"Surely if her life were so endangered by these visions, she would have found a way to remove the curse, or at the very least been honest with Angel about their effects."  Mr. Bruin insisted, leaning forward to catch another glimpse of the framed photograph.

"That just goes to show how little you understand about her yet, about any of them.  Cordelia was, as I've already noted, a vain girl, often petty and shortsighted, but what she wasn't was a complainer, not really.  She had a tendency to carry on about Angel's sullen moods and the dark and dreary interior of the hotel, but when it came down to it, she preferred to suffer through the indignity of her uncontrollable pain in silence.  And the curse, as you call it, gave her a reason to go on even when her life seemed hopeless, it was her permanent tie to Angel, with it she was never alone.  At least she was rarely alone."

Retrieving her teacup, the aged lady frowned for a moment.  "No, Cordelia would never have asked for the visions to be taken from her, the others on the other hand never stopped searching for a way to rid her of them.  They feared for her health and safety every bit as much as they worried for Angel's pivotal role in the end of days.  That concern was the very reason she never revealed to any of them how severe the side effects had become, they were already so very concerned, she didn't want to add to their worry.  But we're getting sidetracked.  Your story is about Angel, not Cordelia."

Mr Bruin glanced up again from his notes.  "No, no, please continue.  Anyone who worked with him is of just as much interest to my research as Angel himself.  I must wonder though what kind of people would willingly work day in and day out with someone who had once been known as the Scourge of Europe.  Angel had quite a bloody past behind him."

"Yes he did, bloodier even than Spike's," a brittle laugh broke off her comment.  "A bloodier past than Spike's indeed, and yet both of them, regardless of all that spilt blood and violent death, became much more than anyone could have ever imagined.  Angel because of his Gypsy curse and the soul it thrust on him, and Spike because of the Initiative and the microchip they planted in his brain.  Neither one of them wanted the future they found, but both of them made up their minds to accept them, more or less."

"Spike?  Was he another member of Angel Investigations?"

The elderly lady's face crinkled into a broad smile.  "Spike?  A part of the team?  Oh goodness, no."  she chuckled at the mere thought of such an arrangement.  "Angel was Spike's sire but their relationship had soured by the time Angel came to LA.  After Spike was given the chip that prevented him from injuring humans, he turned over a new leaf and started helping the vampire slayer and her crew of assistants.  He even fell in love with her, miraculously enough.  The last I heard of him, Spike was still trying to find a doctor who could remove the chip, but that was a good twenty years ago."

"And his name was Spike?"  Wanting to be sure of his accuracy, Mr Bruin's pen hovered over the notebook in anticipation of her reply.

"Spike, yes, as in railroad spike, or so I've been told.  He was also known as William the Bloody.  At the time of Angel Investigations he had taken to bleaching his hair peroxide blonde and smoking like a chimney.  He too was very interesting, in his own way of course."

"But Angel had very little to do with Spike once he'd come to Los Angeles, they were obviously on extremely different paths by that time and Angel's road to redemption was a difficult enough path to travel without the influence of his vicious childe.  Not to mention the fact that Angel had created his own family of sorts and felt that he needed to remain on constant guard to keep them safe from harm.  It didn't always work out well, and he often made mistakes, but he tried nonetheless."

~~~

 "Watch her head, Angel!"

Rushing through the foyer to his room, Angel ignored the shouted warning, already cradling Cordelia's head against his shoulder with his hand to protect it from the hard wooden doorjamb.  Once in his bedroom, he discovered that his arms had developed a mind all their own and didn't want to relinquish their hold on the unconscious woman.

"It would be easier, Angel…" Wesley hesitantly began.

"I know, Wes, I just…"  He tried again to put her down on the bed, this time managing to surrender his claim on her to the rumpled sheets of his bed.  "There!" he stated, an air of triumph shading his tone as he took a small step back from the bed and its pale occupant.

Wesley hid a small smile at the man's actions, focusing his attention on the young woman.  Taking her wrist in his hand, he remained silent, intently watching the second hand on his wristwatch.  "Her heart rate is quite fast, and her color isn't improving."  He turned his attention to the nervous man standing next to the bed

"That's from the fever, right?"  Anxious with concern for Cordelia, Angel settled down onto the opposite side of the bed, holding her hand in his and stroking the back of it absently, unconsciously needing to reassure himself of her presence there.

Leaning back, Wes wearily looked up at Angel and shrugged his shoulders in uncertainty.  "I suppose it could be, but there could be other reasons at work here.  We don't know if she's in any pain or not and pain can also increase the pulse, as can many other factors.  The truth is that there's nothing any of us can do for her.  She needs to be taken to the hospital."

"And risk being locked up in the neuro ward when a vision his her.  Hmm, bet those med students will love that.  Pain and unknown electrical surges through her brain…  How long you think it'll take 'em to cut 'er open to see what's goin' on inside?"

Angel's eyes widened at the implications of Gunn's comment.  Exploratory surgery wasn't the answer to Cordelia's current problem; he wouldn't let anyone lay a hand on her if that was what the result would be.  He continued to stroke her hand, breathing in the scent of her body as he fought to decide on a course of action.  The almost tangible sweet and spicy scent filled his thoughts, clouding all reason.  "We can't do that.  When she had the mark and was given the unending visions they couldn't help her.  They won't be able to help her now."

Wesley held up a hand.  "Now wait just a moment.  You're right that the doctor's couldn't help her when the Vocah demon unleashed that continuous onslaught of visions on her, but we don't know that this is demonic in nature and not simply a human physiological reaction to some kind of an infection."

"Okay, Wes, so what was she doin' that would make her pass out cold like this?"  Gunn remained standing in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the wall and carefully watching the woman who had in one second drawn their undivided and unwavering attention.

"She had been talking to Angel…"

The vampire tore his eyes away from his seer and came face to face with suspicion, intrigue, and silent accusation.  "What?  I didn't do anything.  A I did was make her a plate of eggs and ask how she felt."  He shook his head as he was flooded with guilt.  "She said she was fine, but I knew she was lying.  I knew something was wrong even if she wanted to pretend it wasn't.  She was acting strange, different, like she was… I don't know.  Didn't you sense it?"

Wesley shook his head.  "I knew she was in a great deal of pain earlier this evening but I'm afraid that once you and Gunn returned, I turned my attention away from her.  I never even thought to ask her if her head was feeling better," he lamented, mentally kicking himself for the unintended slight.

"Don't sweat it, man.  You know you'll catch hell from her if she hears that you're concerned about not pesterin' her more than you already do.  It's my fault too if that's the reason.  I know how tired she gets when we all hang on her and ask how she is so I just left her alone."

"No, it's my fault," Angel sighed.

"How do you figure that?"  All eyes turned to gaze down at the dull brown eyes that stared straight up at Angel.  "How is this your fault too?"  Her voice was rough and strained but she refused to remain silent in the face of so much self-deprecation.  "I do have a say in my own life, you know."

"Yeah, but if you didn't have the visions…"

Pushing herself up to a half sitting position, she looked Angel straight in the eye.  "Then you would be wandering around in doom and gloom mode and Wes would be out of work and starving to death trying to make it as a rogue demon hunter."

"Hey now," Wesley, who had risen from the bed to stand near his friend, began to complain but was stopped by Gunn who nodded toward the pair on the bed.

"Alright then, if you hadn't seen me at that party…"

"I'd have ended up on a cold slab in the morgue with a lot less color in my cheeks.  And even if you had never gone to Sunnydale it wouldn't have worked because we'd all be dead several times over and there'd be a big gaping hellmouth right where good old Sunnydale High is now."

He looked at her a moment, confusion clouding his features.  "I didn't help fight the mayor's Ascension, that was strictly a Scooby job, and I didn't do anything but get in your way and kill Ms. Calendar while I was in Sunnydale."

Aside from the bed, Gunn nudged Wesley.  "What's Scooby Doo got to do with vampires and hellmouths?"

Smiling and glancing at the pair of friends who had a great deal to talk through, he motioned for Gunn to follow him back out of the bedroom so he could explain the strange nickname and its origins as he understood them to be.

"You didn't kill Jenny Calendar; Angelus did.  Face it, Angel, you're not the omen of bad tidings that you think you are."

"I wouldn't say that."

Cordelia smiled and looked down at the hand that he still held in his, his hand still stroking it gently.  She reached out to still his movement, and curled her fingers over his hand.  "I would, and I believe I just did.  Now, let me get out of your bed.  You need to get some rest if you're going to be ready for the next vision the PTB send me."

Angel returned the pressure as she squeezed his hand, but he wouldn't allow her to rise from the bed.  "You're not going anywhere."

"Oh yes I am, I'm going home.  If I don't Dennis will worry," she stated, hoping her weak ruse would work long enough for her to leave the hotel.  The expression in Angel's eyes told her that those hopes were nowhere near reality.

"You can call your apartment and leave Dennis a message on the machine.  You just passed out, Cordelia, you're not going home where you'll essentially be alone.  What would happen if you passed out again and hit your head on something?"  His concern waged against the need to keep her calm, and his voice raised a notch in volume as the possibilities of what might happen occurred to him.

"Okay, okay, sheesh, I'll stay."  Raising her arms in surrender, she winced slightly.

Worried again by the obvious discomfort, Angel quickly asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing, really I'm fine."

"Cordelia," he warned, a barely concealed growl underlining her name as he spoke it aloud.

"Really."

"When we came back tonight, you were still feeling the pain from the vision, weren't you?"

"Angel…"

He refused to allow her to back out of his question.  There were some things that simply needed to be answered, and knowing that she was safe and well was too high on his list of priorities to let the line of questioning slide.  "Delia?"

All the bluster went out of her and she sank back against the pillows out of sheer exhaustion.  "I didn't mean to lie to you, to any of you, I just didn't want you to worry about something you couldn't do anything about."

"How long, Delia?  How long have the visions been this bad?"

She shook her head slowly.  "Not that long really, a month or so, maybe a little longer."

Angel was floored by the news.  How had she been able to hide it from him for so long?  His eyes, heavy with concern, grazed over her body again.  When he'd entered the hotel that evening, he thought that she had looked a bit different but he couldn't narrow it down at the time.  Now though, he was able to detect a thousand tiny changes in his friend.  "You've lost weight."

"Just a little, and hey, it doesn't hurt to be a few pounds lighter when you're acting anyway," she countered.

"And your complexion is too pale, waxy even."

"Gee thanks a lot," she sputtered, "I'll have you remember that I just passed out.  I'm sure my color will come back as soon as I get up and start moving around.  There are some files that need to be put away before they end up in a heap on the floor."  As she moved to slide her legs over the edge of the bed, Angel stopped her, his reflexes too quick for her to counter. 

"You're staying put right here.  If you need anything, Gunn, Wesley, or I will get it for you."

She scoffed at the determination in his voice.  "Do I get to go the bathroom by myself?"

"Only if you tell us first," he teased, understanding the feelings of helplessness Cordelia would be having to deal with, and understanding too how hard it would be for her to handle them.

"Ugh!"  She tossed a pillow at his head as he slipped out the doorway, just missing her intended victim.  Falling back on the rumpled sheets, she turned her head slightly and smiled at the comfort that the sheets gave her as they released what she could only name as Angel's scent.  Closing her eyes against the dim light and relishing the cool sheet pressed against her cheek, she allowed sleep to drag her away from the consciousness of her pain once more.

to be continued…