Rise

:: Rise ::

By Rachel

:: Rated R ::

Strong violence, blood, and a little bit of swearing.

Takes place anytime after Epiphany. Reflects scenarios back to BtVs.

Distribute wherever! And I appreciate feedback.

Angel came to with a smothering weight upon his chest. His head was still spinning, but he quickly became aware of the sharp, burning sting slicing deeper and deeper into the skin beneath his chin.

"W-Wake up," A voice faltered angrily in the darkness. "Wake. Up. Now."

His eyes fluttered open.

He met Cordelia's eyes, wide with tears. His vision focused and he was staring up into her face, wrought in angst and apprehension and marred by lips stained in dry blood, partially hidden by the dark chin-length veil of her hair.

Her body shivered as if it were cold. He knew though that she was not. The trembling in her fingers became violent as they clutched the raw, cold edge of a sharp and intimidating piece of glass from the now shattered mirror in the adjoining bathroom and she pressed it to his throat with both hands; bearing down just enough that if he were to make a single movement or attempt to overthrow her, it would slice deep, causing surely irreversible damage. Perhaps unhealable. And perhaps, if she really meant to, beheading him.

Angel felt his arms pinned beneath her legs.

"I'm awake," He whispered carefully.

Her eyes narrowed and he could almost feel the pressure transcend into his own body as she grit her teeth, lips trembling as if she were about to erupt into hysterics. She leaned down so that her face was nearly touching his, their noses millimeters apart, and her hair gracing his skin as it fell forward against his temple. Hot tears trickled onto his cheek as they fell from her eyes, but Angel didn't move.

"I—I couldn't see myself, Angel," She swore in a harsh whisper. "I looked in the mirror and I couldn't see myself."

"That's because you're dead."

Angel grunted as glass was pushed farther into his skin. She started to shake her head.

"Don't say that!" She begged. "Please, don't say that!"

"It's true,"

"It's not true! Don't say that!"

"It's true, Cordelia…face it."

"Why!" She demanded. She began to shake, and against the broken, jagged glass, Angel finally hissed,

"Put down the glass!"

She stared down into it; unable to see herself, able only to see the reflection of the ceiling above her…

"Put the glass down, Cordelia!" He repeated roughly, now straining to lift his arms, even against her resistance. Cordelia perched, poised over him, eyes blinking in denial as she waited to wake up from whatever nightmare it was she was having whilst she stared down into the empty reflection.

Finally feeling her grip on the weapon loosen, Angel took a chance and bucked her off of him. She spilled onto the bed beside him, dropping the glass, her eyes trailing it as if fell, almost in slow motion, to the floor. It cracked again with a resounding shriek, splintering into long, glistening shards, and Angel was on top of her now, pinning her hands above her head, forcing her into submission and making it clear he would snap her, if that's what it took, in two, and without any reverence at all. He growled. He defied her to fight back. She didn't move though; only stared at the glass.

Angel shook her angrily.

"What were you doing!" He demanded; her face finally turning up to look at his. "Answer me, huh!" He growled. "What were you doing!"

She stared obligatorily, watching him and saying nothing. She lay docile, defeated, or possibly…indifferent? Yielding to whatever punishment she was about to receive. Was it indifference? It didn't matter. He didn't trust her to let her be anymore, not after waking to a blade at his throat.

Angel was seething. He felt his nostrils flaring, yes, he was that pissed. Sweat beaded on his brow and he knew if he didn't calm himself right now, there was a probability he wouldn't have a chance to save her soul because he would have already killed her. Permanently. "What were you doing, Cordelia?" He asked, strained yet more calmly. His eyes still flickered, and his grip was tight. She cocked her head and stared up at him, wide-eyed. Angel lowered his voice. He asked her again, "What were you doing? Tell me the truth."

"I was going to kill you," She said softly, her bleakness nearly surprising him.

"Then why didn't you?" He spat coldly.

"Because…" She said, her words trailing off. She closed her eyes and let her head fall to the side. "I—I loved you…before…I feel it. And I—I…there's something…familiar…a need…"

"Need?"

"I…I need…you. I feel you…in me."

"You're bonded to me." He said.

She opened her eyes and looked back up at him. "Something like that…"

Angel's jaw tightened and after an intense moment he shoved her arms away and climbed off of her. Cordelia's head lolled to the side again and as she watched her sire pace the floor angrily, she felt weak.

Angel glared at her, lying on the bed. He circled the broken glass on the floor, his fingers going angrily to his chin and feeling the gash there that still leaked blood but was ardently starting to close. He flecked it away then lowered his hand to his side, where he clenched and unclenched an angry fist. He shook his head. He should've known better…

"You're only feeling the after effects of sharing blood. That's it. That's all. You only need me because of that bond…not for any other reason, least of all, sentimental," His words bit. He sounded…disappointed. "You're a demon! The only thing you really feel is murder and disease! All you'll do is kill! I should've put you down sooner, I shouldn't have given you a chance."

"Angel, no," Cordelia sat up, sniffling and wiping her hands over her face. "I know that we're…we're family,"

"We're not family! The only thing that binds us is the night. That's all,"

"No, Angel," She murmured. "We are family. We are. I—I have this feeling about you…like I can…trust you," Angel paused and glared at her. "…like I…like you…like I don't want to hurt you, like I need you,"

"You do need me." He sounded off. "But not for the reasons you think. Stop lying to yourself."

"I'm not lying. I feel like you'll take care of me…like you wont let me be…bad…"

Angel stopped pacing abruptly, raising his eyes to hers. "What do you mean?" He demanded.

"I—I don't want to be bad…but I will," She said finally. Cordelia looked away wearily, new tears welling up in her eyes. "I can feel this evil in me, Angel, I can feel it. And I—I want it! It feels right! But I don't understand, because I know its wrong…"

"You—you know?" Angel blinked. He came forward.

"I know…somehow, I know, its wrong! I don't understand," She said, her voice trembling again. "I woke up and I was sure I'd been dreaming! I woke up next to you and I tasted blood on my mouth, and it…it tasted GOOD. And I got so scared… I ran to the bathroom, and I looked in the mirror, and…and I…I wasn't…I wasn't there! Angel! I wasn't there! And I felt so empty!" She was getting near hysterics again. "And angry! I had all this anger! …And I smashed my fist into the mirror, and it shattered and I looked down at the glass and I still wasn't there and I picked it up! I picked it up and I cut myself, and I LIKED how that felt! And then I imagined killing you with it and it felt so good! And you were just lying there, and I was so confused… My mind was screaming not to but my body, god! My body wanted it so bad! I felt like—like…I don't know what I felt like! Hot…thirsty…I—I don't know! Like it would be so much fun…I could cause you so much pain…"

Angel stood silently before her, perpetually stumped.

"And what about now?" He asked quietly.

"I want to cut you open and see your insides."

Angel's brow furrowed. "And this is supposed to make me feel how?"

"But I also want you to hold me," She sighed, not hearing his comment and rocking slightly on the bed. "I know something's wrong with me, but I don't understand what. I want you to tell me…I want you to tell me so I can fix it. I know I shouldn't be feeling this way. But every minute that goes by since I woke up makes me feel less and less… I can't explain it, but I can fix it, right? I can fix it."

"You can't fix it." Angel said regretfully. Cordelia watched him gravely. "You're a demon. You can't stop what you are."

"I—I'm a…vampire."

"You are."

"Like you."

"No…not like me."

"But you made me…"

"You're not like me. You don't have a soul."

"I might,"

"No. You don't."

"Are you sure? How can you be sure?"

"You don't, Cordelia."

"But…but…you made me, right?"

Angel slighted at her words.

"I can feel it, Angel. You made me, didn't you?"

"Yes…yes, I did."

"Why?"

"Because you were dying. I couldn't let you go."

"Then why aren't I like you? If you made me, I should be like you!"

"You're not like me." Angel repeated. "You said it yourself, you feel empty."

"But I still want to be good! Like you. And you have a soul,"

"If you had a soul, you wouldn't feel empty." Angel crossed his arms and shook his head. "You don't have a soul. You don't have anything."

"You're wrong Angel, I have…I have something…"

"No. You have nothing, Cordelia…And you…you are nothing."

"I am something!" She said resentfully.

"No, you're not." Angel strained.

"But I belong to you," She pleaded.

"You don't belong to anything but hell."

"Then why do I have this need to please you?" Cordelia hissed. Angel's eyes widened a little. She had literally growled. She was staring up at him narrowly, rising on her haunches. Her body shifted defensively; her movement very hostile. Angel took a step back. "Angel, why do I need you, and why does it hurt me to look at you now?"

"I told you…we shared blood. I made you. Your need is carnal. It has nothing to do with real need."

She watched him closely in malice. She was on edge again. Wild. Angel's words hurt. He didn't believe her. She felt helpless to make him believe her, and a rage starting to boil beneath her surface. Angel thought she was about to attack him again, but then something happened and her face fell.

Cordelia seemed to be genuinely contemplating his words. He could sense a struggle going on inside of her; where it came from he still wasn't sure. Her defenses fell away and he caught a glimpse of a scared little girl, and he was suddenly as lost in this as she was; his head telling him one thing, and his heart telling him another. He knew that no matter what, he couldn't trust her. No matter how sincere she seemed to be, he couldn't turn his back on her for a second, and he sure as hell couldn't trust her in his sleep. Now he wondered what she was thinking. From the look on her face, she was drowning.

Her body had been taken over by the demon; that much he was sure. But apparently a small piece of Cordelia's heart was still clinging to her. It wasn't a soul, but it was something. It was there…but for how long, he couldn't wager.

Right now she could go either way. Angel wouldn't let his hopes up, but he decided to try to push her. If he pushed hard enough, he might just get her to play along long enough for him to cure her. He took a leap of faith and stepped forward.

"Cordelia, we care about you." He searched her eyes, sensing her want, and for a brief, sweet moment, he witnessed a ghost of a smile behind her eyes. But it was just a moment and then it was gone, and the demon was there again. The demon was stronger.

"We think we might be able to help you…" He went on. "But it will be so much better if you let us. I—I really want to help you, I do. But I wont let you be a danger to anyone else."

"I feel so dangerous though. And I don't want to go through what you did." Cordelia shook her head.

"I know…but,"

"You suffer with your soul. I don't want to suffer."

"If you let me help you, you wont have to suffer long…"

"I'm getting hungry again, Angel." She said dryly. "The hunger is what's dangerous. Can you stop my hunger?"

"No." Angel said truthfully. "But I can suppress it." He took another step forward and reached out, touching her hair. She watched him with soulless eyes.

"I need to know Cordelia. Will you let me help you?" His hand lingered near her cheek before tracing a strand of hair down to caress her chin. Cordelia looked away quickly. She was calm. Serene. But still completely treacherous.

Then she looked up at him adamantly, and closing her eyes, made the effort to ignore her hunger. Something inside of her, she didn't know if it was her brain or her heart…or even if she still had a heart…something inside of her told her to trust him, to try. It was a nuisance, against her nature, but it was enough to make her curious.

Angel waited anxiously…she could smell his fear in the air. Was she really bad? Was she really that bad? She knew she was. But something made her not want to be. Her past was starting to slowly roll in on top of her. She remembered what she used to be, what she used to have, what she had now, and what she could have, and it all completely perplexed her.

She slowly opened her eyes and gazing up at him, said,

"Well…can you fix it?"

"Drink some more," Angel said gently, holding the jar to her lips. Cordelia nearly gagged and twisted her head away.

"No! No more,"

"Cordelia, you have to,"

"Oh…" She nearly whined. She closed her eyes tightly, but opened her lips in acceptance and reluctantly drank down the awful tasting blood he was feeding her. He fed her consistently, like a mother giving a child their medication, and wouldn't adhere to her whimpering and moaning as she begged for no more. She swallowed reluctantly, forcing it down again and again. She clutched her knees to her chest as she sat back against the headboard of the bed with a blanket pulled up over her. Angel sat in front of her, the hated box of pig's blood or cattle's blood or whatever kind of horrid tasting animal blood sealed in the butcher's jars beside him. A small pile of empty bottles sat on the floor next to the bed; a true sign of her struggle to please him.

He was stuffing her full; trying to quell the urge for human blood before morning came and their friends returned. Angel felt the night…it was after four AM. A couple more hours, and the sun would rise.

"A little more," Angel promised, tossing the now empty jar aside and taking out another.

"You said that on the last one," Cordelia groaned, wiping her mouth. She was sick from it. She felt like she would regurgitate every last ounce of it if she tried to put one more in her.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just want to be sure…"

"Well, be sure already! I think I'm gonna puke!"

"You're not going to puke," Angel said surely. "Here, have another."

Cordelia scowled, but leaned her head forward and pressed her lips again to yet another jar anyway.

Whatever he was trying to do was working. Cordelia couldn't think of anything but that room-temperature slime riding down her throat. Its coppery aftertaste was starting to repulse her. And all she wanted right now was a bit of mercy, for Angel to leave her alone and to stop force feeding her so she could curl up in a ball and forget the whole thing until her body could digest it all and she was no longer in danger of popping. She looked up and eyed him.

No, she could expect no mercy from Angel.

Before her turning she could usually just bat her eyelashes and whine a little and he was putty in her hands. But now…

Cordelia caught herself thinking of herself in the past tense and found it strange. She lost herself in the thought for a moment, before sighing and thinking back to the blood. She swallowed another gulp.

It had almost started to taste good. After the second or third jar, she felt it in her veins and it was almost satisfying. But then after the fourth or fifth jar, she again realized how low end it all was. She recalled how much more satisfying Angel's blood had tasted and then she looked at him and realized his power over her. He was telling her to drink, and she was. And that satisfied her more than anything, knowing she was doing what he wanted her to do. Not that she was a mindless zombie…but she had this urge to please him. It had to have something to do with the trust thing. If he'd had told her to drink a rat dry, she would have. If he'd had told her kill a human, she would have. And so it was mindless, but it felt so simple. And simple made it easier. It had nothing to do with being good or evil. It had to do with what her sire wanted. It just so happened that he was good…

"I don't think I can take anymore," She said, finally pulling away and almost belching. Angel started to push the jar back into her face but then glanced at the pile of jars on the floor and let it go.

"Okay…I guess you've had enough."

"Yeah…" She said bitterly, following his eyes to the mess below. "I lost count after the sixth or seventh go around."

"Fifteen," He said. She looked shocked. "You drank nearly fifteen jars. I think that should suffice." He held up the last of the current jar and without hesitation, choked down the rest of it himself then tossed it to the floor with the other remains. Cordelia grimaced and looked away. "Are you sick of it?" He asked. She nodded. "Good. That's the idea."

"I don't think I'll be able to eat for days."

"Even better."

He stood and she watched him and he quickly cleaned up the mess. He took the box back into the other room and stored away the rest of the blood for another night. Cordelia sat making faces at herself, trying to rid her mouth of the awful aftertaste. She looked for something to preoccupy herself with, and ended up twirling her finger in her hair. Angel came back around the corner and paused to watch her. Some things just never changed…

Besides the healing bite wound on her neck, and the various yellowing bruises already disappearing from her otherwise perfect skin, Cordelia looked the same as she always had, less the perfect hair and makeup that is. Right now, she looked pretty weary. And her make up had long since been cried off. But she still embodied Cordelia Chase. She still did little things that hinted at what had made her her. The things that had made her human in life.

Like twirling her hair. And whining. And pouting. And the raising of the eyebrows when she didn't agree with something…

She'd raised her brow tonight when he'd brought out the box of butcher's blood and made the decision that she should over-feed. That simple expression had almost been enough to convince him that she was still here. But when she'd started to drink, skeptically at first, and then greedily, he got past it. Very quickly. And thereon, accepted what she was. Angel crossed the room towards her now.

"Cordelia?"

"Hmn?" She mumbled, not looking up.

"Promise me something," He sat down on the edge of the bed. She dropped her finger from her hair and sat quietly. "Promise me that you wont hurt anyone." He knew he couldn't hold her to it, but still, if just for the sake of hearing her say she would, he wanted to hear it, perhaps, needed to… "Promise me you wont ever hurt another living soul."

Cordelia stared at him blankly.

"I promise, Angel."

He sighed and looked away. He knew it wasn't a promise she could keep.

He cleaned up the glass and changed his shirt.

The bite on his shoulder was closed and the gash in his chin was scabbed over. By tomorrow afternoon, both marks would probably be gone. Well, the gash for sure.

Cordelia lay in bed staring out into space. He came over and tucked her in. Her eyes drifted up to his before falling back to the opposite wall. She looked exhausted.

Angel felt morning coming. He, too, was exhausted. He'd lost count of how many hours he'd been awake, and by now, it didn't matter. There was no point in thinking about it; he couldn't sleep until he could get safely out of this room. And that wouldn't be happening until Wes, Gunn and Giles came back. Angel caught himself praying it'd be soon.

He retired to his chair, watching Cordelia as she drifted off into a deep, still sleep. Weak light began to infiltrate the edges of the heavy drapes at the lone window against the far wall and Angel stared at it for a long time as it slowly, eventually grew stronger. Just as he started to loose his battle against the morning hour, and his eyelids sank to close, he heard footsteps outside the door.

"Angel?"

Gunn's muffled voice was heaven sent.

"Yeah," Angel said drowsily, leaning against the doorframe and closing his eyes.

"You okay? It safe to unlock the door?"

"Yeah," Angel sighed. "Its safe, get me out of here."

He stepped to the side as he heard the locks click. He glanced back at Cordelia, wanting badly just to crawl into bed beside her and sleep the day away. He rubbed his tired eyes and the door creaked open, ever so slowly, and Charles Gunn peaked through.

"What happened?" He asked cautiously, giving the vamp the once over.

Angel sighed and shrugged. Gunn looked around anxiously, and caught sight of the sleeping beauty. His eyes widened slightly and he started to step further into the room. Angel placed a firm hand against his chest and pushed him back out. Gunn gave him an annoyed expression, but Angel shook his head. He stepped out into the hall, pushing Gunn back farther, then pulled the door closed behind them.

"You don't want to go in there," Angel warned wearily.

"Is she alright?" Gunn demanded.

Angel looked sorely back at the closed door.

"As alright as she can be,"

"What's the word?"

Angel raised his gaze to meet the young black man's and Gunn took notice of the wound on his chin.

"She do that?"

Angel nodded. Gunn inhaled a hiss of a breath. "Is she bad?"

Angel closed his eyes, and nodded again.

"Damn!" Gunn cursed, turning around and kicking the bags next to the door. He looked down at the floor, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his mouth in serious distress. He said nothing, but shook his head begrudgingly, and kicked the suitcases again.

"Those her things?" Angel asked, ignoring Gunn's slighted outburst.

"Yeah," Gunn nearly spat. He took a deep breath, calming himself. "I got her clothes, some shoes, makeup… Dennis helped me pack."

"How'd he take it?" Angel slumped back against the wall and folded his arms.

"Not good… Poor guy, I don't think he knew what to do. Stuff just started flying all over the place, and, if I knew him better, I might have said that he was frantic."

Angel closed his eyes, his head lolling back.

"You alright, man?" Gunn asked again, taking a step forward to take a good look at Angel's appearance. Angel nodded but didn't open his eyes. Gunn cocked his head at him and frowned. "You look like hell."

"Hell's a lot nastier than this," Angel murmured.

"How long you been awake, man?"

Angel shrugged indifferently.

"Yo, last night, we three went back to the office…boarded the place up. It's a wreck…"

Angel had forgotten about the office. He made the effort to prop open his eyes.

Gunn continued. "…Wes and Giles got some more books. I think they worked on it all night. They should be here soon, though—Yo, man. You sure you okay?"

"I'll be fine…I need some sleep, a few hours…"

"You need a week looks more like it," Gunn walked in a half circle, inspecting the vamp's exterior. "Definitely a week…man, go to bed!"

"I need to…to…" Angel mumbled. "Gotta get some stuff, gotta…lock the door…"

"Dude, you ain't doing nothin, look at you! You're a MESS. I'll lock the door." Gunn started on the locks right away. "I'll put her stuff away, too, don't worry about it."

"Gunn, stay out of there," Angel's voice was light and useless. He started to pull away from the wall. "Don't go in there unless I'm with you…you have no idea of what she's like…"

Gunn stopped and stared at his former employer.

"No shit. The way you look, I'm not gonna touch her with a ten foot pole. Don't worry, big guy… I'm leaving maid duties to you. You can take care of her room. I was gonna put her stuff away downstairs in the lobby closet."

"Oh."

"Go on. Get some sleep. I'll wake you when the watcher twins get here."

"Okay…"

Angel turned slowly and walked down the hall. Gunn watched him, wobbling a bit as he reached the stairs and slowly started the descent down them. When Angel was out of earshot, Gunn turned back towards the closed door.

He took a deep breath and started bolting the locks. He paused though as the first one clicked into place, and after a second, he unclicked it. With a nervous exhale, his fingers went to the doorknob and not knowing why, he felt compelled to press open the door.

Silence.

Gunn peered around the door and watched anxiously. The light from the hallway illuminated her form as it spilled across the bed. Cordelia had not moved an inch. He pushed the door open wider with a creak and stood surveying the sleeping girl. She lay as still as she had yesterday in death, but there was something different about her now that only someone who knew her closely could see. Gunn followed his shadow, and took a careful step closer.

He watched her sideways, half way expecting her to wake up and say something Cordelia-ish…the other half of him feared her waking up and lunging at him with burning eyes and teeth as sharp as glass. For a split second, he saw his sister lying there.

Gunn hadn't realized it but he'd moved to the foot of the bed. His heart was racing and his skin started to bead with sweat. He realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Gunn."

He started and spun around, and found Angel standing in the doorway staring at him.

"I—I'm sorry," Gunn gulped, quickly remembering himself. "I don't know why…"

Angel said nothing but stood aside and let the young man out. Gunn quickly closed the door behind them, shielding them from the sleeping demon, and veiling her once again in still darkness. Gunn quickly locked the locks, securing the deadbolt and then wiped his brow. Angel held out his hand.

"Give me the key."

Gunn did what he said, and after handing Angel the shiny metal piece, apologized,

"Angel, I'm sorry,"

Angel shook his head and silenced him with a glance.

"I'm tired."