"Where's Angel?" Wesley rushed into the Hyperion, looking around at the empty desks that were cloaked in darkness. The curtains were pulled open to let in the cool glow of the full moon that hung low in the sky, its chill illumination sliding across the glossy tiles and creeping toward the sofa.
From the far end of the room, Cordelia gingerly looked up from the paperwork she'd been filling out ever since her arrival that morning, the small lamp next to her cast a pool of milky light across her drawn features. "Hello to you too, Wes. I'm just fine, thanks for asking, even though I've been here since ten o'clock this morning filling in forms you said you'd help with and downing painkillers like they were candy." The rushed words were testament to both her irritation and her discomfort.
"Was there another vision?" Concern for the young woman cut through his quest to locate his elusive coworker… employee… undead savior of Los Angeles' millions of human and demon citizens alike…
"I'll say. Bayer and Aleve have become my best buds." She paused a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, "Angel and Gunn are on it though. They should be back soon." She tried a small smile but it resembled more of a grimace in the low light.
"Where did they go?"
Cordelia snorted and twisted the top off a bottle of aspirin, scattering its contents across the tabletop before scooping up several of the small tablets and popping then into her mouth. Her bottle of water followed soon there after, the cold liquid washing away the bitter taste of the medication her throbbing head craved. She often wondered just how much good Doyle's painkiller of choice would do her, it couldn't be any more useless that the pills she bought at the corner drug store, and it might be cheaper.
"Cordelia?" Wesley's concern grew as he watched the indescribable emotions wash over her features.
"Monrovia," she muttered, trying to concentrate on the forms she had been struggling to fill out all day.
Taking the chair next to her, he placed a hand on hers, noticing for the first time the trembles that shook her body.
"Monrovia, they went to Monrovia. There was this… this thing… going after some workers at the sewage treatment plant there. All claws and hair and, well, you know, demony…" She stared down toward her hand and Wesley's, her eyes unfocused and unseeing. "What is it with demons and sewage anyway? There's no way they got there in time. Why do the PTB send me messages that don't do any good?"
Wesley sighed deeply, choosing to answer the last question she had voiced since he often found himself wondering the same thing himself. "I only wish I knew. Perhaps you should try to lie down?" he suggested.
"Remember back when I would 'throw up in my head' after a vision?" At Wesley's nod, she continued, "let's just say it's not confined to my head any more."
"Then perhaps sitting is a better option."
"I think Angel's carpet would agree with ya' on that call." She glanced at Wesley's face as he watched her closely. "I'll be fine. As soon as they get the big bad nasty, it'll go away."
Wesley had looked away before Cordelia whispered her last thought, "I hope."
An hour later, Wesley was still seated at the desk, having taken over Cordelia's paperwork task. In the seat next to him, Cordelia was slumped forward, her right cheek pressed against the cool surface of the tabletop and her hair spilling across her pained features. She had refused to be ushered off to one of the guest rooms, she wouldn't even use Angel's own room, a common enough resting place for her when the visions became too much and she needed total darkness. Finishing the last of the forms, Wesley glanced back to his slumbering companion.
He was struck by the changes that had occurred in the girl in the time he had known her. She had changed so much, been forced to do so under the heavy weight of responsibility brought on by the visions. He often found himself wondering what had become of the narcissistic girl who had fled Sunnydale for a glamorous life in Los Angeles, or worse yet, he wondered how much better off she could have been had she never crossed paths with Angel again. If only she had never had the visions given to her, she might have stood a better chance of normalcy.
When the hotel door swung open noisily, he was both startled and angered. Cordelia had only just fallen to sleep and Angel and Gunn were stomping into the lobby, making enough noise to wake the truly dead and throwing their weapons down in a clattering pile on the desk with little heed to the noise or trail of blood and muck they were creating.
"Man o' man, English! You sure can pick the days to turn up missin' right at slice and dice time."
"Shh!" Quickly rising from his chair, Wesley crossed the foyer and motioned for the two men to lower their voices.
"How is she?" Angel's voice was tight with worry as he glanced across the room at the girl asleep at the table.
"Sleeping… finally. Any lose ends with the Monrovia problem?"
"No, we got 'em, man, all five of 'em. What's the sitch with Cordy? I mean, the big bad is in bits and pieces, shouldn't she be feeling better now?" Gunn sat down heavily in a chair, rubbing his face with his hands.
"She cleaned out the refrigerator… and mopped the floor…" Angel's voice carried softly from the kitchen where he had ended up in a search for something to ease Cordelia's discomfort. She might be sleeping at the moment, but if he'd learned anything in the time he'd worked with her in Los Angeles, it was that she never stayed asleep for long once he got back from a job. He had at one time believed that he woke her up by being too loud, but she'd quickly allayed his concern saying that she felt better knowing when he came back, all safe and more or less sound and in one piece.
"It was… ucky. There were green… things."
Making a hasty retreat from the kitchen, Angel appeared at her side, the back of his hand pressed against her flushed cheek and his eyes searching her own. "How do you feel?"
"In need of a long hot shower and a week in bed, but I'll settle for a plate of eggs." A sleepy smile lit her expression as she struggled to keep her eyes open.
"Okay, you go lay down and I'll wake you when it's ready."
"Uh uh. Oh no you don't. The last time you said that I woke up the next morning and all the food was gone." She raised one hand to push her hair back from her face and turned her gaze fully on Angel. "Did you and Gunn…"
"They're gone."
"What about, you know…"
He looked down briefly before meeting her eyes again, a simple shake of his head her only answer.
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
~~~
The young Mr. Bruin glanced up from his notes. "You mean to tell me that the visions this Cordelia would have were sometimes too late to help the human victims?"
Nodding her head almost imperceptibly, the elderly lady sighed. "Yes, sometimes. More often than not, Angel would arrive just in the nick of time to rescue the people who were in danger, but there were times when the distance was just too great and the warning was too late."
"That must have been a difficult burden to carry for such a young woman."
"It was. Thankfully she had her friends to lean on when the weight became too much, but it was difficult nonetheless." She stopped her reply at the silent opening of the door. "Ah, Mary, my tea. Thank you, dear. No, no," she chided with a smile and a wave of her hand. "Mr. Bruin can pour out for me, you go ahead and take your leave. I know you're anxious to make the evening shuttle."
Mary smiled and abandoned the tea tray to the bedside table. "Yes, Ma'am. Janice is in the kitchen if you need anything at all. I'll see you in the morning."
"Of course, dear. Have a good night."
Mr. Bruin reached out and lifted the cozy from the teapot, carefully pouring the tea into the pair of delicate china cups. "Milk or sugar?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at his informant.
"No, thank you. Now where were we… Ah, yes. Angel's concern and attitude toward his seer, and Wesley's disturbing news…"
~~~~
to be continued once I drive from Omaha to San Francisco…
