The Road Before Us

By Misty Flores - mistiec_flores@yahoo.com

Rating: R - for violence, sexual situations, and some language

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.

The Road Before Us: Chapter  Eleven

"Cordelia!"

In a split second everything that meant anything was stripped away and there was only complete, utter darkness.

There was death, so much death and the vampire could smell the blood, palms trembling as fingers drifted hesitantly toward the body, afraid to touch it, afraid to confirm what was lying in front of him.

Quickly he pressed his ear against her chest, listening desperately for a heartbeat.

There was nothing.

The blood continued to pool, invading his senses, as a wrenched sob tore from his throat and his hands closed into fists.

"DAMMIT."

Suddenly her entire body heaved inward, as she gasped for breath.

His heart gave a jolt as he yelped, scrambling back and then coming back forward just as quickly, swallowing down the lump that stuck in his throat.

"Corde. Cordy?"

She only grimaced, leather gloved hands reaching for the sword, with a whimper, pulling it out.

Hands immediately inspected her as he came forward, palm over her heart.

God, it was beating. It was beating.

"Hey Angel, you wanna get your hand off my boob?"

His eyes jolted up to hers, and they were brilliant and hazel and ALIVE, and he found himself smiling helplesslyin relief, his free hand tangling with hers.

But she only cocked an eyebrow.

"Hand still on my boob."

"OH!" Flushing, his hand flew away, moving to slide around her to help her sit up. "Sorry. You ..uh. died."

"Yeah. Happens once in a while."  She grimaced, looking down at herself, hand on her wound. "Oh, God. I'm bleeding, aren't I?"

"I think you cracked your head open."

"Oh, DAMN. I'm sticky and gross and AUGH, I LIKED this shirt."

"What the hell happened up there?" he asked her, gently inspecting her head, gratified to see the wound hadalready healed, leaving only the caked blood behind - rich with her scent.

"In a word, Spike," she said.

"Spike?"

"Yeah - kinda cornered me and told me - yeah, bigger problem- he's trying to get in on the Gathering, he's the one rushing it, he's raising some kind of demon to possess well. me. By the way, I think your D.I.D is getting away," she muttered, hand pressing against the back of her head and coming away smeared with red blood. "Oh, Eww."

"My what?"

"D.I.D.," Cordelia repeated. "Damsel In Distress. She's getting away."

Angel's eyes swiveled to the blonde who was slowly backing away. "Oh! Anne! Sorry!"

Quickly he stumbled to his feet, moving toward the shaken girl, carefully taking hold of her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

The terrified young girl was shaking visibly, trembling at the sight of Cordelia wiping the blood from her now healed body.

"She. she-"

"I'm fine!" Cordelia said, still digging in her hair, grimacing in disgust. "I'm fine!" She swung her sword at the D.I.D, and then froze the blade in midair, making Angel pause in concern.

"What's wrong?"

"This isn't my sword! Where's my sword!? This isn't my sword!"

She began to frantically look around the ground, searching anywhere for a scattered blade.

Angel watched, trying to keep his hold on his D.I- erm. Anne as soothing as possible, despite the very real panic in Cordelia's voice.

"Well where'd you put it?" he asked helpfully, turning to try to find the blade himself.

"He took it!" Cordelia exclaimed, peering at the foreign blade. "And I thought I could get my sword back-"

"By getting yourself impaled?!"

"Well, duh! Of course I did. Getting impaled is a hell of a lot better than getting your head lopped off..."

Angel paused, eyes narrowing. "You PLANNED that?"

"Dying hurts like a bitch but at least I wake up," she huffed, almost growling at the sword. "I want my sword back! That was Winters' sword! All right, WHERE THE HELL IS HE?!"

When she began to stalk to the warehouse, he finally had to let Anne go, coming forward and grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Cordelia, calm down-"

"The bastard took my sword!"

"We need to find Katherine."

The name seemed to finally give some recognition to Cordelia because she met his eyes, and her shoulders slumped, as she sighed.

"Oh. Right. But we're getting my sword back after that, right?"

He couldn't help but offer a small smile. "Yeah."

--

It was late, he was tired, and he hadn't had a good night's sleep in more than a week.

All in all, what else was new?

The darkness that surrounded the world of Los Angeles had infected him as well, infected everyone who fought for the good - like a poison, it seeped into the soul, taking with it hope, love.

With every death there was a reprise of the lost feeling everyone tried to suppress and Travis wondered, deep down, how Angel had managed to survive when he had been surrounded by death and loss.

Worry had abounded for Travis when Angel decided to reconnect with Cordelia Chase, aka Chase Winters. Foryears she had become something close to a mythology, a lingering hope for Angel that there was something that wasn't going away, wasn't dying.

After what Travis read in his research on Immortals, he became more and more certain that all Cordelia really had was an extended lease on life.

A few Get Out of Jail free cards, and then, her time would come.

He had been worried when he had just known of her, now that he knew her personally, he was worried sick.

Cordelia Chase, with her infectious smile and her tired hazel eyes, slender muscled body hidden by the trench coat, had Damsel In Distress written all over her, and Angel was a sucker for those.

Plus, the whole hottie quotient, and the hidden depths, and really, who could really resist a hot woman who dressed expensively and had a sword fetish?

And in what was coming, if this Endgame was happening, Angel would lose the last hope that he held out for.

It had been a BAD idea to get Angel involved with her, and it was an EVEN WORSE idea to fall for her.

The other girl, the Katherine girl was the one that needed to be obsessed over, in the way only Angel could do it - but Cordelia was distracting-

Hell. even Travis himself -

But no. not a good idea to even think about that, he admonished to himself, staring back down at the books and complaining loudly that Angel needed some new staff members, and soon.

The aching headache was searing through him, and he could barely look at the page without blanking out, much less try and read it.

Before him there had been many, and ever since Travis had taken on the burden he had tried to shake the nagging factor that everyone who knew Angel, everyone who knew his past, was waiting, counting his moments.

Almost a running joke, Travis, the next Seer - how long did he have?

The sounds of Caritas got louder and he growled, a side affect from living with the vampire, pushing himself to his feet, fully preparing to walk into the hotel bar and give them a piece of his mind, when a figure in the doorway stopped him.

"I need help."

He swallowed down the pain, looked in annoyance to Caritas, and turn, forcing on a smile.

"Come in."

The man did come in, the leather duster swinging behind him.

 

--

She wanted to go home, indulge herself in a long, luxurious bath, wash out the blood, change her clothes, and get her damn sword back.

 Instead, Cordelia Chase was waiting, unsure how to enter the building, unsure about anything.

Rubbing her hand against her aching head, she gave Angel a tired glance. "Angel, take the D.I.D- Anne. Take Anne home."

"I don't think it's a good idea to leave you, Cordelia," he said immediately.

"It'll be fine, I'll find Kat, we'll go home, I'll take a shower, and then I'm going to KICK SPIKE'S ASS FOR TAKING MY SWORD!"

The last words she screamed, stomping her feet in something akin to a tantrum that made Angel smile in reaction.

There was always something so eternally refreshing about how Cordelia Chase handled situations. Even one hundred years ago, she reacted to dying in exactly the same way she had reacted to Buffy's getting a bad haircut.

Oh, that had been a scary day.

Arms tightening around the blonde under his shoulder, he found himself pausing, refection and clarity at his own actions making him almost stumble in realization.

He had smiled.

In the midst of the coming darkness he had smiled at the memory of his dead wife.

There hadn't been a churn, a pang of pain and anger, but in the path before him, littered with death, there had existed a memory that was previously overshadowed, of his wife close to panic over the bad haircut, of Cordelia threatening to take the hair dresser's head, of Willow doing the best she could to make it fixable- of in panic finally dying the whole thing back to brown in an effort to make it better-

Of walking on eggshells for weeks, repeatedly telling his wife she looked good.

Memories that made him smile.

The lump in his throat didn't lesson, but he had to stare at Cordelia, with the half smile on his face, gripping the blonde and gently turning her towards the car.

"Be careful."

He received a huff, a puff, a roll of her eyes in return. "Angel I've been taking care of myself for HOW long? PLEASE don't pull the D.I.D routine with me."

He blinked. "I'm not-"

Sticking her tongue out, she waved him to silence, turning back to the building. "I'll meet you at the office."

"Are you sure-"

"I'll be FINE! In fact, tingle feeling, right now." She shuddered slightly, hand on her stomach as she reeled, shaking her head. "We'll be right behind you."

That signaled the end of the conversation, and when the door slammed shut behind her, Cordelia knew she had made her point.

A blonde. Why did they always have to be blonde?

Shaking her head, she took another look at the sword, curious at the gleaming antique saber with the longer handle and the strange way it seemed to glow in the dark.

Etchings appeared on the blade, and the weight was lighter than hers. Eastern perhaps?

She exhaled slowly, shifting the handle, testing the weight.

A good, clean, excellently made sword.

It just didn't make sense. Why would Spike - what did he want with her sword?

"What happened to you?"

She turned, found the Immortal with tousled hair in the doorway, and offered a grim smile. "I got tossed out the window."

"Oh." There was a pause. "Are you better now?"

Cordelia gave a shrug, once again looking at the blood that was quickly congealing on her clothes, and in her hair, smeared across her face. "Not saying I wouldn't mind a shower, but yeah. Are you okay?"

"Not, really."

Katherine stepped forward, her walk strong and purposefully, and head still ringing from her near- okay, DEATH experience, Cordelia didn't notice the gleam in her eye right away.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm tired."

"You're tired? I just got shishkabobed! And have you seen my hair? I mean, Medusa much? And my shirt." Cordelia trailed off as Katherine continued to advance, caught the subtle way Katherine shifted her grip on her sword, the way the face was carefully hidden in the shadows, so as not to see the eyes.

Straightening, Cordelia licked her lips, looking around at the now deserted streets, taking in an uneasy breath.

"Katherine - this is so not necessary," she began irritation leaking into her voice. "How are we going to help you if you keep trying to kill me?"

"Oh I need help all right, but you guy's are hardly qualified."

Her hand tightened around the hilt of the new sword, moving around, falling into the circular pattern, eyes on Katherine.

"I'm sensing just a little bit of bitterness here."

"I'm sensing a lot, Cordelia," Katherine said, enunciating her real name with an almost disgusted tone. "You claim to know me, to really know me, to know exactly what I'm going through but that's not stopping you, is it?"

"Kat, you have to calm down," Cordelia said, hands out, carefully motioning with her palms. "The Gathering has infected you, you have to-"

"SHUT UP! God you're such a kid." Tossing her hair over her shoulder revealed Katherine's face, and the tear streaked, angry eyes that were directed towards the younger Immortal. "You don't even see it do you?"

"See WHAT?!"

"The vampire, Chase. You and the vampire." Katherine swallowed, shaking her head. "You expect me to deny what I feel - when I KNOW Nick can feel love?"

"Nick is evi-"

"SO?! What the hell are we? We KILL Cordelia."

"We kill to live."

"And so does he."

"He doesn't have to."

"And if you can love a beast- then why the hell can't I?"

The words were tossed, edged in emotion, lingering in the air as Cordelia absorbed them, her heart beating slowly, slowly, and then quickening the pace with the jolt that came with the realization.

"You think I love him. We're not lovers, Kat."

Katherine didn't say a word, only clenched her jaw and lifted her tear streaked face to the sky, almost as if in the heavens would she find the answers that she was so desperately seeking.

"I need to hope, Chase. I need to love. I'm not saying I'm better. But now maybe I don't have to be. Good and evil. they mean nothing - the longer you  live the more the lines blur - and all you care about. is love. Life. Anything that . I'm sorry."

Her hand raised high and the sword came down lightning fast, flashing in the moonlight.

Cordelia swung, dipping into an arc, twirling and raising up to meet the blade, bracing herself for the impact.

The clang that erupted sent a broad flash of light so powerful it threw them both back.

Cordelia landed, her back pounding against the pavement, hand still gripping the sword, and found Kat no better off, bouncing off the wall and landing in a heap.

"What the hell?" she whispered, eyes jerking toward the blade in her hand.

Katherine stood, wiping the blood of the split lip from her mouth before she shook herself out of the pain and came at her again.

This time she managed to stay on her feet, but when she struck again and Cordelia whirled, and the two blades struck again, the power surging into Cordelia's arm, helping maintain her balance.

Katherine was hurled from the force of the blow back against the wall again.

"What the FUCK is wrong with your sword?"

"You think I know?!" Cordelia asked, keeping her grip tight on it.

Katherine swallowed, wiped the blood from her mouth, and then looked up into the building.

The urge to panic was so completely clear, as Cordelia shuddered at the tingling in her hand. The urge to drop it came along with the surprise but she held firm, eyes always on Katherine, who was regarding her with wary suspicion, just a little bit of fear.

Carefully, Cordelia lowered the blade, moving it behind her back. "Katherine, stop the insanity, please. Get over yourself, for two minutes and - HEY!"

Katherine backed away slowly, sliding the sword in the lapels of her jacket.

"KAT!"

But the Immortal was already running away from her, quickly enveloped by the darkness and Cordelia was too tired, to weak, and to freaked to do anything but watch her go.

She stilled the urge to run after her, kept the sword close to her sighed and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly.

She had no idea what she would do if she caught up to Katherine, with a sword that seemed warped and a mind that was blistered, anticipation rushing gloriously through her veins.

She didn't trust herself.

The Gathering was getting to her too.

"Crap."

--

Mr. Jacobs had removed his tie long before, working feverishly with an aching back and a throbbing neck.

His hand was almost unconsciously resting beside his ear, straining to hear the beep, to feel the jolt that would tell him his Immortal was all right.

His Immortal.

The waiting was the hardest part, as he leaned forward, wiping sweat from his forehead and rereading the texts about the numerous battles, the evils - the pitfalls.

So much he didn't know, so much he didn't want to know. Demons had always scared Terrance - they had no rules, no orders. Immortals, evil or good, lived by their own set of rules, but they followed them. Those who tried to abide by chaos were snuffed out, put away by their own kind for their manipulation of the Game.

But demons. witches and spells. that brought in another element and Mr. Jacobs did not even want to ponder the darkness that associated with that.

Perhaps this was why the Watchers Council - the Slayer Sect- was regarded with such. disdain and almost fear from the Watchers Immortals.

Immortal Watchers dealt with higher beings - the Slayer's Council - with the lower.

The ringing of the phone in his ear made him jump, as his hand automatically flicked his the lobe, hearing the click.

"Ms. Winters?'

"Hey, Stalker Boy." Chase sounded tired, her voice tinny from the distance. "How's it hanging?"

He found himself looking down before he caught the old slang. "Oh. Umm. Okay, I guess. How are you Ms. Winters? "

"Freaked, Freaked and even more Freaked. Listen, Terence I need you to do me a favor.  I know who's behind this - I need you to look him up."

"Yes, of course. Just tell me the name-"

"It's a vampire. Beached Blonde idiot vampire named Spike. William the Bloody - I don't know. He's got this spell and he's gonna raise some demon and it's going to possess. well me. So, I need some information about spells - anything that could be used to trigger the EndGame."

Mr. Jacobs' mouth had gone completely dry, and now that he was fairly certain she expected an answer, all he could do was stammer, "Ms. Chase. I'm not versed in. mythology and demon lore."

"Then find someone who IS. Please Terence. A lot of Immortal's lives hang in the balance and of course the world. Again. Why are we always saving the damn world? I mean - okay never mind.. Gotta go - Katherine just tried to kill me and I've got a weird sword. Get back to me. Bye."

 He opened his mouth to answer, but the phone had already closed the connection, and he found himself speaking to thin air.

"I. uh. Good Lord." Demons. He knew nothing about demons.

Demons were beneath them. They were nothing to the Immortals and yet now.

Was a vampire really and truly behind this?

Taking a breath, licking his lips, his hands began to type over the keyboard, fingers shaking slightly, before hearing the click on his phone as he connected.

"I'll like to get in touch with the Watchers Council. The Slayers' Council."

--

It was amazing how things looked so different, and so completely the same.

Los Angeles was eternally the mecca of bohemia - the fururistic movies of the past nothing like what it was.

People clung to the past, and the darkness that came with it hung over it like a crowd.

In this, the hotel did not stand apart. Old and rickety and barely standing it seemed, it bore the symbolism of it's own city well - and with the flickering light that emanated warmth, it also bore the hope.

She smiled as she walked toward it, closing her eyes and inhaling a breath of relief as she descended the stairs.

The sight that befell her as she opened the door made her freeze completely.

The inner sanctum of Angel's hotel was completely torn by the scene.

Lawyers, leaning over a body, blood everywhere.

Broken glasses on the floor.

Travis.

She couldn't move for a half second, couldn't breathe, and the gasp was what they heard first, as they jerked up to see her, and then looked back down to the body.

Her heart dropped into her stomach, hardened as it churned, everything inside of her moving with the anticipation that infected her from the Gathering, the rage and the need-

"We didn't do it!" blurted out one, doubling back.

She swallowed down hard, eyes narrowing and anger exploding from inside as she burst into the room, brandishing the sword and grabbing one lawyer by the tie, hurling him into the wall.

"Ten seconds, lawyer boy," she hissed through her teeth, not daring to look at the convulsing Travis for fear her already frazzled self control would fail her. "To tell me exactly what happened."

"We didn't do it," he repeated. "I swear, Ms. Winters! We were just. we came to give you a . summons - you've been serve-" he was cut off when Cordelia tightened her hold on his windpipe, dangerously close to choking him.

"Listen. I have blood in my hair. I'm ready to kill someone. My clothes are ruined. And you just killed a friend of mine. Do you THINK I have ANY reason NOT to hurt you, torture you and castrate you?"

"It wasn't them, Sweetie."

The voice belonged to Lorne, and Cordelia slowly turned, looking past the terrified lawyers and finding the green man tied up in the corner, green skin incredibly pale.

"What?"

"Wasn't them. It was a vampire. I would have spoken up before but I don't like them much either."

Cordelia closed her eyes from the sight of Travis, but when he gave a low moan, she finally let go, jerking back from the lawyers.

"GET. OUT."

For once they complied, and Cordelia only stepped around Travis, cutting the bonds of the host before returning back, slowly sinking to the floor.

"Travis."

His breath was shallow, lips pale and eyes glassy, but he moved, barely.

"Cordy."

She found herself smiling, even as the tears began to blur her vision, even as her trembling hands gathered his in hers, and squeezed.

"Hey."

"Wow. This hurts more than those visions."  His eyes closed, and her hands gripped tighter.

"Hey. Keep your eyes open. All you need is a little blood." Lorne immediately nodded, running back towards the bar.

"Eh. It's okay," he tried to smile, but the wheeze caught him and his entire body shook from the cough. "Wow. I'm woozy."

"Travis. Shut up. Not helping with the whole blood loss."

He took in another ragged breath, and she only smiled grimly.

Everything inside her was completely numb, as she held onto the Seer, Angel's Seer, a young man with scruffy blonde hair and broken glasses.

"For what it's worth. I know why- that dude-"

"What did he look like?" she asked immediately, thankful that once again, her eyes were crystal clear.

There were no tears. And she couldn't take the time to wonder why.

"He. blonde. British accent. Wanted to cut off Angel- the Powers."

SHIT.

She closed her eyes, felt the swell of emotion that tumbled through her and when the fingers squeezed against hers, she looked down again at the brilliantly human eyes, and found nothing but pain.

"Save him for me," he said simply.

Cordelia swallowed, and the tears came, as the blood pumped through her heart and her breathing became ragged, gently she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his pale ones, kissing the Seer gently, so gently.

At the contact, a tingle went through her, and seconds later, the fingers went limp.

"I got blood! I got blood!" Lorne almost tripped as Cordelia let the hands go, wiping at her face.

"It doesn't matter. He's gone," she said matter-of-factly.

Lorne paused, genuine sorrow on his face as he kneeled down, and gently closed the eyes of Travis.

"Sorry, kid."

A sense of awareness flowed through Cordelia, and she turned, found the figure in the doorway, eyes on the body.

"Angel."

The hooded eyes were focused on Travis as he walked forward, slowly, shoulders hunched.

Without a word he knelt beside Cordelia, studying, and with one hesitant hand, reached toward Travis' face, before pulling back.

"What happened?"

"Spike killed him. To cut you off from the Powers."

"To cut you both off," Lorne added, crossing his arms, eyes red, bloodshot, voice curiously void of any semblance of melody or tune. It was rough, raspy.

Angel pursed his lips, and his shoulders shook as his eyes closed, head falling forward against his chest, taking in a deep, moving breath that Cordelia knew he didn't need.

Every nerve was on edge as she kneeled beside the vampire, hesitant to do anything, unsure how to react.

Death.

Oh, GOD she hated death, and sometimes she wished for it more than anything in the world.

When the eyes opened, they were dark, intense, and the face was closed as he reached forward, turned Travis' chin, and inspected the wounds on his neck.

"Burn him," he said finally, voice dark and clipped. "We can't afford to take the chance."

And he stood, picked up the broken glasses and carefully placed them on his chest.

Cordelia watched as he stood, and headed toward the stairs, never once looking back.

She could barely breathe, her mouth open to receive the air as she locked eyes with Lorne.

But the Host was no better off, as he shrugged helplessly and picked up the phone.

--

Los Angeles, California, 2006

The beacon glowed bright, dark and menacing.

Angel's throat was dry as he looked at the machine, saw the way it pulsed, and pulsed.

"What does this thing do?" The voice with the Irish tint was right behind him, and he spoke without looking.

"It's light kills anything with human blood."

He turned, saw the way Doyle processed this, looking down at the fearful refugees under the deck.

"Well it's gettin' brighter, and that little doohicky... It's fully armed, isn't it?"

He didn't even stop to think as he responded, "Almost. I pull the cables, I think I can shut it off."

Doyle, his voice scratchy with fear, almost snorted. " Yeah, but how're you gonna get to it without touching the light?"

His face contorted as he turned, and let his expression say it all.

Doyle considered, watching, and immediately the half demon shook his head, locking eyes. "Angel it's suicide. No. No man, there's got to be another way."

He sucked in his breath, found his thumb caressing the cold metal on his hand.

The promise he made to Buffy.

The promise he made to all of him.

And the people, down there, frightened and scared. They would all die.

And wasn't he dead already?

He turned, offered Doyle a grim smile.  "It's all right..."

The young Irishman with the oversized leather coat had tears in his eyes, and Angel stepped forward, clasping his shoulder, dead heart suddenly feeling as it would burst.

This was the end, and it felt right, because he was saving lives. So people could live.

So he could live.

Doyle's hands tightened on his shoulders, tone tired and scratchy. "The good fight, yeah?"

Pure, unfiltered emotion flitted through him, and he nodded, as Doyle nodded back, in his eyes the acceptance that Angel often strove for.

"You never know 'til you're tested. I get that now."

The punch came out of nowhere, and Angel flew, falling, falling, landing with a jolt on the ground, blinded for a second in pain.

Dazed. dazed and alive and OH GOD - DOYLE!

"NO! DOYLE!" He scrambled to his feet, wobbly and scared as he scrambled for the ladder, pulling himself up as fast as he could.

But he was too slow, or he was too fast because Doyle jumped, landing with a jar on the beacon and Angel could only watch helplessly as the half demon Seer scrambled for the wires.

Angel stood, frozen, helpless as the light began to glow brighter, and brighter, and still Doyle worked on, pulling at the wires.

"Doyle."

And GOD it began to burn  - the stench in the air and still Doyle held on-

He stood at the edge of the platform, and he screamed, "DOYLE!"

And then the scream came - pain, agony, and the thing burnt out and Angel had to force his head away, tears streaming from his eyes as the darkness overtook him.

Doyle.

--

Doyle. The first to die.

The first to wrench through Angel's heart - the first to sacrifice his life for his champion, for the helpless. for himself.

He sat, in the dark, his body numb and his mind splintered, as he fingered the ring, closed his eyes, and tried to desperately not to remember.

The door creaked open almost hesitantly.

"What?"

"I. don't know. I just wanted to. you know. make sure."

"I wasn't suicidal?" His eyes finally opened, turning to regard Cordelia, half hidden in the shadows.

"I'm sorry, Angel."

"I know."

She waited, and when he said nothing, she only licked her lips, turning toward the door.

"Don't."

"What?"

He turned, reached over and flicked on a lamp. "Don't."

So she didn't.

She came forward, showered and wet hair neatly combed back, face devoid of any make up.

There was silence as they sat.

"We're going to get him," she said finally.

"We're going to more than get him," he answered. "He's going to know what pure pain is."

"You'd be the expert."  The words made him close his eyes, and she sucked in her breath. "Oh, God, Angel. I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"You're right." He kept his hands on the ring, turning it in the lamplight, watching as it shone. "I am."

"No. You're not."

"How many have you seen die, Cordelia? Does it hurt any less?"

She was silent beside him. Then, "Like a hole, ripped through me - always empty and always. God Angel I'm tired of it. I'm tired of waiting for happily ever after. There's not. there's no happy. There's only ever after."

"There's happiness, Cordelia." He finally looked up, eyes meeting hers, dark and brown and focused. "In the moments. In the memories."

She was silent, and finally spoke again. "Do you remember, how. Ruppy was born?"

The smile that graced his lips encouraged her, and she went on, softly. "Everything was. different. We were newlyweds and there was this LITTLE life, and it was ours. It was."

"It was innocence."

"God, I would give anything to feel that again."

"I'm okay, Cordelia," he finally said. "I've come to accept death."

"When the hell are we going to accept life?" she whispered, under her breath, so small he could barely hear her.

"Travis was smart," he began. "And he had a crush on you."

"A crush on me?" he smiled as he nodded, watching as the tips of her lips pulled up slightly.

"Thought you were a hottie."

A slight blush pervaded her and she shrugged. "I guess." But the smile faded away and she took a ragged breath. "I have to tell you Angel-"

"I don't want to hear it," he said, closing his eyes at the grave tone. "Not tonight."

"Then tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

His eyes focused on the ring, still in his hands, letting it fall back against his chest.

"It's never going to stop, is it?"

"My life is darkness, Cordelia," he answered matter-of-factly. "I have to atone-"

"For something Angelus did?"

"I am Angelus."

"You're Angel. And you're good."

"Then what makes you think you're paying for something?"

The question caught her off guard, and she only shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Drop it."

He did, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly.

"Do you remember when my soul was the biggest problem?"

"Oh yeah. Big Broody Angel - oh my soul - pure happiness- demon- typical male."

She nudged him and he chuckled, the numbness in his soul easing slightly, letting the raw pain flare and then slowly fade.

"Only to find that Willow had botched the thing and not given me a curse to begin with."

"Just easy as that, huh?" she whispered, her lips quirking at the irony as she gathered her legs under her, exhaling with a long breath. "It's funny. we thought that once we got over the whole soul curse everything would be easier."

Easier. Angel let the word mull over his mind. Was it any easier - to lose his Slayer after he had held her trembling and woke up with her in his arms, easier to hold her in his arms and know he only had borrowed time? Easier to live lifetime after lifetime, watching from shadows, always in the world but never a part of it?

"It's not easier."

"I know," Cordelia said after a moment, craning her head, turning it so her hair fell somewhat into her face, hiding her hazel orbs as they regarded him. "So what have we been doing, Angel? Since then?"

He considered, watching as her delicate fingers pushed the hair out of her face, a wisp of a moment that seemed to last an eternity with the delicate gesture.

"In a sense, learning."

"Learning what?"

Every word was enunciated, every syllable had meaning as his eyes roved over hers and he whispered, "Whatit means to live- not live in the past - not live in death - but really. truly. live."

The words hung in the air, her eyes met his and their gaze locked. One long, meaningful glance, intense warmth rushed over him as her lips opened slightly, her heart slowing to one long, tantalizing beat before skipping two more, suddenly rushing at a furious pace.

The beat filled his senses, alive - awareness.. Gentleness.

Passion had entered the equation, feeling and emotion that had previously been shared with only one other person was now open, naked in his eyes and for once, Angel did not try to bury it, not the demon, shifting under the bound soul, not the low growl that was almost imperceptive from his throat.

It took, it seemed, years for his hand to reach hers, to caress a thumb over her palm, to turn it over, and study every line, every groove. The flesh was warm, soft, rough with worn calluses that were hidden with the scent of lotion.

Her breath hitched slightly, and he knew it was then that she had somehow forgotten to breathe.

Death was swarming all around him and in this one woman there was life given so vibrantly.

In his past, in his present. in his future.

From her hand his palm slipped, now carefully caressing her thigh, spreading long fingers over it, stroking up, searing heat in her warmth that made his body shudder.

She was still, so very still, and her lack of movement finally caused him to look up, a question in his eyes that was waiting to be answered.

But the hazel brilliance was moist, her lips were trembling, and shaking fingers were gentle on his skin as she leaned forward, palming his cheek carefully, moving across the stubble, thumb pulling on his lower lip slightly as she finally moved to his neck, curling around the nape, and pulling him forward.

He kept his eyes open as their lips met, watching with obsessive precision as her eyes closed, long lashes feather light against his skin, watching as her body curled against his. But when her lips shifted under his hungrily and her body pressed tighter against his touch he found them sliding shut involuntarily, passion overcoming his senses as he kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her again.

Hesitancy of movement gave way with the increasing ardor, as she gasped for breath, breasts heaving as they pressed against his chest, hands roaming as if only by touching every part of is body would she ever truly understand what it was they were doing.

Her eyes were perfect, the gold flecks mixed with hazel darkened to an almost brown with passion, and his fingers followed the pert nose to the mouth, palms spread wide down the swan like column of her throat and further down, sliding, firmly, gently, between her cleavage and over the abdomen that was firmly taut.

But the gentleness of worshiping her body was soon lost as his hand smoothed over her backside, gripping her thigh, guiding it around the curve of his hip and pressing her own against his rock hard groin.

The sensation, the feel of her heat against him made him groan in sync with her own gasp and he trembled as his mouth sought hers again, hot and wet and open.

There was never a question of how far this would go, how dangerous this was to their friendship because it was the friendship that had mutated, pushing them to this point, as he slid cold fingers up the warm, contracting muscles of her back and rode the shirt up, resting his body between her thighs as she, equally busy, ran her hands over his now bare chest, the lapels of his shirt hanging open, falling on each side of her.

And it was Cordelia, who finally lay under him, who rocked her hips against his and gasped his name. It was Cordelia who raked her fingernails down his back and threw her head back with reckless abandon. Cordelia who bit her lip in an aching attempt to smother her sounds, cradling her palm gently against his cheek as he smoothed his hand over one pert nipple.

And it was her eyes he was lost in as he was swallowed by her warmth, the groan ripped from his throat as she tightened around him, her gasp at the invasion and her low, almost panther like purr as he began to move.

And when he exploded, he was clinging to her, mouth moving over her neck and her face and any piece of her flesh he could reach, and the identical rings that hung on identical chains tangled when his chest pressed against hers, but it was okay.

And when it was over, as her tired, spent body rested on top of his and his hands roamed almost in wonder over the naked skin, he noticed the chains and the rings, but only stared, and then closed his eyes, pressing his lips against her sweaty forehead.

Somehow, he knew.

It was much more than okay.

--