Catharsis
As the crowd began to disperse, some came forward to offer words of condolence to Dawn or to Buffy's friends. Dawn bore it as long as she could, but finally retreated to Giles' side, leaning on him and curling up on herself. Giles gently placed an arm around her shoulders and guided her away, and the others followed. Willow and Tara hung onto each other, Xander and Anya did the same, and Wesley and Cordelia flanked Angel, Wesley's hand on his shoulder and Cordelia holding his opposite hand. Oz walked between the couples of Willow and Tara and Xander and Anya. Spike brought up the rear, alone.
No one spoke until they reached the Summers home. Spike immediately sat down on the front step to smoke a cigarette and glare at passers-by. Dawn pulled the clip out of her hair.
"Want me to brush your hair out, Dawnie?" asked Willow. The girl nodded and sat in front of a chair while Willow fetched the brush Cordelia had used earlier.
"Oz, you can crash on my couch if you want," offered Xander. He looked over at his fiancee. "If it's okay with you, of course, hon." Anya made no objection, and Oz accepted the offer.
"I suppose we'll stay here again tonight," said Wesley. "Cordy . . . Cordelia?"
The tone of Wesley's voice alerted Angel, who had been heavily involved in staring off into space near the front door. In a second, the vampire was behind Cordelia, holding her shoulders and bracing her body with his own as a vision took her.
"Cordy!" shouted Xander.
"It's a vision. It's all right," Wesley told them.
"What do you see?" Angel asked in her ear.
It took a moment or two for Cordelia to start getting words out. "That dragon thing . . . caves north of Sunnydale . . . going to be doing some serious feeding tonight . . . just waking up." Her eyes snapped open. "It's got a weakness at the base of its throat. You can kill it that way, but you need to get moving now, Angel. Once it's in the air, it's all over."
Angel's eyes went flat. He handed Cordelia off to Wesley and made for the weaponry, grabbing a battle-ax and a broadsword. "Spike!" he barked.
"WHAT?!?"
"Violence." Angel tossed the battle-ax at Spike, who caught it efficiently and with relish.
"Show me where."
With that, the vampires were gone.
"That's a vision?" asked Xander, aghast. "Looks like some serious hurt. You okay, Cordy?"
Wesley had sat Cordelia down on the couch, one arm around her shoulders. The Seer looked shaken, dizzy, and suddenly, she grabbed her head in her hands again and leaned far forward.
"Cordy?" Wesley was truly worried now. "What's happening?"
Cordelia made a sound of pure agony, physical and emotional. It turned into a sob.
"Is this normal?" asked Giles.
"It's not. Cordelia!"
She shook her head. "It's not me," she gasped. She breathed in and out, trying to control her emotions. "It's him. Angel. He's gonna break, Wesley." Cordelia looked at her friend, eyes filled with tears. "He's just about to break."
***
Several hours later, the dragon demon was in more pieces than was strictly necessary.
"That was a quality spot of violence," commented Spike, sitting heavily on a natural rock ledge. His hair was sporting a singe mark, and he was bleeding from more than one place.
Angel was in no better shape, and probably worse. Spike couldn't see his injuries, but he smelled blood that wasn't his own. It interested him. The blond vampire took out a pack of cigarettes and took one for himself, then offered another to Angel. To his even greater interest, Angel sat down beside him and took the cigarette. Spike lit his own, then Angel's.
His sire's face was the most interesting thing Spike had seen thus far. So perfectly controlled, although the viciousness with which Angel had attacked the dragon had surprised even Spike.
The night Angel had come to town, Spike had been looking for punishment. Buffy's dead body, the horror and despair in Dawn's eyes as that Doc creature had thrown Spike from the tower, all that had been on constant replay behind Spike's eyes. His failures, haunting him. And who better to administer punishment than Angel? Angel, who had been there from the start, who had taught Spike what a vampire was and how he should behave—and had disciplined him harshly when the lessons weren't learned quickly enough?
So he'd provoked Angel (while getting in some venting), and Angel had cooperated beautifully, giving Spike a bruise he could still feel. Therefore, Spike felt he owed Angel a favor. Quid pro quo.
"Aren't enough demons in the world, you know."
Angel took a drag on his cigarette. "What are you talking about, William?"
"What I'm talking about is your method of dealing with the love of your unlife's death." Spike gestured at the dragon's remains. "You could kill one of these every night for the next century, but it won't make you feel any better. You're just putting things off, you know. Sooner or later, it'll all come rushing in, and I personally would prefer to be out of the country when that happens."
"You don't know me."
Spike looked at him and made a disgusted noise. "You're right. I always knew you were good at the torture, but I never realized until now that it's because you practice on yourself. I wanted you to punish me, I admit that. What you won't admit is that you're doing an even better job of punishing yourself. The guilt of not being there is eating you alive, and I'd almost swear you're enjoying the sensation."
A stream of smoke hissed between Angel's teeth. "Watch your tongue, boy."
"You've got friends, you know. Hell of a lot more than I've got going for me. Is part of your self-inflicted penance going to be losing them, too?" Angel didn't answer. Spike decided to switch tactics. "You know, if you're going to be like this, you should at least get in some good, quality shagging while you're still miserable enough to enjoy it. Is Miss Cordelia available?"
Angel pinned him with a deadly glare. "If you want to keep your head where it is, William, I'd suggest you never say anything like that again."
Spike gave a laugh. "Well. It's alive. Listen, you toffing idiot, I never wanted to have sympathy for you. Hell, a year ago, I'd have barfed my guts out at the thought. But I do all the same. Sympathy only goes so far, though, so listen up, because this is the last time I'll give you this advice: get this thing out of you. Get it out before it kills you—and maybe a lot of people around you, too."
The blond vampire flicked his cigarette away, stood painfully to his feet, and walked out of the cave.
***
Wesley watched as Cordelia laid out first aid supplies. After her vision, she'd changed into sweatpants, a tank top, and a light jacket, efficiently put together a medical kit, and demanded Wesley drive her over to the mansion. They were at the mansion now, in what had been Angel's bedroom for over a year. The bed was still intact, though the mattress was a little moldy and the covers had long since been scavenged. The building itself had been condemned and showed signs of having had squatters in it from time to time.
This was where Cordelia was certain Angel would end up. Wesley didn't question that certainty; her ability to interpret her visions had grown by leaps and bounds lately.
What he did question was her insistence that she do this alone.
"I should stay," he said. "Angel may need both of us."
Cordelia shook her head resolutely. "No. If we crowd him, stage an intervention or something, he'll run. He can't afford that right now. Besides, technically, you're his boss. You can't order him to open up."
"Since when has my being his boss had any bearing on what Angel does?"
"It's still important to him. Vampires are hierarchical, you know." She caught Wesley's look of surprise. "What? You think I never did any reading on the subject?"
Wesley shook off his surprise. "I understand what you're saying, Cordy, but . . . Angel may not be entirely stable right now. I don't want . . ."
"He won't hurt me." Cordelia's voice was confident. "I'm not afraid of Angel, Wesley. I'm a little afraid for him right now, I'm concerned about where he's going, but I'm not afraid he'll hurt me. Besides, I do have the tranq gun, just in case he gets out of hand."
"Well—if you're certain." Wesley looked unhappy. "I just feel so useless."
"Wesley." Cordelia walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You've been supporting everyone since we got here. You may be Backup Man, but that's incredibly important. I appreciate it, everyone does. This is just . . . something Angel and I have to do together."
"I know," said Wesley, hugging her back. "I just wish there was something more concrete I could do for him right now."
Cordelia let him go. "He's going to need both of us a lot for the next few months. I just get first shift."
"Understood." Wesley smiled at her. "You've got your cell phone; promise to call if you need," his mouth twisted wryly, "Backup Man."
"I promise." Cordelia rolled her eyes just a little. "Don't worry. The Powers That Be seemed fairly certain I'd be able to handle this."
"All right. Just . . . do be careful." Wesley turned, a little reluctant still, and left.
***
Angel wandered the streets of Sunnydale. His mind was almost completely absent, and he had no idea what he was looking for. Or trying to escape from. Only the first few pale streaks of dawn in the east penetrated his consciousness, and his feet took him on autopilot to safety: the mansion.
Once inside, he immediately realized he wasn't alone. The soft sound of movement and Cordelia's scent greeted him. He discovered her in the bedroom.
"There you are," she said briskly. "Let's see how badly you're hurt."
He took a look around at the medical supplies she'd brought. "I'm fine."
"Then let's see how badly you're not hurt. Take off your shirt and sit on the bed. And boy, could that sentence be misinterpreted."
Angel felt himself automatically shedding his coat, then stopped before he could take off his shirt. He didn't even want her here; why was he giving in to her demands?
"I don't need all this, Cordelia. I told you, I'm fine. I want to be alone. Go back to the Summers house."
She looked him up and down. "The blood dripping from your shredded shirt says you're not fine. You need patching up."
Angel's temper frayed. "I don't need patching up, Cordelia. What part of 'I'm a vampire' don't you understand?"
"Look, you," snapped Cordelia, matching him temper for temper, "I just spent all day bullying poor little Dawn. If you think I'm going to go any easier on you, think again." With that, she shoved him backward. The unexpected movement sent him stumbling onto the bed. "Now, get that shirt off. I've got a tranq gun; don't make me use it."
Angel glared at her stonily, but pulled his shirt off. It took some effort and hurt quite a bit, not that he was caring about such things. Cordelia hissed as she got a good look at his torso.
"Glad to see you're fine," she muttered, grabbing some gauze and a basin of water. "If you weren't fine, you might have holes all over your chest and shoulder. Oh, wait, you do."
"It bit me while I was stabbing it in the throat."
"That sort of thing tends to irritate dragons. Grab that thermos, would you?"
He did. It turned out to be full of blood.
"Dinner for you. I even heated it up. Drink up." When he balked, she stared him down. "You're whiter than usual, freezing, and you've lost a lot of blood. If you don't drink, you won't heal. I know these things."
He gave in. While he drank the blood, she set about cleaning the wounds. In addition to the bite, he had some deep scratches on his belly and back, but they'd almost stopped bleeding. When she got to the deepest tooth mark on his back, she stopped. "You're lucky that thing didn't have wooden teeth. Are you aware it got you right through the heart?"
"I don't use it anyway," Angel murmured.
"Could've fooled me." Cordelia set aside the basin and picked up the bandages and tape. "Funny thing. That vision I had? Double header. You got the part about the dragon. Personally, I think it was just the Powers That Be getting you out of the way so they could give me some instructions and let me in on your mental state. I got a headful of your emotions. Now, having lived inside my head during some fairly terrible things, I think I'm pretty much qualified to diagnose your current status as 'bad.'"
Angel took a breath, unmindful of the fact that it hurt. "I'm okay, Cordy."
"Okay. Right, uh-huh, yeah, whatever. You're okay with a hole in your heart."
"It'll heal."
"I'm not talking about the one I just taped up." She smoothed a final piece of tape into place and sighed. "Angel, you've got to face this thing. It's eating you alive."
Angel stood, pushing her away. "I'll deal with it in my own time, Cordy. Just let me be."
"Buffy Summers just died, Angel," Cordelia pressed on. "She died. The love of your life. And you're trying to tell me that this—this extreme non-dealing you're doing is anything like healthy? All you've done is stare off into space and kill a lot of demons. Have you shed even one tear?"
He glared at her. "What does that prove? You cried, and you didn't even like Buffy."
Cordelia stood slowly. "You're right. I didn't like her. Our personalities just never meshed. But I respected her. She went out and fought evil day after day, night after night, got hurt, rarely got thanked for it, and even though she sometimes bitched and complained, she still went on. I respected her for that, Angel, and that means a whole lot more to me than liking her. But you know what? We're not talking about me. We're talking about you and whatever mental place you've gone to. You can't stay there forever, and the longer you do, the worse things are going to be." Her voice hardened as he turned away. "Talk to me, Angel. Yell. Scream. Do something."
He whirled suddenly, violently, in vamp face, and grabbed her hard by her upper arms. "Is this what you want, Cordelia? Because this is what it looks like inside."
"I'm not afraid of you," she stated calmly, looking into his yellow eyes. "I. Am not. Afraid. Of you."
"Well, I am!" he shouted. The vamp face melted away. "I am afraid of what's inside, Cordy. I can't . . . I don't know how . . ." He trailed off brokenly, hands flexing on her arms. "Cordy . . . she's gone."
"I know." Cordelia's eyes were soft. She reached up, taking his face in her hands. "I know, Angel."
Something inside Angel was tumbling and falling. He shook his head, trying to cling to anger, denial, anything. He couldn't. "I can't do this."
"Angel . . ."
"I can't . . . I can't feel her, Cordy. I can't feel her in my soul."
"Shh. Easy." Cordelia moved closer.
". . . can't do this, Cordy, she's gone, she's really gone . . ."
"Shh." Cordelia pulled his head down to her shoulder. "I'm here."
The innocent trust in that gesture—bringing an agitated vampire so close to her neck—undid Angel completely. His knees buckled. Cordelia supported him as he clung to her. She sank down, sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in her lap as wave after wave of grief washed over him.
***
Angel felt as if he was coming out of a trance. He wondered if he'd passed out briefly and decided it took too much energy to wonder. He was slumped on the floor beside the bed with his head still in Cordelia's lap. He felt her fingers gently stroking the hair at the base of his skull.
He breathed a few times. The pain in his chest was less, but he felt raw inside. Open. Bare to the world. As he breathed, he inhaled Cordelia's scent: warm, female, familiar, very comforting.
He wasn't alone.
Slowly, with great effort, he lifted his head from her lap, then concentrated his energy on forcing his body onto the bed beside her. One of her hands came up, wiping away his tears.
"You're going to be all right, Angel. You are."
He opened his eyes and looked into hers. She'd been crying, too. "I am," he whispered, and he realized he believed it. A surge of warm emotion welled up inside him for her. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead, and then, very gently, her mouth. She kissed him back, a sweet, chaste gesture of closest friendship.
"I love you, Cordy. I want you to know." He drew her close, into his embrace.
She embraced him back. "I know, Angel. I love you, too. In a friends, co-workers kind of way."
For some reason, that made both of them giggle in exhausted hysteria. "You need to sleep, Broody Boy," she told him.
He drew back, nodding. "Stay with me."
"Of course."
Angel dragged himself across the bed, guiding Cordelia to come with him. He settled back and pulled her against him so they were in a spoons position, her back to his chest. Her warmth flooded his body as she laid in his arms.
Something very important needed to be said. Just as he was falling off to sleep, he remembered what it was.
"Thank you," he murmured.
He was asleep in seconds, but Cordelia stayed awake a little longer, in spite of her own emotional exhaustion. Spooning with Angel hadn't exactly been on her agenda when she'd come to confront—and comfort—him, but now that she was in his arms, she wasn't sorry it had happened. It made her all the more glad that she and Angel had never fallen in love.
There had been a time when the fact that they could never be more than friends had bothered her. Both right after Doyle's death and during the summer he'd practically lived with her, she'd struggled with semi-romantic feelings for him.
It wasn't just that Angel was gorgeous, she knew. Yes, he was stunning. When he walked into a room, all the straight women and gay men couldn't take their eyes off him. Hell, some of the gay women and straight men took second and third looks. Cordelia herself had been instantly attracted to his looks. Sexual feelings were bound to occur, but that wasn't what might have caused her to fall for him.
It was the fact that he looked into her eyes, not at her breasts. He made her feel valued for herself, not for her looks. She knew he noticed, but that wasn't what mattered to him. That wasn't what made him so irritatingly and endearingly protective. Angel was the first man in her life to whom her looks didn't matter. Even Doyle, dear Doyle, had been known to gawk and refer to her as "a stiffener."
But romance was strictly out for her and Angel. She knew it, he knew it. Her visions bound them together, and his curse made falling in love inadvisable, to say the least. Had they romantic feelings, this moment would be impossible. Physical contact and comfort, him holding her during and after her visions, her reaching out to him as she had tonight, would be something they wouldn't be able to do if they ever fell in love.
So she was glad. Because this moment, to her, was even better than being in love.