By Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com, mistyjox@hotmail.com
Series: the Winters Trilogy – but purposely written so it could also be a standalone
Rating: R
Genre: Angel/Cordelia – Buffy/Angel and Cordelia/Xander implied
Teaser: Years after the death of their true loves, a lonely Cordelia and Angel reunite to stop a new nemesis, and find themselves fighting a mutual attraction as they cling to the memories of their mortal lovers.
Crossover: Sorta. Highlander – but seriously, you do NOT need to be familiar with that.
* additional notes on previous parts
--
The Road Before Us: Chapter Ten
There was a mutual feeling of anticipation inside of everyone as they waited for what seemed the inevitable.
Words needed to be said, conversations needed to take place but it hadn't happened yet, and Angel strongly suspected they would not happen any time soon.
He waited, with arms crossed, leaning against the counter as his dark eyes roved over his hotel lobby, watching the newly congregated group.
Katherine was sitting casually, straddled backwards on a chair, speaking to Lorne, who for all his hundred and forty something years, didn't look a day over fifty.
In the corner of the office, half hidden by darkness, with hands crossed, pacing back and forth, speaking quietly to thin air, was Cordelia.
Her form was tense, and as she spoke she rubbed at her eyes, trembling slightly, an action that made him frown.
Questions flittered through his mind, mixed emotions bundled inside of him, his hands clenching at the corner of the counter.
Cordelia had dealt with Wolfram and Hart. Cordelia had willed everything to Angel Investigations.
Cordelia was harboring a lot of secrets, apparently.
He had often wondered how the hazel-eyed vixen could have lasted one hundred and thirty years without getting sucked back into the world of darkness and helplessness he had never escaped.
He had supposed that was the difference – Angel was darkness, and all Cordelia had ever sought was light.
A rattle in the drawers caught his attention, where Travis was shuffling until he found what he was looking for, pulling out the contraption and taking a big sniff.
"Watch it with that, Travis."
The Seer only gave him a glare, taking in another breath of the sniffer.
The Powers were always on his eternal 'if I ever meet them I'm going to kick their ass' list.
Working for them for more than a century had done nothing to lessen his contempt for their way of doing things.
Time after time he had lost Seers, friends, and on more than one occasion… more than friends, and each time he vowed there would be no more Seers, no more pain… no more humans and demons sacrificing their lives for the lives of others.
But another would always show, with high hopes or bitter broken dreams, and slamming his door to them hadn't helped – the visions came regardless.
The evil came regardless.
Travis came into his hotel with a smile and the too big glasses, calling the vampire a big bimbo, shouldering the pack and asking if it was okay to smoke.
The pain was still almost unbearable, and like the Seer before him, Travis had taken to using the sniffer to alleviate it, and like the Seer before him, he was dangerously close to being hooked.
"Angel, you get the mind numbing pain that makes you want to throw up and rip your eyes out, then you tell me what to do."
Carefully, the blond scruffy boy slid the pad across the counter, and Angel took it, pressing play immediately.
More of the same… cries, vampires… Katherine… swords… and… a demon?
"These PTB have to work on their descriptions," Angel said, pressing his thumb against his lip.
"Yeah, no kidding. Right now the only clue we got is our Kathy girl. My guess? Something to do with the Gathering."
"Hmm. I asked around…there was nothing. I'll look again tonight. Aside from these Immortals … lopping heads off everywhere… they're pretty much keeping to themselves."
"Maybe this is one thing the Powers don't want to get involved in. Maybe the Immortals are even above them?"
Angel crossed his arms, exhaling slowly, once again drawn to the Immortal in the corner.
"We're getting involved Travis." Hopping over the counter, Travis sat looking in the same direction, where Cordelia continued to speak into her tiny ear phone.
He nudged Angel. "Hey, what's she doing?"
"Probably getting updated on things. She's been neglecting her investments lately."
"Yeah I could imagine what with almost getting her head chopped off and everything." He was silent, and then he popped up," So was she serious? About… you know… everything coming to us? Are we rich now?"
"I don't know."
Travis twiddled his thumbs, and finally just gave a low sigh. "Angel?"
"What?"
"She's hot."
Angel ignored the comment. Travis shifted around again, and the vampire finally tore his eyes off his Immortal friend and instead gave his Seer a glare. "What?"
The blonde seemed on the verge of saying something, seemed to think better of it, shifted again, and finally just spoke.
"Okay… you know that I'm generally not nosy- most of the time-" he amended when Angel narrowed his eyes. "But I have to ask, she the reason you took off the ring?"
Angel narrowed his eyes, and walked away.
--
Lorne, with his green skin and horns, had been happily surprised that here on Earth he had gained yet another abnormality.
He didn't age… much. Perhaps it was something different about this world, the same way it had affected Angel when Wesley had gotten sucked into the dimension of Pylea, but ever the vain singer, Lorne searched every day for hope of not seeing a wrinkle.
Slowly, very slowly, he grew older, but according to Angel, who, despite his inability to admit it, cherished the fact that at least of one his congregation of friends was still with him, he still looked like Lorne.
For that, Lorne could have hugged and kissed the little dead vampire till doomsday, if in fact he wanted to be gutted. He did not want to be gutted, and as a result he only settled for patting Angel on the back and calling the little Angelcakes a 'good little boy'.
Now the room was a cloud of discontent, floating and swirling all around him in such luminous waves it was almost difficult to separate the colors between the princess and the vampire, the older Immortal and the naïve seer.
Darks and grays mixed with the brighter colors of optimism, and inside the vampire, and both Immortals, was the darkness he always found disturbing – not so much on Angel - but on the trained killers it was a little… scary.
Katherine, with her laughing dark blue eyes, gave the word confliction a run for her money. Older than sin, she wore her smile like a mask, her words like a barb, and her aura, was well hidden in itself. Impossible to read made her something less than a victim, and more than an enemy.
Cloudy – shady.
The princess he had yet to have a real conversation with, but the hazel eyes emanated confusion and perhaps just a little bit of despair, something not good if what was rushing through him with anticipation was true.
And of course, the vampire – who apparently had done some soul searching, and found a little humanizing influence to go with it – who came back with a ring around his neck and not on his hand, and even more broodiness than before, and of course the added bonus of it all being directed toward-
"Have you talked to Cordelia?"
Cordelia. Chase Winters. Talk about an opposing personality. While Angel's demon hid behind a soul, Cordelia's lay naked for the world to see.
If it hadn't been so heartbreaking, it would have almost been amusing.
"Not yet," he answered, nodding to where the other Immortal had gone to speak to the younger. "Can't say I blame the kid. The second she heard I read auras – ZIP! To the other room like a rocket. Their kind don't take it well, and may I say? VERY Nice choice. Hot-o-rama in the sizzle in my groins kinda of way."
"It's not like that."
"As most dreams often aren't." Lorne said, grinning. He had to give Angel his due - after a century or so of poking and prodding- he had come to realize that Lorne was NOT a psychic. He read auras, two completely different fields and was therefore not expected to know the future, but only see the fudginess around it.
But occasional the big bimbo – Travis' endearment, but it had a nice ring to it – often fell into the relapse.
"I need to know how she's doing. There was a reason she was in that vision."
"And a reason she isn't anymore. Shouldn't your focus be on our little Katherine there?" he asked, nodding toward the other Immortal. "Hate to say it Angelcakes but our little sword carrying vixen isn't the main priority at the moment. Chase's aura is clouded, but Katherine's… well that's just one big mess of a thing."
"A mess?"
"Well you try waking up to find out the hubby of your dreams is a vampire who has a penchant for your blood and just might be trying to kill you and see how well you turn out. Oh wait… you've been on the other side of THAT coin, haven't you?"
Angel winced, visibly, and Lorne felt one small stab of regret, but continued the words. Some things just needed to be said.
"There's a reason this case was given to you, Angel. I've been neglecting my little bar, and so I leave you to your case." Lorne stood, taking the drink and sipping it before turning back. "Oh, and as far as the Chase things go – has it ever occurred to you the reason she was in that vision was not for you, but for her? Get past the past, Sweetness, the road before you is what's holding you back – but for Katherine's sake, take a deep, dark look – saving her life may not be the answer – the key, is in saving her soul."
--
After five repeated attempts to talk to the friend he had left under questionable circumstances, Angel came to the conclusion that Cordelia Chase was doing her damnedest to avoid him.
It left him frustrated and annoyed, his mind occupied with coming Gatherings and Endgames, a little angry at her less-than-professional inability to talk to him, and angry at himself for allowing himself to be so affected.
Her eyes were tired, her body was spent, but she tolerated Travis' obvious crush and talked to Katherine and even talked to him – in a pure, passive way.
There wasn't any of the true Cordelia that he had seen inside and he wondered why, worried why, until nightfall came and he had to force himself out onto the streets in an attempt to gain what little information he could find.
Los Angeles had become a warzone for good and evil – a congregation for those who wanted chaos, and those who wanted order. Large and spread apart, it stood, with its small skyscrapers and large names, a symbol of the dream-like existence that everyone sought.
The true activity was at night, always at night and for Angel, one lone vampire cursed with a soul, it was very overwhelming.
Years of feeling the anger inside of him, years of stripping away at the logic between good and evil, the ever shifting boundaries and the need for human contact had left others worried- in the apocalypse, would Angel still, with his ever shifting morality and his increased penchant for violence against those who preyed upon the innocent, help the helpless, even if he was very quickly becoming just that himself?
Thoughts roamed through his head, as he pushed snitches to the floor and slammed booted heels onto backs, as he hissed and growled and occasionally drew blood to get his information and in the end the only thing he got was nothing but fear.
The Immortals who were congregating in his town were plaguing fear on everyone and in the back of his mind was the doubt that Angel, with his lone vampire self and two Immortals who were as in the dark and drawn by the spell as any of them, would not be able to stop this.
The Powers had been known to accomplish much, but this… to stop it seemed impossible.
The Gathering was an Immortal thing – nothing Angel could do would stop that unless there was an outside force that was manipulating them – and Spike nor Nick, were nowhere to be found.
An angered and worried vampire entered the Hyperion late that night, the hotel dark and desolate as he walked through the lobby, ignoring the sounds that came from the new Caritas and instead walking to his own domain, the suite of rooms that had served as his haven for years.
Her scent made his steps slow, almost coming to a complete stop as he saw Cordelia sitting on the armchair, curled into it almost like a child, a wine glass in her hand, staring at the fire with an unknown, wistful expression on her face.
"Cordelia."
Her eyes shifted to meet his, and she offered a smile, looking back to the fire.
"I couldn't sleep." Her gaze searched over his body, and suddenly her lips parted in surprise and the wine glass was placed on the table next to the chair. "What the hell did you do, you big bimbo?"
"I'm so glad that's catching on," he remarked, shrugging off the trenchcoat with a grimace, as Cordelia immediately helped him, removing the bloody covering and leaving it on the floor.
"Come into the light so I can see."
He obeyed, letting her clasp his hand, fingers tightening around hers, welcoming as she placed him in her own chair, body heat warming his colder one.
Carefully, she placed herself between his parted legs, eyes focused on the torn shirt and the ragged cut on his left pectoral. "Wanna tell me how this happened?"
"Oh… the usual."
"And that would be?"
"Vampires, demons- you know. Fun stuff."
"Mmhmm." Quickly her hands swept nimbly over the shirt, unbuttoning the rags and then raking her nails over his chest, opening it before her.
The intimacy in the action startled Angel, the look of concern on her face was disconcerting, but an involuntarily smile of relief pervaded his face, almost as if he had been waiting for Cordelia to finally show herself, for Chase to be stripped away.
But she was completely still, eyes focused on one single place.
Biting her lip, she turned, picking up his left hand, and inspecting it.
"You took off your wedding ring."
There was almost no emotion in her tone, just a shake in her voice that made him flush, a rush of guilt flowing through him.
"It's on my neck."
"I know." Her thumb traced his third finger furtively, and her eyes met his and almost immediately she let it go, almost flinging his hand back down. "Forget it," she snapped. "It's none of my business."
She leaned forward, her face hidden by the wall of hair as her breath fell on his skin in soft, moist tufts.
Her heart beat faster than usual and the breathing was quickened, but she quickly took a box of bandages off the second shelf and resettled herself between his legs, gently cleaning the wound.
They sat in silence, until she frowned.
"Stop moving."
"I'm not," he answered automatically.
"Then stop breathing."
"I don't breathe."
"Then stop flexing your manly boob muscles!" she exclaimed, flashing him an angry look, muttering afterward, "Or whatever."
He narrowed his eyes, and then the lips almost slid into a smirk as she carefully pressed a bandage against him.
"You think my boobs are manly?"
Her eyes flickered up, and back down. "Don't read too much into it, Dead Boy," she responded. "They're boobs. You're a man. Manly Boobs."
"And I'm so glad THAT endearment's coming back."
She actually smiled at that, before the reference to her dead husband made her straighten it and change the subject. "Did you see anything tonight?"
"No. More quiet than usual… everyone's … waiting."
"For the end of the world?"
"For anything." She sighed, nodding, taking a last piece of tape and pressing it against him, before moving, almost hesitantly, from her place between him. "How's Katherine?"
"Oh… usual. Wise cracking, conflicted and doing her damndest to make it look like she's okay when she's all… whigged on the inside. She won't talk about what happened with Nick, even if we need to find out for… you know… obvious reasons."
He nodded, lips pursing. She sat down beside his feet, leaning against his leg as he passed her the wine glass, sipping into it with a thoughtful, distracted expression.
He watched her, her body warm against his leg, her hand stroking his thigh almost a distraction, as she automatically leaned her chin against it, sighing and closing her eyes.
He watched, not moving, scared to even speak at the action of trust. Her mass of silky hair spilled over the black pants, her cheek resting against his knee, an embrace that was both a comfort and at the same time, disconcerting.
This was Cordelia, with the laughing hazel orbs, the same Cordelia who at seventeen had slapped him and then chagrined him for not developing an investment portfolio. The same Cordelia who had witnessed his ardent love for his Slayer, who had herself married a mortal who had more than once called him Dead Boy.
It was his past, bleeding into his present, in the warmth of her hands, the heat of his groin that inflamed in reaction.
And it was his friend, a rarity for him.
"You never told me what you meant by what you said with Wolfram and Hart. What ties, Cordelia?"
She froze, and he almost regretted the words as she pulled away slightly, swallowing the wine with a gulp and taking a breath.
"It's nothing," she said after a minute. "It's my business."
"Cordelia."
"Angel." Her eyes met his with a flash of defiance, a shake of her head indicating that there was a warning buried in there as well. "My business."
He had no choice but to let it go, thankful when she finally relaxed against him, her eyes closing as her head fell against his leg once more.
Carefully, gently, his hand moved to her shoulder, almost an embrace, letting his fingers skim it tenderly, before closing his eyes, and leaning his head back against the leather couch.
He had missed her.
--
She dreamt of Nick.
The dreams tormented her, left her hot and aching, and Katherine, seconds away from bursting into tears, had no time to do either, as Chase burst into the room, tossed her the sword and ordered her to get up.
When Katherine demanded an explanation, Chase had only said Travis had had another vision and this time, it was much more specific.
In the car, the vampire kept casting furtive glances at her, and when she finally turned to meet the gaze, she had plastered on a smile as she winked, making him swivel his head back and immediately keep his eyes on the road.
Chase, for all her younger years, had taken the front seat, her hand was gently stretched over the back of Angel's seat, fingers buried into the nape of Angel's neck, caressing tenderly.
The action was the focus of Katherine's attention, eyes riveting from the vampire to her new ally, hand tight on her sword as her stomach twisted in knots.
Cordelia and Angel wore no wedding rings, the ones she had seen, were worn around the neck.
She wondered about that, memories drifting into the dreams of Nick, of the wedding rings that meant so much when they were exchanged, wondered exactly how and when they made the commitment, to whom.
Mostly she found herself wondering how they died.
Cordelia turned, pinning her gaze on her, and Katherine only cocked an eyebrow, pointedly looking to her hand.
Chase blushed and took her hand away, but continued to study Katherine.
"I really think I should handle Nick."
The knot twisted painfully, her heart aching with the pressure, but her tone was clipped, leaving no room for argument. "I'm going to handle my husband."
"He's not your husband, Katherine." That was Angel, watching her through the rearview mirror. "You have to understand, your husband died." Katherine only watched coolly. "He may have your husband's memories but he is pure evil."
Pure evil.
Was pure evil capable of love?
"How do you know that?" It wasn't a defensive question.
Cordelia and Angel shared a look, before Cordelia turned once more. "We've come across our share of vampires."
"Angel's good."
"Angel has a soul."
"And that makes a difference?"
Cordelia swallowed, and Katherine noticed Angel's ringless hand tightened around the steering wheel.
There was an unspoken conversation, and suddenly Cordelia began to speak.
"Angel lost his soul… about a hundred … and something years ago… the girl he married… she was a Vampire Slayer."
--
The abandoned warehouse looked like any other in downtown, with the broken windows and rusty fire escape ladders, the burnt out neon signs and the trash and grocery carts, evidence of the homeless who escaped the night by hiding wherever they could.
Things were dangerous here.
Angel stepped out of the car, eyes trained to find anything out of the ordinary, viewing the compound for what he knew would come.
The scream was immediate, and his eyes connected with Cordelia as she nodded. Breaking into a run, he left the two Immortals behind, mind now occupied only with the woman in the vision-
In the back of his mind, he wondered why a woman would be caught dead in this place, in the alley, let alone alive.
But it was a woman, she was in trouble, and there was no time.
--
She was left standing with Katherine, looking at the building, taking in a breath.
The tingle, the nausea, the entire ripping through of the senses was unmistakable. Both shot the other looks, both gripped their swords just a bit tighter, and both moved without argument to the door of the building.
It was no surprise that it was unlocked, nor were they startled at all when there was nothing on the first floor but littered glass, the squeaks of mice, and trash littered across the dusty cement.
"Yeah. Here's something I don't get. Why on earth do you guys keep PICKING these Godawful places?! Why not like, Bloomingdales or something?"
Katherine ignored her, moving in a wide arc around the room, taking a deep breath. "We should separate."
"Probably not a good idea."
"It's not a choice." Katherine turned, grimacing. "You feel it, right?"
Cordelia waited a moment, and finally nodded. "Yes, Deathwish girl. I feel it. Doesn't mean I like it."
"If either of us gets sucked into this fight we won't know when to quit."
The Gathering was taking its toll. The alliance was shaky enough.
"I'll go upstairs."
--
Katherine moved with a steady stride, her mouth pursed into a permanent frown as her heart beat rapidly against her chest.
Her eyes were blurred with tears and it made her murky vision unstable at best, as she took in a breath and pushed the door to the fourteenth floor open.
Hiding secrets had never been a problem for any Immortal – deliberately withholding information had always been of use.
Not telling them that in this room, in this building, she and Nick had once consummated their marriage was almost damning.
Trust never came easily for Katherine. Chase and Angel, for all their pleas to attempt to understand, for all their stories of bad Angels and murdering Cordelias, of death and destruction, were still young… Chase was barely more than a child.
And Chase, like a young, idealistic young mortal, was on the verge of committing another cardinal sin – falling for a vampire.
The appeal of Immortality was never lost upon Katherine. She understood the draw, understood the appeal for vampires to live forever, to never age, because humans, as a race, were collectively fearful of the unknown.
Death was the barrier no one had managed to cross, even Immortal's souls were set free only to be tugged back into their bodies to begin again.
But as above others Immortals always pretended to be, the hard truth was in reality, they were no better than their kinsmen the mortals – they loved and sought to be loved, they sought for the company of others, and even though reality and experience told them time and time again that what they sought was not what they ultimately wanted, the bitter truth was that it was needed.
The vampire was waiting for her, on the bed, shirt unbuttoned, watching her with the eyes of a killer – something Nick never truly was.
He had been a thief and a con artist, a Robin Hood of the new world, who helped people because he thought it was right, never for the money, and always for her.
"Kat, baby. So glad you came."
She felt her eyes water, struggled to keep the tears from spilling over, as she watched, and waited in the doorway. "Why are you doing this?"
"The same reason I always did everything, Katherine, for you."
She swallowed down the hatred, the anger. "That hasn't been a factor for a hundred fucking years, Nick."
"It's a factor now."
"Why?"
A part of her told her it was useless to argue, that by the way he sat on the bed, he knew that if she had come to kill him she would have done it by now, that to sit here and even ATTEMPT a conversation with a vampire that bore her husband's face and memories was pointless.
But here she stood, and her hand was on her sword and it wasn't moving, and her eyes were beseeching, searching for anything –
Searching for hope.
"You remember, Kat, baby? This place? Remember all the promises we made and how long it took for me to make you believe there could be something?" He took in a breath, a needless breath, she noted, as he moved off the bed, watching her with cold eyes that were SO MUCH like Nick.
"Shut up."
"Kat…I was a jerk, okay? This new… existence it's hard for me but I want to make this work- I promise you, just like… like I promised you then, that I will make it work – but I can't do it alone, Kat."
The voice had gotten soft, and husky, and her heart jolted from within her, spurring her into action, the trembling sword against his neck.
"You're not my husband," she whispered, visibly shaken.
His eyes bore into hers.
"I'm the closest thing you'll ever get to him, Kat."
There was one long minute of breathing, as everything Katherine had ever believed in, every hope that had withered and every dream that had died surged up with in her, following her gaze from the cool blade resting on the dead flesh to his cold, naked eyes.
Eyes that held love, eyes that held compassion.
Eyes that held NICK.
With a sob she jerked the sword away, and the next second she was in his arms, mouth moving fiercely against his colder one.
It was jolting, it was surrender, and she felt so very alive.
--
Big Bear Residential Hospital, California, 2004
The stark whiteness of the intensive care unit was always a startling contrast to the wilderness of outside. Doctor Harper, first year resident and top three percent of his class, with HONORS, was in the middle of working his eighteenth hour when the frail, slender old woman was dropped into his lap.
Heart failure, a blocked passage and not enough air getting into the chamber, he had worked hard and feverishly, but the old lady with the gold on her fingers and the tired eyes just shook her head once she was stabilized, closed her eyes.
The young man in the suit who was with her had made the call, and Doctor Harper, sipping at his coffee, took a break, and found himself sitting with the little old lady with the sad eyes.
Rich old folk weren't exactly new here in Big Bear, he had had more than one elderly couple come in after getting involved in some sort of skiing or lake accident that they had garnered in an attempt to relieve their glory days.
But there was something different about this one. Doctor Harper had learned to read signs quite quickly, for a long time he thought he could have been a forensic expert before thinking maybe had to be more in trying to give life, than studying death, and he noticed the little things that stood out.
The hands, for instance. A rich gold bracelet with small diamonds and beautiful etched scratchings that spelled out Claribel Winters. Rich, and expensive, but the fingers were calloused and the hands were worn with work, quite a contradiction.
And the body, plump but firm, and the eyes, gentle and kind, but with a hardness that made him suspect something was off.
The next morning, after two hours of sleep in the dingy cot in the kitchen, he sipped the coffee again, and found himself checking on Claribel Winters first.
No improvement, but there was a serenity in her face, almost as if she had resigned herself to die.
Footsteps pounding outside the hallway, and Doctor Harper turned, looking up to meet a young women, who couldn't have been over twenty two, long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, hazel eyes bright and moist and dark, tight clothes over a long muscled body.
He found himself licking his lips, straightening his tie for the beautiful woman but she wasn't looking at him, her eyes instead were on the frail lady whose hand he was holding.
"Oh, God, Clari," he heard whispered, and the expensive trenchcoat was shrugged off and wrapped and laid on the chair and immediately she came forward, grabbing the sleeping women's hand and keeping it tight.
Doctor Harper felt slightly guilty for noting there was a wedding ring on the women's left hand.
"Hello," he finally said, his voice cool and professional as he grabbed his clipboard and straightened up.
"Uh… hi," she said unsteadily, taking in a breath, and giving a tight smile. "How is she?"
"And you are?"
"Chase Winters."
Oh. OH. THIS was Chase Winters, who owned that big place up on the hill and owned all those companies? He had expected someone … older at least.
His eyes flickered down to the women on the bed.
"Well… Ms. Winters… Ms. Winters here … suffered from heart failure. There was complications-"
"Will she be all right?" Chase demanded, her voice snapping.
"I believe that's up to her," he finally said. "We've done all we can but so far she has not responded to the-"
"Well maybe you're not doing it right. Fly some specialist in or do-"
"Chase, dear. You're giving me a headache. Shut up."
The woman on the bed spoke clearly. It was a frail tone, weak, but her eyes were open, and Chase's Winters' cold face changed immediately, softening as her face flooded with unshed tears, kneeling down by the bed and tightening her grip on the old woman's hand.
"God, Clari – I came as soon as I heard-"
"There was no rush, Chase. I was waiting for you."
Suddenly Doctor Harper felt he was intruding, as he leaned over, trying to force himself not to hear as he checked Ms. Winter's vital signs.
"My goodness that was… interesting."
Chase's answer was shaky at best. "Clari, you're going to be fine. I'm going to get the best doctors there is and I'm going to fly them-"
"Chase, dear, you will do no such thing. I'd rather we not drag this on."
"What?"
"I was waiting for you to say goodbye, Chase."
Doctor Harper froze, his eyes riveted on the scene, on Chase's disbelieving face and on Claribel's own weakened face of resolution.
The hazel eyes flickered up, as if suddenly noticing he was there, and she said in a quick, no room for argument tone, "Do you mind stepping out for two seconds while I talk some sense into the blockhead here?"
"Uh…of course. I'll be back in five minutes to monitor-" she glared again, and he just shut his mouth and backed away.
Stepping outside, he leaned against, the hallway, inches from the open door, sucking in his breath.
And the conversation played on.
"Claribel-"
"Chase for once you're going to shut up and listen to me. Goodness knows what Winters-…" she trailed off, and began again, her tone weaker. "I'm sorry child, for what I said before."
"You never said-"
"I said you were death and destruction to those you loved."
His brow furrowed, mouth pursing. She had said that? Why?"
"Well, maybe you were right."
"I was wrong. Winters was wrong. We've placed a burden on you, Chase, and it's not right."
"Clari if you keep going with this heart to heart I swear to God I'm going to hug you, I swear."
That seemed to be a threat, Doctor Harper noted, allowing a small smile on his face.
"Cordelia my whole life I've been raised as one of you. To disregard true life for one's higher purpose – to embrace the game and ignore emotions – that's all Winters knew. And eventually it broke him. Don't let it be the same for you, child. Embrace life, love life, even when everything around is dying and destruction seems inevitable find COMFORT in your feelings, in your emotions. It's the only touch of reality you have."
The conversation had taken a turn he couldn't quite follow, but he still stood, hearing the sounds of the sniffling, of the tears, as his hands tightened around his clipboard.
"I just wish I could see you… Cordelia – I'm sure you'll make me quite proud."
"Clari… Clari- CLARI!"
His eyes jerked open and he turned, running into the room as he saw the younger women clutching at the older one's hand, and the monitor that before had beeped, beeped, beeped safely now gave a piercing flatlined sound.
In the end, there was nothing he could do, and he gave Chase Winters a regrettable frown, clearing his throat but she only held up her hand, took in a deep breath, and nodded.
"She called me Cordelia," she finally said weakly.
--
The Immortal she was seeking had hidden in the shadows, and she stood, waiting, her sword catching glimpses of the moonlight with flashes, her location no secret to whoever was out there.
Again spurts of memories and thoughts distracted her concentration, and Cordelia mentally tried to block it out, but she kept wondering where Katherine was and what Angel was doing and if leaving Travis alone was the right thing-
In the end she was in no shape to battle any Immortal – because Cordelia was always terrified she would run into another Duncan, another Amanda with her razor sharp fan, and then she would be as good as dead-
Because in the Gathering there was no way out – in the End Game, there could be only one.
GOD – how TIRED was she of that phrase?
She heard the crack behind her too late, too unfocused to completely turn and the booted foot hit her back hard, sending her tumbling forward, the sword clattering out of reach.
Dazed, and with a bitch of a headache, she scrambled up, not daring to move for the sword when she saw the vampire pick it up, study it and grin.
"Hello, Cutie."
"Spike get the hell out of my way, you interfere with the Game you're –"
"I'm what? Dead? Already there, Cordelia." He swung the sword, looking around the empty room, trying to look interested and then finally just shrugging. "If you're worried about that little twinkle feeling don't. Bloke's gone now. Flittered away to fight another fight."
She narrowed her eyes, said nothing.
He waited, staring at her, making exaggerated swings with her sword, twirling and then stomping down hard with one foot.
"Billy Idol called. He wants his wig back."
He gave her a grin, holding the sword against his cheek. "What do you say, Cordelia, we let bygones be bygones? Ignore the past-"
"Spike you're an evil vampire."
"That aside, consider what we have in common."
She cocked an eyebrow. "Like what?"
There was a silence, before he grinned merrily. "We're both old."
"Wow. I'm astounded at your astuteness, Spike."
The grin faltered, and he shook his head. "You used to have a sense of humor."
"Forgive me, Spike but the last time we encountered each other you tried to rip my throat out."
"Bloody good for you Faith was there. How did the little vixen turn out?"
She let out a sigh, suddenly tired, too tired to engage in the battle of the wits with the vampire who seemed to enjoy it so keenly.
"Spike, give me my sword back now."
Yeah, Cordy, like he's really gonna say, "Oh sure! Here you go! Bloody sorry about that!"
Moron.
"Here's the thing, Cordelia. This little End Game thing of yours? Concerns me just a little bit. The whole idea of ONE Immortal leading the world? Bloody stupid, I say."
"You think so too, huh?" she answered wryly, but he ignored the comment, instead raising his head to the ceiling, eyeing the warehouse as one would the Vatican.
"I figure – get the right girl, choose the right demon to possess her – give her that added little strength, help her win – makes for a happy little family, no?"
"No."
"Oh, Come ON! Cordy! Always so by the book – that was never you!"
She sucked in her breath, backing away carefully as the vampire advanced, keeping the sword in his hand firm.
Of course Spike was behind this, of course he wouldn't want to just watch the end of the world without some assurance, without planting a card in the deck.
DUH.
The thoughts raced through her, her headache coming on stronger as she searched the room for anything she could use as a weapon.
This was just not a good situation in general.
She knew how to fight disarmed, but Spike had nearly taken her life once before, and chances are, he had only gotten better with the added time.
"Now, is this why you wanted Katherine?"
"Oh, no, that was Nick – I've had enough with insane brunettes. Heartbreakers, all of them." He paused, cocking his head. "How did that feel, Cordelia? Killing Dru, just like that?"
"It felt pretty damn good, Spike," she said, eyes on the sword, always on the sword.
"Hmm… I bet. Still owe you for that, love. Fully prepared to just toss that aside, to the past- you want to live through this, don't you?"
Shit. She just wasn't up to this. This wasn't her deal. Spike was Angel's deal, Angel's demon, Angel's past. Cordelia had her own damn skeletons in her closets. Dammit Angel – where the HELL are you?
"Spike I would rather die with my head chopped off, bleeding an angry trail than to spend one more minute in your Billy Idol wannabe company."
"Oh, now that's just harsh."
He lunged, and the sword flashed.
--
Simplicity in fighting was highly underrated. Angel was always a resourceful guy, willing and able to use what worked in a situation to defeat whatever opponent he faced.
On occasion, he was brutal.
The vampires were flung, beaten and staked in methodical fashion, the woman in the vision old and frail – and kidnapped.
When he finally reached her, she was covered in blood, weak and frail, but alive, and half scared.
"Hey, shhh…" He reached for her gently, but the cowering girl only shook her head and scrunched further into the corner. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly. "I'm a good guy."
"There are no good guys."
"Sure there are." His hand reached out again, and she only looked at it, sucking in huge, gasping, sobbing breaths.
He gave a needless sigh. "What's your name? Is it Anne?"
The recognition gave him some ground, and Angel smiled, thankful that after a century, he had learned to deal with this sort of thing.
"Anne, I need to help you."
The sincerity in his face counted for some thing, she had seen him dust the vampires, but she had also seen his brutality in doing so.
But the need to trust anyone apparently won over, because when carefully, he got a hold of her hand, she let herself get pulled up. Once that was done, the poor young girl gave a wretched sob, her fear so apparent. It was in her smell, so blatant and almost drugging, calling to what he used to be. But the vampire stilled the urge, as he was so used to doing, instead allowing her to press herself against his bigger body and hold on tight, weeping for the trauma she had just endured.
"Let's get you home."
She nodded, keeping her trembling hold on him, and he smiled, drawing her in, under his shoulder.
A crash from above them made her jump, startling them both, and Angel's head jerked up as a form fell from five stories up, hitting the ground with a sickening squelch.
Anne shrieked as Angel quickly let her go.
"Stay here!"
The time it took to get to the body was a blur, he wasn't sure when his heart constricted, when the urge to panic took hold of him, when the denial came about as he fell to his knees beside her.
On the ground, eyes closed, blood dripping from her mouth, pooling around her head, with a sword impaled in her abdomen, very, very dead, was Cordelia Chase.
--
