Title: Hungry Eyes
Author: Misty Flores
Email: mistyjox@hotmail.com
Teaser: When Angel Investigations investigate a murder at a local strip joint, one of the crew gets a little more undercover than they bargained for.
--

Chapter Four

"Last one," Gunn muttered, sliding the truck to the curb and yanking the stick to the right, setting it into park.

Fred tossed him a distracted smile as she confirmed the address, breathing out slowly and leaning her head back against the seat.

"Tired?" he asked, watching her for a second.

"A little," she remarked.

"Yeah, it was kind of a late night last night wasn't it?"

She gave him a shy, gentle smile, and Gunn grinned back, eyes locking with hers for a second before taking in a 'work first' breath, opening the door and hopping down, moving around the side and opening the door for her as well.

He held her hand a little longer than what was absolutely necessary, and when she didn't complain, he gave her a grin, and kept it there, squeezing her smaller palm and then moving up the steps to the small, modest, but nice house in the modest, but nice neighborhood.

"A stripper lives here?"

Fred gave a short chuckle, shaking her head. "Strippers are people too, Gunn."

"And I ain't arguing that. But it does seem kinda… decent for a man who makes his money by shaking his bootie, is all."

"Women are big tippers."

"Don't even wanna ask how you know that."

Fred shook her head, ignoring the look he gave her as they maintained the happy, awkward silence, knocking on the door.

There was no answer.

"Uh… Gunn?"

"Yeap?"

Fred crossed her arms, leaning into the shadow of the porch, giving her semi-friend-date-from-last-night a quizzical look. "Why are we knockin'? I mean if they were here they wouldn't be missing, would they?"

The blank stare he gave her seemed almost comical, and she suppressed a smirk when he sighed, scratching as his hairless head.

"Right, okay." He looked around the porch, checking around the quiet neighborhood, and finally grabbed a potted plant from the steps. "Step back."

"What are you doing?!"

"I'm gonna break in the door!"

"Gunn," Fred looked down, caught a glint of a flash, and then carefully picked up the small key, waving it.

Gunn paused, and then sighed as Fred fitted it into the lock, turning the knob and letting herself in.

"You know, a lot of guys would be intimidated by a girl like you," he grumbled, shoulders slumping as he followed her in.

"You think?" she whirled, looking almost worried, but the glint in the black man's eyes made her only narrow her own orbs, blushing as she closed the door behind him.

Once inside, Gunn was suddenly all business, eyes sweeping over the house, hands in his pockets, careful at first not to touch a thing.

"So refresh my memory," he began. "What do we know about this one?"

"Umm…" Fred looked down at her file, trailing her index finger down to his spot, and began reading. "Jessie Matthews. Age twenty-six. He was employed at The Dancehall for six months before his disappearance."

"Mmhmm…" Gunn moved to a small table, fingers moving to a stack of pictures still in the Kodak sleeve.

"Disapeared roughly two weeks ago." Her eyes looked thoughtful as she looked at Gunn. "He was the last before Jennifer."

"Hmm… Take a look at this." She came forward, taking the picture Gunn held out to her.

Her eyes grew wide, shooting to Gunn as he nodded grimly.

"So he and Jennifer were…"

"Yeah."

"Oh." She continued to study the picture, turning it over and finding something on the dresser also catching her eye. "Look."

This time, a much less erotic Jennifer snuggled with Jessie, both smiling happily for the camera.

"Oh."

Gunn's face was somber as he fingered the frame, eyes darker. "He cared about her."

"Looks like it."

Looking into the picture, into the smiling face of their friend, made something well up into Fred's throat. The warmth in the picture seemed intrusive somehow, their seeing it a betrayal to something beautiful and sacred that was no longer-

Jennifer was dead.

Jessie was missing.

In this moment in time, how could either of them have known that?

A large, calloused, masculine hand slipped into hers, and Fred leaned thankfully, hands at first hesitant, and then welcoming as his arm slipped around her waist, drawing her closer into his large, muscled frame.

Fred closed her eyes, shuddering against Gunn, when he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Come on," he said, after she had regained her composure. "We'll do this sweep really quickly and get out of here."

"Good idea." The shyness had returned, but he didn't seem to mind it, skimming the side of her face with a gentle thumb as he offered her his own wry grin, before moving off, presumably to check the answering machine.

Fred sank down onto the sofa, rifling through the scattered magazines and notes on the coffee table.

"Weird," she muttered.

"What?" she heard him call out.

She shrugged, distracted, her thoughts tumbling out of her mouth before she could quite take the time to put them in order.

"It's like a big game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey. We've got these blindfolds and we've got this target but we just keep pokin' with the pins cause we don't know where the tail is. We're getting' somewhere but how do we- we don't know where we're getting'."

"Oh." Gunn reappeared beside her, his expression a trifle hesitant as he sank down on the couch next to her, hands on his knees. "Well, Fred. I'm not sure where we're getting either, but I like it."

Startled, she jerked her head and caught the wispy, gentle expression on his face.

The sunny expression was lost on her until she realized what he meant.

"I meant the case."

There was a moment his face was completely unreadable, before a dark blush crept over his features, and he looked away, shuffling in that wonderful Gunn way that was beginning to make her a little more than squeamish.

"Right. Me too. 'Cause umm… I like that we're getting somewhere, you know, and umm… the not knowing is kinda cool cause-"

Fred startled even herself when she leaned forward compulsively, silencing Gunn's stammering with a surprisingly well placed kiss on his mouth.

Awkward at first, she had no time to feel embarrassed for her forward action, because Gunn, with his ever quick reflexes, immediately leaned into the caress, taking over, tilting her head to the side with a hand on her chin, caressing her lips gently with his own.

When they parted, her eyes were shining, and Gunn looked slightly dazed, but at the very least, he looked happy.

--

Warm hands sneaked onto his skin, skimming into his pants, and Angel fought the urge to yelp, instead turning and offering the woman with the graying streaks in her hair that was badly covered up by hair dye a smile and a wink, stumbling back as quickly as he could to toss the tray on the bar, getting his ass pinched three more times in the process.

"Two martinis and a strawberry daiquiri," he growled to the bartender, pulling at the bowtie, thankful when the lights went down and Rolando showed up onstage in his Zorro costume.

Immediately, the screeching pounded into Angel's sensitive vampire ears, and he winced, moving away from the bar and into the darkness of the backstage hallway, sighing with relief when the noise was considerably lessened.

Leaning against the wall, he allowed a small moment of solitude, before grimacing as he looked down at him.

"Face it," he remarked to no on in particular. "This is an all time low."

He rubbed at his face with his hands, moving into the back and found it surprisingly bare.

Checking the time on the clock on the wall, Angel paused, studying the room, and looking toward Rebecca's office door.

Rebecca's open office door.

Taking in a breath, Angel began to move quickly, hand on the door knob, pushing the little it was open slightly until he was able to peer into the room.

Only one side of the office was visible, with a long row of videotapes.

Eyes narrowing, he peered into them, until movement from the other side of the room made him jerk backwards, closing the door and turning just as Brian walked through the doorway.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Brian snapped, looking irritated as he came forward, folding his bulky arms, and staring Angel in the eye.

Angel cocked an eyebrow, feeling in no mood to play the blumbering fool as he straightened to his full height, and snapped back, "My butt was bruised. I was taking a breather."

"You had your break."

"So I took another one."

Brian's eyes narrowed, and there was a glint before he responded, "Get back to work. Rachel and her little group are asking about you."

"What the hell is so special about those Red Roses anyway?"

"The only thing you need to know is you do whatever they want," Brian said, looking down at his clipboard. "They pay damn good money to get the goods, and we pay you damn well to make sure you deliver. As far as you're concerned those bitches are God. You'll see what I mean at the party. They tell you about it?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. You'll be popular, they haven't had you yet."

The flippant remark made Angel's eyes narrow in disgust, but he swallowed it down, only jerking a nod in Brian's direction and heading back toward the bar, casting another look toward the closed office door with the wall of unmarked videotapes.

--

The door of Caritas creaked as it opened, and ever observant, Wesley noted that it had never been allowed to that point of rust.

Walking through, the bar was still in shambles, crunches of glass beneath his feet making the sanctuary seem much less than that, and a warzone instead.

The green demon who hosted the bar was standing in the middle of the deserted floor, a broom in one hand, wearing a face that was less than welcoming.

"Well, it's Mr. Watchful and Sensitive," Lorne muttered, turning back to his activities, stuffing another broken glass into a plastic bag.

"Bitter as ever, I see. Would you like some help?" Wesley said, reaching for another broom and running it through the debris.

"Don't bother. I've got a clean up crew coming tomorrow." Lorne shrugged, sighing as he took another look at the deserted Caritas. "Not that this place will ever be the same."

Wesley cast the place a grim gaze. He couldn't argue with that. The sanctuary had been permeated, broken. The veil of safety had been lifted.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

"I know why you're here, and trust me, nothing doing. I'm not reading anyone right now. Just hand the closed sign around my neck and I'm done," Lorne snapped, turning back to his duties.

"We can pay for the damages," Wesley said.

"We? Please, Wesley. Don't blame yourself for something that wasn't your fault. That little compatriot of yours, Mr. Charles Gunn? Him I would like to have a word with, not you."

Wesley grimaced, but said nothing.

Lorne sighed, kneeling down, inspecting a broken martini glass. "My favorite one."

"I'm sorry, Lorne."

"Again- stop blaming yourself for things you didn't do? What do you want me to sound like, a record?" Lorne asked, eyes narrowing as he turned.

Wesley was quiet, eyes turning toward the bar. "Would you like some tea?"

"I'm not getting rid of you any time soon, am I?" Lorne asked.

Wesley shook his head, moving through the rubbage and going behind the bar, starting up the small portable stove Lorne had set up temporarily.

Lorne watched him, curious at first.

"How's that little Fred, Wesley?"

The British Ex-Watcher froze, before slowly returning to his task of putting the kettle on the small stove. "Doing quite well."

"I see. Found a bit of romance, has she?"

There was a forced, grim smile on Wesley's face, a false note of cheeriness. "Yes, as a matter of fact. With… Gunn."

"Ah." Lorne moved toward the bar, leaning on the cracked wood as he studied Wesley. "Damn thing I hate about aura's like yours," he remarked. "They're like those little crickets. You know the crickets? Damn things get into the wood and you can't for the life of you find the thing. It's not that loud but it's incessant, chirping it's way, until you're listening for it, driving you mad because of one little cricket that you can never find. But it's in there. Chirping away."

"You know for once I wish you'd give it to me straight without all these incessant riddles," Wesley snapped, turning around palms flat on the counter.

Lorne took a glass, taking a sip, eyes leveled on Wesley's as he answered, "Sorry, but that's not how it works. Auras are complicated things. All spectrum of colors. Oh sure you have your grays, and your blacks and your whites but it's those damn colors that will get you. Those colors inside of you that you can never quite figure out."

Wesley only stared, a stony expression on his face.

Lorne regarded that, and sighed. "Fred was never meant to be yours, Wesley," he said finally, putting down the glass. "As much as you like the girl, the truth is? Gunn needs her more than you do. He's going to be tested, and compared to this little incident," he added angrily, waving his hand over the destroyed Caritas area, "he's going to need all the grounding force he can get."

"Fred is Gunn's stability?" Wesley repeated.

Lorne looked bitter, but he nodded.

"Hmm."

"Hard to swallow?"

"I just… I always assumed Gunn would be the stability for Fred."

"Either way, they've got a long hard road ahead of them. It's murky, but-"

"I know I'm meant to be alone, Lorne," Wesley said, eyes dark and intense as he stared into Lorne's face almost beseechingly. "But-"

"No one is MEANT to be alone, Wesley." Lorne looked tired, sighing as he stared into his coffee cup, twirling the murky liquid about. "Hell, even soul-ridden vampires get SEERS- the trouble with you Wesley is you can't be with anyone because you don't know yourself. You've repressed a part of you because you're afraid of it."

"The evil-"

"Are you stupid?" Lorne snapped, shutting Wesley up with an almost growl that was out of place on the bitter demon. "The past, Wesley. Face it. That's the key to your own personal crisis."

Wesley frowned, eyes narrowing as Lorne ducked his head back into his coffee cup.

"And yours?"

"Don't mind me, Wesley," Lorne said, muttering into his cup. "I'm on my own beige arc. I'll still be here when push comes to shove."

"Because?"

"I have no choice," Lorne said, raising his eyebrow. "Can't ignore it- anymore than you can."

Wesley nodded, pouring the tea, making a mental note to talk to Gunn about Lorne.

Apologies and perhaps a bit of groveling were in order.

He shuddered slightly.

Anything but think of his own past.

Of his own failure.

--

The exhaustion seeped through his dead bones as he walked into the lobby, the rising sun on his heels.

Angel paused in the quiet lobby of the Hyperion, eyes roving around the darkened lobby, noting it seemed empty.

Fred, most likely asleep. Gunn and Wesley in their respective apartments.

But the light was on in the basement, and curious, Angel moved his tired feet forward, discarding memories of lecherous women and happy woman with smiles of brightness and hope and fantasy from his mind as the music became audible now.

Opening the door, he walked down the stairs, finding the sight that befell both heartwarming and disconcerting.

Cordelia Chase, utterly unaware of his presence, continued to her dance movements to the music chosen for his piece, body sleek and graceful, and she dipped and twirled, utter lost in her own sense of rhythm and fantasy.

He paused, hand on the rail, rapt in the attention he was giving his Seer, curious, wondering exactly what was going on in her mind, who she was picturing, who she was dancing for.

The dance continued, her body sweaty, her warmth exhuming from her body, her scent alive and so very, very human.

These were the moments when Angel never questioned the reality of his situation with Cordelia, what it was about her that no one else saw, that struck him and had nearly avoided him until he had forced her out and truly began to see her.

It was strength, it was gentleness. It was tenderness. It was beauty hidden in thorns.

When her eyes opened, he jumped in sync with her startled shriek, dreamy expression withering to one of apologetic regret as he stumbled back up the stairs.

"Oh, sorry- I didn't mean- the music and the door and-"

"Angel!" He paused, looking to her uncertainly, but she only took a breath, grabbing her water bottle and her towel and motioning him down the stairs. "It's okay, I was waiting for you."

"Oh." Coming down the stairs, he paused, eyes roving around the room, looking at her curiously.

"How was work? Learn anything interesting?"

He stood still, hands in his pockets as she moved about the room, rifling through a set of CD's.

His mind filtered through the events and he immediately began to speak, all business. "The Red Roses."

"Hmm?"

"The Red Roses- they're a group- Rebecca's favorite customers. They hold a party for them. Some sort of orgy or something. Exclusive group. I have to go."

She was quiet, hazel eyes meeting his. They stayed like that, and he was still, letting her mind process the information, not quite sure what to expect.

"You're basic high priced orgy?" she flatly asked.

He gave a hesitant nod, and waited for the outburst.

None came. Instead Cordelia only shrugged methodically, and answered, "Well I guess I'll just have to become a Red Rose. Come here."

"Cordelia it might be a little harder than-"

"No it won't, not for me. I'll take care of it tomorrow. Come here."

She came forward, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the center of the room, reaching around him and pulling off the heavy leather jacket, tossing it over the railing before moving back to the CD player, opening one jewel case, talking all the while with her back to him.

"I was trying to figure out what was making you so stiff, you know? I mean- okay, not that stiff," she threw over the shoulder, when he shifted uncomfortably. Blithely, he wondered if they were even going to mention that, but she only added, "I'm female, you're male, we were making with the sexy dancing, it was going to happen one way or another, and that's the end of that."

"Right."

"Right. I'm talking about body wise," she said, turning, leaning against the table, crossing her arms. "You know, wondering why some people have the movement, why you… Angel you're comfortable with your body, right?"

He gave her a blank stare.

"After being Angelus for so many years you have to be. And you're Mr. Warrior Guy who knows all these nifty sword things so of course you know how to manipulate your body." She came forward, her hands now on his forearms, looking up at him. "Right?"

Still not quite sure where this was going, Angel once again nodded.

The vampire had learned from experience that Cordelia-logic required a bit of patience, if one was to get anywhere with it.

Thankfully, once she got there, there were occasionally startling bits of clarity that both astounded and befuddled him.

All part of the fascinating puzzle that was his Cordelia Chase.

"Well I know what's stopping you. You've repressed that part of yourself, and that I helped with all the … eunuchy comments – and I'm not saying go and get laid, but-"

"You want me to let that out?" Angel immediately asked, worry creasing his brow. "Cordelia-"

"Angel," she shook her head slightly. "I mean the part when you enjoy being that … sexual. The part where you… You look good, and you know you do and, you know that other people … WANT_" she trailed off, frustrated, and then came back to him. "Angel, do you know why I'm so comfortable with you?"

"I keep you safe."

"No! I mean yes, but- the way you look at me sometimes." She offered an almost nervous smile as his hands skimmed up hers, tangling their fingers unconsciously as his dark, intense eyes focused completely on her face. "You look at me like… there's no one else, ever. And anything I say or do at that moment… it's okay. I can… cross my legs and in that movement I KNOW you react. I feel…"

"Cordelia." His face was gentle, but his smile was almost mischievous, as his fingers traced up her long neck, smoothing over her jawbone, silken smooth under his fingertips. "There IS no one else then."

It was quiet, as both eyes focused, gazed, feasted on the other's face.

"Do I… make you feel the same way?"

The voice was nervous, but his husky, "Yes" was all she needed for her smile to return to her face.

Lines were drawn, blurred, and once again the pair managed to work through something without ever saying a word.

Angel knew eventually they would have to talk about it, to discuss what it was that was happening between them, but he also knew that the moment words were spoken, reality would pervade with it.

The reality of a soul with a curse.

The reality of a mortal laden with visions her young body could not handle.

The reality of a future together – and a future apart.

No, there would be no discussion now.

Her fingers squeezed in his, and she whispered, hazel eyes shining brilliant, "Then when you dance, dance for me, Angel. Not any one else. When you're on the stage, when you're in this room, know that I'm watching, and nothing, you could do, could not be beautiful, and not be gorgeous, and not fill me with…"

One hand untangled from hers to run through the light blonde highlighted strands. The smile that quirked across the vampire's lips ran of mischief and hidden joy, but it was the love within it that made her breathless, as he lifted one palm and pressed his lips against it, and moved forward, pushing her back, step by step, until she was seated in a chair.

His hands left hers, but his eyes never moved from her own, as he turned the knob up, until the music was loud and sensual and pulsing.

In her gaze he basked as his body began to move, the sexuality in the room impermeable, as the buttons were removed slowly, tantalizingly slow, for Cordelia's benefit.

There was no one else in the room, but only the hazel eyes that feasted on him hungrily, blatant need, unconsummated lust, and undeniable love in his Seer's orbs as the shirt was shrugged off, as he continued to move.

The demon within rejoiced in what little it was given, the sinfulness of the erotic dance, drinking in what the soul allowed with indulgence, and the movements continued, hands at the belt, eyes dark and dangerous and glittering.

A leather belt was dropped on the floor, hands were now at his zipper, and he heard her quick intake of breath, the heavy breathing and her choked breath.

"Stop."

He froze, self confidence fading to be replaced with insecurity, the unzipped pants suddenly looking foolish, but Cordelia only rushed forward, palms sliding up his sweaty chest to cradle his face, and her body was warm and flushed and so very vibrant and alive.

Arousal colored her cheeks and made her eyes glitter as she gasped, "You can't finish it here," she whispered, eyes moving around the basement where there was only then and no one else to stop-

Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with his zipper, carefully pulling up and shakily rebuttoning.

Her eyes looked up and he swallowed, knowing she could feel his own hardening shaft against her belly, but she still buried herself in his arms, taking in a shuddering breath and holding him close.

He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the crown of her hair, hands gently smoothing down her back.

She gave a short, grim chuckle.

He managed a smile of his own. "What?"

"You better damn well do a much worse job of that when you do it for real, Angel," she said shakily, "Or I'll kick the ass of every one of those women and-"

"You think I got it down?"

Her grin was morose and just a trifle bit proud, albeit a little shaky.

"I'd say so."

The laughter that coursed through her was infectious, and the chuckle that rumbled through Angel's was no less shaky, but it was almost peaceful, despite the repercussions of the dance they had been playing finally coming to a somewhat awkward head.

No discussion now, no reality now.

No sex, and no kissing.

Just holding, almost as if this was something they were allowed to do everyday and all day.

Almost. But it was the almost that counted.