without spirit or cause
Part 3
Cordy: It's gonna be a long while - until you work your way out - but I know you well enough to know you *will*. - And I'll be with you until you do.
I didn't mean for it to be this way. I didn't want you to get involved Angel sighed. Great. Add talking to yourself on the list of bad mistakes, right after letting Cordy die. He was standing at the scene of the act, the scene where he was inflicted with so much terrible guilt and pain, right where her neck had been snapped, broken.
Angel stood on the roof, feeling uncomfortable. Wearing black, as usual, but he didn't think it was necessary. How come I wear black during the not so bad times of my lifeyet the bad times? What I should wear white, the opposite? Then again, I hardly have any other clothes besides black ones.
That girl really did a number on my head.
Sure, he was rambling inwardly. Yet wasn't it true when most people were preoccupied, or nervous, they did something to pass the time? Some people laughed nervously, others chatted on and on incessantly. So the little monologue was appropriate at the time, because otherwise, the streets might be littered with the dead corpses of demons who annoyed Angel.
You didn't mean to get thisThe visions. It wasn't like you had any say in it. Doyle gave them to you, but without you knowing. If only If he didn't die, then none of this would happen. You would be alive.
Maybe. But as long as you keep going on and on about me, I'll always be with you. Remember? Just like I said before.
Angel turned from his viewpoint of the city below, to see Cordelia standing by him. She was very beautiful, a little pale, he realized. Wearing a white shirt, a long white skirt, a few dark gray clips in her hair. Faintly smiling at him, Cordelia gave a look to the night sky above, then back to him, hands clasped behind her back.
You're not real, Angel acknowledged, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He looked down over the edge of the building, eyes snapping shut for a moment. Fighting to keep the tears from coming back again.
Yeah. I'm not. Butyou've got a lot on your mind. So here's where I come in, Cordelia responded, sitting next to him on the roof ledge. Listen up, Angel. I don't want you blaming yourself–
I killed you. Don't you see? Angel turned to her, his boot going up on the ledge, leaning against it. I could've saved you. I didn't. I should've told you to stay home, rest from your vision. But I let you come along. My mistake cost you your life.
You didn't kill me. The Colgate Kal Whatever It wasn't you.
Angel looked at the ground below once more. He cleared his throat. When I saved you three from those Skilosh demons, I talked to Kate later on. She had just gotten fired from her job, so I started talking to her About life. Things like that. I told her that if - nothing we do matters, - then all that matters is what we do. I guess I didn't really take that to heart. Technically, it isn't even beating, so I don't have a heart.
Are you even listening to what you're saying? Angel. Listen. Look at me. Cordelia reached forward, holding his chin, turning him to look at her. A pained expression crossed his face. He started to turn away, but she held him in place. Now, the normal, tortured vamp I know He'd investigate this. At least kick some demon ass for me? I have faith in you. I always have. I always will. And you know It's not like I'll leave you.
What? What do you mean?
Because you always buy me the right clothes, Angel.
Then she was gone.
Huh?
Clothes? What does clothes have to do with it? Angel looked about the now empty roof. Then again, she did come from my imagination. But how does this–
–"No. Heels," Cordelia responded, nodding towards her black shoes. Angel looked down to her black heels, giving her a once over. She looks great in those clothes I bought her. Black pants, gray top–
–"With disturbance, we can find other ways to suit our needs, to fufill our sacrifice."–
–He could see a brief flash of a short, white top, then heard Cordelia: "Let ME GO!" She was hanging in the air, pants clad in dark gray material, gasping for breath–
She wasn't wearing the same clothes. Not the same clothes! Of course! Angel exclaimed, eyes wide. With that, he rushed back to the splintered door frame which he burst into two days earlier, rushing downstairs. Barely a shred of hope, which clung to the memory of her horrible death, an event he would try to reverse. And so he ran.
A few minutes later, Angel got to the bottom of the apartment building. Before running off blindly towards his convertible, he stopped. Think. Think. I need something else to support this. I can't just go with that
Taking a breath– not out of necessity, just habit– he slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. Angel walked over to the side of the building, craning his head back to see the roof. Where so far above, his Cordy's neck had been snapped, her body thrown carelessly over the side like discarded trash.
Staring at the abandoned area, he looked left and right, then started forward, the side of the building dirty and full of trash, stray beer cans clanking down the street with the breeze. An old, ripped magazine's pages flapped lazily against the chain link fence nearby, the stench of rotting trash fresh in his nostrils.
Only that smell. Nothing else.
Making a quick judge on his part, Angel moved to a dumpster that was right near the side of the building. The lid was closed, some festering garbage hanging out. Making a face, Angel opened the dumpster, bracing himself.
All he saw were overflowing bags of garbage and bound cardboard.
If there was a dead body here, it would start to rot. There isn't.
Letting the lid gently slam shut, Angel turned around. Back to square one. About to head to his car, he stopped, looking at a dark stain on the floor. A familiar one, since he had caused so many stains by ripping into people's throats hundreds of times. But besides that one big splattering of blood, other little stains trailed after it, footprints dissapearing into an alley.
Angel bent down, looking at the blood, smelling it. To himself, he murmured, That's not her blood
Cordy: You have to change the way you've been doing things. Don't you see where this is taking you?
Fred flipped another page of the 2001 annual almanac Wesley had bought for her. Wow. Lot of things have changed since I've been gone. She kept getting that feeling lately. It made sense, since she'd been gone for five years, butstill, it was unnerving to be out of the loop. Also, the way people were actually being nice to her, no demons ordering her around.
She sighed a little, eyes scanning the page. Angel.. He's such a great guy. Takin' care of me, makin' sure I'm okay. Wesley And – and Gunn, they're just spiffy too. Cordy.. Now she's um, gone But before she went, I'm happy to have known her. She was so nice to me, not the way I expected her to be. I thought she just might be one of those – those popular girls, the ones that never really liked me.
She's not. Cordy's nice and caring. Well she was.
Just then, Angel burst into the office, heading straight towards the bookcase. Startled, Fred blinked, snapping the book shut. She raised an eyebrow as Angel took various books off the shelves, glancing at the bindings, then throwing them on the desk.
Hi, Fred. Angel muttered, not bothering to look up. He didn't even bother to take his jacket off, flipping through the pages of one book, then glancing at another one. Curious about his sudden interest in demon lore, Fred leaned forward over the desk, looking at the titles of some of the books. Resurrections. Afflictions. Transformations and Similar Phenomena. Glamours.
Angel? Don't tell me you're gonna do what I think you're gonna do. Cause you can't.
What do you think I'm going to do, Fred, huh? Angel slammed a palm on the desk, making her jump. He glared at her. Come on! Tell me. I don't even know what I'll do myself.
You can't bring her back Angel. Wesley talked to me about stuff like that when you were upstairs. Even if you do, she's not gonna be the same Cordy.
I – It-It's just– Angel sighed deeply. He rubbed his temples. I'm sorry. I have an idea, but I'll just have to do some research, first.
Fred, have you been catching up with the almana– Angel. I didn't know you left your room, Wesley said, standing in the doorway. He looked like he'd just been out, judging from the jacket he was wearing, the pained expression still there.
Hey Wes. Again, the vampire didn't look up, broad shoulders bending down to read the scrawled handwriting in a dusty, leather bound book.
Trying to catch up on some reading, eh? Well, it's best to try and occupy yourself. Get .. other things off your mind, Wesley said lamely. Even Fred could tell he was trying to cheer Angel up, of which she didn't blame him. She didn't know how to deal with it Cordy's death hadn't seemed to hit her full force yet.
Uh huh.
Now let's Good God man, you cannot possibly
One point for Wesley on book observation, Fred thought. She stood up, holding her book in front of her, chewing her lip. And now..here comes the yellin'.
It's not what you think.
Angel, you have to accept that Cordelia is, in fact, dead. I know you may feel very much in pain right now, as we all are, but doing something this drastic and possibly dangerous will not get you anywhere. Besides that, even if you do bring her back from the dead–
She's not dead, Wesley.
–you cannot know whether she'll be the same Cordelia or not! Listen to yourself, Angel! Don't go on another crusade again. All you'll do is get hurt.
God damn it, Wesley! Angel threw his book down violently, pages fluttering like a crashing bird. Fred scratched the itchy feeling on her arm, noticing Angel went all grr', baring his fangs in frustration.
Angel, listen to me–
I'm sick and tired of listening to you! You know what happened two days ago? Cordelia died. She died. Because of me! I should've just let her stay home and rest from her vision. But I agreed to let her come along. And now, I'm paying for my mistake. I'm not gonna let this thing rest. Now if you're going to help me, then help. If not, I'll do it alone!
I don't think this is a good idea.
Then you know what? I quit.
What?! Angel, haven't you had a sense of déjà vu? You cannot repeat the same mistakes over and over again!
Not listening He looked back at the books.
Angel, maybe you should listen Wes is right
Fred. Don't.
Wesley sighed. Then began in a cold, serious voice If you resurrect her, she will not be the same. She's dead, Angel. Just leave it be.
You're not my boss. Angel straightened, still in game face, glaring at him coldly. I've already lost the girl I would give my life up for. You try to get in my way, and you know I'll stop you.
Wesley glared back. He stepped aside, arms folded across his chest, looking tired, beaten. Angel walked past him. A dead silence filled the room, only broken twice. One when Angel slammed the entrance door shut behind him, and again when his tires spun out onto the road.
Cordy: Hi Doyle. Are you gonna become loser pining guy, like, full time? 'Cuz we already have one of those around the office.
Angel:
Doyle:
Cordy: He can get away with it. He's tall, and look at the way clothes hang on him. But you...
No, I can't forget this eveningOr your face as you were leaving. But I guess that's just the way the story goesYou always smile but in your eyes your sorrow shows. Yes, it shows, Angel sang, clutching the microphone so tightly, Lorne was afraid he was going to break it.
And after all, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Rockin' appeared to be drunk. Meaning he could break things. Other than the drunk factor? Sadness as well.
No, I can't forget tomorrow. When I think of all my sorrow. When I had you there but then I let you go A-And now it's only fair that I should let you know. What you should know
Oooh. Major heartbreak. Lorne winced at the assault of vibes Angel was giving off. Poor brown eyes. Poor Angelcakes.
I can't live if living is without you. I can't live, I- I can't give any more. I CAN'T LIIIIVVVVE, IF LIVING IS WITHOUT YOU I CAN'T GIVE, I CAN'T GIVE ANY MORE
Again with the ouchies. Angel was doing the whole act between staggering with the microphone, and clutching it like a lost child Shaking like a leaf, both crying and singing.
That girl really did a number on his head.
Angel trailed off after his sudden outburst of lyrics. He walked off the stage– not in a straight line, mind you– and collapsed into the chair at Lorne's table, hardly aware of the stray clapping from Caritas' demon clientele.
whaddya get? He slurred. One eye half open, he refilled his empty glass with the bottle of tequila nearby.
Whoa. Whoa. Let me digest this all here. Might I point out that we've just got a spiffy new supply of O Positive just in? Instead of your sudden little alcohol addiction? Lorne pointed out, gesturing towards Angel who was already nursing his third glass.
You know what? That's a nice shirt. Wait
Intoxicated, I see. On a serious note: I'm sorry about Cordelia. Poor girl. But y'know, things happen, Lorne said with a shrug.
I loved her. Cordelia.Can't you see? I loved my CordyI never got t'tell her. And now she's deadbut she told me something about her...her clothes. The clothes. What about the clothes again?
Listen ya big goof. You think you can hear straight? She's just fine, Lorne took a sip of his sea breeze, looking at Angel.
She always looked good in those skirts she wore in the office– What? Angel stopped rambling to himself, an eyebrow raised.
Cordelia? You know, that pretty young thing you risked all our asses to save from my lovable home world? Well, she's alive.
