calm down," Wesley said. "The best thing for us to do is probably just leave."
"Fine," she huffed, grabbing up her purse. "Angel's coming over here," she warned Dennis. "He's
gonna see all this blood, and he's gonna end up licking the walls or something, and I'll come in and see it and have to deal with this horrible, scarring image for the rest of my life. If that's what you want, then keep it up."
"Never mind that," Wesley soothed. "Let's go."
Cordelia had only ridden on a motorcycle a handful of times in her life; before, she'd always
considered it a major nuisance. She couldn't wear a decent pair of shoes, or a skirt that would
show off her best assets, or fix her hair the way she wanted.
But tonight, fashion compromises hadn't seemed so important this was Wesley, after all, who
had seen her without makeup, covered in mud, all wigged out and drooly after TPTB visions, and even pregnant with demon children. What would he care about her hemline?
So she had just tossed on some silky capri pants and a embroidered blouse, and had tucked her hair back into a sleek ponytail. No fuss. She felt -- comfortable. And she'd really never just been able to relax and feel comfortable on a date before. It was different. Nice. Just zooming through the night, not a worry in the world, just the last rays of sunset over the waterfront --
"Are we going back to the boardwalk?" Cordelia yelled, screaming to be heard. "Are we double-
dating with some Velga demons?"
"Sort of, and no," Wesley shouted back. "There's a little club nearby I thought you might like."
When they finally pulled up to the club, Cordelia wrinkled her nose. This place didn't look very
fashionable; it looked old. "Are you sure this club is still open?"
"I called this morning," Wesley said as he pulled off his helmet, then hers. "Trust me."
"I do," she said easily, then was surprised to see his face fall slightly. "Wesley?"
"Come on," he said, taking her hand to lead her inside.
The place turned out to be an old-fashioned dinner-and-dance club. There were a few young
people, clearly rejects who didn't realize the swing revival was over, Cordelia thought. Everyone
else looked to be at least in their fifties. The scene did not look good. But she took a deep breath,
smiled, and decided to make the best of it.
As it turned out, the quieter music and smaller crowd made it easier to talk. In most of the clubs
she had once frequented, you had to scream to make yourself heard; this usually wasn't a problem because she went there with people to whom she had nothing to say. But tonight she found herself telling Wesley everything in the world.
"So, we're standing there at the Bronze, leaves and twigs sticking out of our hair -- and Devon
says that there's not one winner for Homecoming Queen, but two! It was a tie!"
"You and Buffy were both Homecoming Queens?" Wesley asked.
"No. The other two girls won the whole thing." Wesley started laughing, and Cordelia couldn't
help but join in. "So we were dirty, twiggy losers, which was a whole lot worse. But at that point,
I just didn't care anymore."
"Well, you had just escaped with your life. I don't guess a tiara seemed so important after that."
"Are you kidding?" Cordelia joked. "Tiaras are always important. No, I was just glad to be at the
party, be able to talk to my friends, be with Xander -- " Her voice trailed off. She hadn't expected
to hear herself say that.
"Xander?" Wesley said blankly. Cordelia stared at him strangely for a minute, then nodded as
comprehension set in.
"I keep forgetting how late you came to Sunnydale. I guess none of us ever told you that Xander
and I used to go out."
"The two of you dated?" Wesley said.
"Unbelievable, huh? I was clearly going through a bad-taste phase; I mean, I look back at some of the dresses I wore then and just cringe." Cordelia joked. But she was faking a humor she didn't
feel. "I'm sorry. I didn't even mean to bring it up."
"No, it's all right," Wesley said. "Tell me about it."
Cordelia was so surprised that she was, for once, speechless. "Well, what do you want me to
say?" she finally managed.
"Whatever comes to mind. How long were you two together?"
"Almost a year," she said. "That's the only long-term relationship I've ever had." After a pause,
she said what, until then, she had scarcely admitted to herself. "He's the only guy I ever loved.
And I'm not sure he even liked me."
"I can't believe that," Wesley said. "He was a very lucky man, and I'm sure he knew it."
Cordelia shook her head. "He was always thinking about what he didn't have. First Buffy. Then
Willow. Basically, anybody but me. I was -- you know how I can be. I mean, I say what's on my
mind first, think about it later, you know?"
"Do I ever," Wesley said. He said it kindly, so Cordelia decided to let that pass.
"And I totally thought he understood that about me. Like, he didn't take it seriously. Just gave
back as good as he got. I like that in a guy. Or I would like it, I think," Cordelia sighed. "But no.
He just wrote me off as the shallow, self-absorbed person I acted like. How dumb can you get?"
"If he wasted his chance with you, then he could be pretty dumb."
Cordelia tried to ignore the faint blush she could feel in her cheeks. "I'm not really being fair to
him. We had a lot of good times together. And he may have been a total jerk, like, 90 percent of the time, but he did wind up coming through for me one time when I really needed him. Even though I had put him through months of ex-girlfriend hell."
"Were you a holy terror?" Wesley asked.
"What do you think?" Cordelia said, regaining a little of her humor. Wesley returned the grin as
she said, "I could've handled it if I hadn't had to see him every day after that. He was there,
laughing with his friends, enjoying his life, while I felt like I wanted to curl up and die. Just seeing him like that, day after day, totally unable to get away from him or forget there was so much wrong there -- "
Cordy's voice trailed off as she realized she was describing exactly the scenario she and Wesley
faced if anything went wrong. No, scratch that, she thought -- it would be about ten times worse
for us. Xander and I just had to share a big high school. Wesley and I would have to share a little
bitty office. All day. Every day.
The same thought seemed to have occurred to Wesley; the smile had faded from his face, and he
was looking at her thoughtfully. But then he held out his hand. "Let's dance."
"You sure?" Cordelia thought back to the last time she'd seen Wesley dancing; one of her friends,
seeing the same thing, had run up and said someone was having an epileptic fit. Whatever Wes
wanted to do in private was okay by her, but out in public --
"I'm sure," he said, leading her toward the dance floor. And as he took her in his arms, she remembered that she and Wesley had danced together once before. A slow dance, like this one, with his arms sliding around her waist, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, and the indescribably sweet feeling that, for just one moment in all the demony-vampirey-crazy madness of her life, everything was perfect.
END PART THREE