1.1.1 Chapter Six: A Maudlin Sort Of Way
Xander remained frozen at the bottom of the stairs. The stricken vampire didn't even look at him. So Xander kind of … hung there, waiting for something he couldn't identify. A sign of life? Movement? Angel provided neither. He simply stood where Cordelia had left him, eyes on the place she had been. The expression on his face would have been enough to make the devil weep.
"Uh, Angel?" Xander asked finally. "Are you, uh…"
"Go away, Xander."
"Right, sure, uh-huh." Xander fled for the kitchen. He topped the stairs and closed the door behind him, to be greeted by the sight of Cordelia at the table, head in hands. Her shoulders were rising and falling, but not in the way of somebody crying. More in the way of somebody desperately trying not to.
Xander glanced around uncomfortably. Willow and Anya were already gone, Buffy was upstairs showering, and so that left him. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, wondering where to begin.
As it happened, Cordelia saved him the trouble. Her head shot up as a floorboard creaked underneath his feet. She blinked a few times, and Xander caught a brief glimpse of incredible anguish before Public Cordy was slammed into place.
"Xander!" she said brightly. "I didn't … didn't hear you come up." She pointed to her ears. "These demon parts not so special, apparently."
Xander came closer. "Cordy, are you okay?"
"What?" she said, smiling. "Sure. Of course I am." A hitch in her breath gave her away.
"Yeah," he said, sitting down next to her. "Because this is what I do when I'm fine also. Sit around and stare at tables. I'm a pretty happy guy lately, so I don't get much else done."
She stared at him for a moment before her brittle smile softened and, to his relief, became genuine.
"Xander, you're such a dork."
He smiled. "I've missed hearing you call me that."
"Really?"
"No," he admitted with a grin. "But nobody tears strips off me like you can."
Her smile widened. "What can I say? It's a gift."
He sobered. "Cordy, look. Downstairs-"
"Was nothing," she said quickly. "Less than, even. Just a stupid fight. Don't worry about it. We have them all the time."
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Because-"
"Totally," she rushed on, avoiding his eyes. "Really. It'll blow over." She stood up quickly. "We're gonna be so late. Is there anywhere else I can change in this place?"
Xander sighed. Denial. Not just a river in … uh … in…
Egypt! Egypt, yeah, that was it.
- - -
Angel was still standing where Cordelia had left him. In complete shock. In two hundred and fifty-odd years, there had been times he had thought his un- beating heart would break, there had been times he was so utterly miserable that he could barely move.
But there had never been a time quite like this.
Dimly, he remembered his other life. Liam. A tavern brawl he had been in at the age of twenty. Isaac had bested him eventually – drunk that Liam was – and Isaac, in his rage, had begun to suffocate the younger man. Torn off his cloak and forced it down over Liam's gasping, mottled face. Liam had been unable to breathe.
Breathing. A long-unused luxury. But Angel had never forgotten what it had felt like. Or what it had felt like to have it taken away. Seeing the world go black and grey before his eyes, feeling all that he was, all that he had achieved (what little of it there was) being torn from him by the simple inability to draw air into his lungs. Clawing, choking, beating helplessly at his friend until his reprieve. That night had ended with forgiveness, wenches and ugly, intoxicated mirth. But this night…
Angel stood there, again unable to breathe.
Because Cordelia was the only air he needed now. And she was gone.
- - -
The young woman in question closed the door of Dawn's room behind her and leant her forehead against it.
Cordelia Chase did not cry often, and never without a reason. She did not realise it, but in recent years, her tears had all been for others. Never herself. Never in self-pity, never in jealousy, never in anger. Her tears had all been for her friends, for the helpless who were now her charges, for the hurt and lonely people she worked so hard to help. For Angel … and the insurmountable odds he faced in a battle simply to exist and atone.
Ever an honest girl, Cordelia was well aware of her own failings. Scarcely a day passed that she did not remember a remark she had made and flinch, or desperately wave away the stinging memory of the way she had once treated people in an effort to protect herself from hurt. But she was different now. She had been brittle, but now she was whole.
And it was all because of Angel.
Her best friend. The man who was everything and more to her, whose face was the last she saw in her mind as she closed her eyes at night and the first person she thought of each morning. Angel, who loved her and had been brave enough to tell her despite the impossibility of it all. Who she had run from in terror as the secret heart she had been protecting so fiercely was flayed open and left bare.
Unseen by anyone, for the first time in three years, Cordelia allowed herself the luxury of tears shed for herself. They didn't last long, but they were hot, bitter and tasted of loss.
- - -
Angel had finished dressing, because duty was duty. This was Willow's night. He would go to the Bronze. He would drink. He would even smile if he had to. But nothing could possibly make him enjoy it. Not without a smile from her in return.
Suddenly, purely on impulse, the vampire pulled out his cell phone. He punched in a number and waited while it rang endlessly. Finally, it picked up.
A somewhat breathless voice with a Texas twang said, "Good evenin', Angel Investigations, we help the-"
"Fred."
"Angel?"
"Yeah. Hi."
Fred's voice crackled down the line, immediately full of worry. "Angel, what's wrong? Is Cordy okay? Did she have a vision? Oh no, did Buffy die ag- "
"Fred, you like me, don't you?"
"Huh?"
"Am I a bad man … uh, pire?"
"What are you talkin' about? What's the matter?"
"You know I care about you, right?"
"Angel!" Fred's voice was panicked now. "*You're* not dyin', are you?"
Despite himself, Angel chuckled. Fred had a way of making him do that. "Fred, I'm not dying. Neither is Cordy, neither has Buffy. Everyone's fine. I just … just wondered if you knew … uh…"
The girl's voice warmed. "Course I do. You might not be the most, um, demonstrative guy in the world, but … we all know you love us."
"Do you?" he muttered, almost to himself, the phone clenched in his hand so tightly it nearly shattered.
Fred sighed. "Angel, didja piss Cordy off again?"
Angel nodded, before remembering she couldn't see him. "Uh…"
Fred clicked her tongue. "If there was a course in how to piss Cordelia off, you'd get an A. Y'all snipe at each other more'n my grandparents. It's the kyerump-"
"Fred-"
"Sorry."
"I'm late, I gotta go. I just … I just, ah…"
There was a smile in her voice. "I love you too, Angel." She paused. "You're a good man."
Angel smiled. "Thanks, Fred."
"G'night."
"Night."
Angel hung up, stuffed the phone into his inside jacket pocket, and sighed. At least there was someone he loved of the female persuasion who wasn't mad at him.
- - -
"Oh my god, Angel!" yelled Willow over the pounding music. "I'm so mad at you!"
Angel shuffled his feet. "I-"
"You shouldn't have done this," the redhead continued. "I mean, really." She put the gift-wrapped box down on the table and hugged the vampire. "But for a shady creature of the darkness, you sure know what girls like," she told him, smiling. "Thank you."
"Just thought, you know, it's a party…"
Over Willow's shoulder, Angel saw an unusually subdued and pale Cordelia's eyes widen in panic. He instantly realised her error. Cordy, usually the thoughtful one where such things were concerned, had forgotten to get a present.
"It's from both of us," he said quickly, as Willow released him. "Me and Cordy." *Me and Cordy. Cordelia and me. I and Cordelia. Cordy and I.* He sighed. *Idiot.*
Willow went past Buffy, Anya and Xander to hug the Seer too, who despite having said nothing to him since their arrival, shot Angel a quick look of gratitude.
"It's nothing much," said Angel, as Willow started to tear the paper off. "I, uh, we went to a little shop in Chinatown and the guy said these might help."
Willow opened the box and pulled out something wrapped in linen. She frowned as she unfolded it to reveal several thin papery sheets the size of cigarette packets. On one side of each were swirled images, reminiscent of Celtic art, on the other a slightly sticky substance.
"They're patches," explained Angel. "They're supposed to help with cravings."
"For magic?" asked Buffy sceptically.
"For any kind of cravings," Angel clarified. "Oh, they're not magical," he reassured Willow, as she opened her mouth. "They're herbal. It's some kind of yin-yang Eastern meditation thing; I'm not sure how it works. You wear them when, when…" -his voice became slightly hoarse- "you want something really badly that you can't have…"
He couldn't suppress a fleeting look at Cordelia. The Seer reddened and studied the patches a little too intently for somebody who was supposed to have known about them already.
"Guys, these are fantastic!" Willow exclaimed happily. "Thank you so much!"
"You're welcome," mumbled Angel, echoed by a slightly shamefaced Cordelia.
"Okay, so who's gonna dance with me?" asked Anya abruptly.
Everybody turned to look at her.
"What?" said Anya. "Presents are finished. The only thing left is boring small talk or dancing. I know which one I prefer. So who's with me?"
Cordelia straightened. "I'm your girl," she said brightly. "All systems go."
Anya smiled. "Well in that case, I'm your girl, too." She turned to Willow. "Only not in the way that *you'd* be someone's girl, if you get my drift."
Xander rolled his eyes. "Hon, the ashtray gets your drift."
Angel caught Cordelia's arm as she brushed past him. "Cordy-"
"Can't talk," she replied quickly. "Dancing." *And repressing, hopefully.*
As Cordelia followed Anya and the two girls threaded their way through the crowds to the dance floor, she tried to shake off the feeling of Angel's hand on her arm. It didn't work. She then attempted, with equal failure, to banish the desolate expression in his eyes from her mind. They reached the dance floor, and Cordelia threw herself desperately into the pounding beat, barely aware of Anya at her side or the men who let predatory eyes travel over the two of them.
*Time*, her subconscious told her quietly. *You said you needed time. Time to say what? If the answer was no, you'd would have said that already.*
Shut up. I'm dancing.
*To avoid him. To avoid seeing that look on his face and knowing you're the one who put it there. To avoid having to listen to me tell you that DO deserve him, if it's what you want.*
Shut up.
1.2 *Because you lo-*
SHUT UP!
And so Cordelia danced.
After a few minutes, Anya leant toward her. "You and I should start a club!" she called over the music.
Cordelia paused and eyed Anya with mild suspicion. "What kind of club?"
"Demons Who've Dated Xander," explained the former wielder of vengeance seriously. "I think we'd be the only two to qualify. It'd be very exclusive. Like Amway. Or the Young Republicans."
Cordelia stared. Despite herself, and with some difficulty, she stifled a wild fit of laughter. "Sure, colour me clubbed!" she called back.
Anya smiled hugely and they began dancing again. After a moment, Anya captured Cordelia's arm hard enough to make her wince. "Only, I get to be Treasurer," she yelled, no trace of humour on her face. "And you can't ever date Xander again."
Cordelia patted her hand. "He's *so* all yours."
Anya nodded with satisfaction. "Bet your sweet patootie."
The two girls smiled at each other in understanding, and picked up the beat again.
* * *
Angel lurked. It was, after all, what he did best. Wherever he was, he made sure that he could see Cordelia. He had been approached several times, but even the most persistent of his would-be suitors - a willowy blonde wearing a dress several sizes too small – had been put off eventually. Some took more growling at than others.
It was in this state that Xander found him and tapped the brooding vampire on the shoulder. So intent was Angel on his study of the distant Seer that he didn't even react. Xander leaned in close and put his mouth next to Angel's ear.
"Help, a vampire!"
Angel jumped at least a foot, his fists whipping up defensively. When he saw who it was, he dropped them with a surly frown. "Don't *do* that," he said roughly, and Xander took a step back in surprise.
"Sorry," he replied. "Jeez. This from a professional Lurkmeister."
Angel merely glared at him.
"Who can't take a joke, apparently," added Xander, annoyed.
Angel turned away. "I'm not in the mood for jokes."
Xander held up his hands defensively. "And again with the apology."
Angel frowned at him a moment longer, then crumbled. "Forget it. I overreacted."
The young man smiled. "Hey, there he is! Melodramatic guy, the Angel I know best. The new you? Scary."
Angel couldn't help it – a small grin crossed his face. It died, however, when he looked past Xander to behold Cordelia in the arms of a tall footballer type. Xander followed his gaze, and nodded slightly in understanding.
"No progress, huh?" he asked casually.
"Xander, I'm sure you'll understand if I really don't want to discuss it with you," Angel replied tersely.
"Sure," breezed the young man. "Just, see, things in the car were on the frosty side and I was wondering if-"
"You were gonna drop the subject?" cut in Angel. "Was wondering that myself."
Xander drew back in mild surprise. "My my, somebody's been taking one-liner class from the Master, haven't they?" He indicated Cordelia. "The Master in this case actually being a Mistress. My guess - tall, gorgeous and otherwise-engaged over there."
Angel faced him, anger flickering in his gaze. "What the hell *is* it with Sunnydale people? You always-"
"All I'm saying is," interrupted Xander, "that if your little 'fights' are as common as Cordy seems to think they are, shouldn't you guys have made with the patching by now?"
Angel deflated and resumed his scrutiny of the dance floor. "I don't want to talk about this with you. Okay?"
"Not much wanting on this side either, pal," Xander snorted derisively. "But I don't like seeing Cordy cry."
Angel was in front of him so fast that Xander's head spun. "She was crying?"
"Whoa, whoa! Personal space! And lack thereof!" Xander protested, backing away. Angel merely glared at him. Xander relented.
"Look. If she wasn't crying when I talked to her, she was about five seconds later, okay? I don't know what happened with you guys, but…" Xander took a deep breath. "I don't wanna see it happen again."
Angel looked intently at him, softening slightly. "You care about her."
Xander met his eyes and an old memory surfaced. "Don't you?"
Xander remained frozen at the bottom of the stairs. The stricken vampire didn't even look at him. So Xander kind of … hung there, waiting for something he couldn't identify. A sign of life? Movement? Angel provided neither. He simply stood where Cordelia had left him, eyes on the place she had been. The expression on his face would have been enough to make the devil weep.
"Uh, Angel?" Xander asked finally. "Are you, uh…"
"Go away, Xander."
"Right, sure, uh-huh." Xander fled for the kitchen. He topped the stairs and closed the door behind him, to be greeted by the sight of Cordelia at the table, head in hands. Her shoulders were rising and falling, but not in the way of somebody crying. More in the way of somebody desperately trying not to.
Xander glanced around uncomfortably. Willow and Anya were already gone, Buffy was upstairs showering, and so that left him. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, wondering where to begin.
As it happened, Cordelia saved him the trouble. Her head shot up as a floorboard creaked underneath his feet. She blinked a few times, and Xander caught a brief glimpse of incredible anguish before Public Cordy was slammed into place.
"Xander!" she said brightly. "I didn't … didn't hear you come up." She pointed to her ears. "These demon parts not so special, apparently."
Xander came closer. "Cordy, are you okay?"
"What?" she said, smiling. "Sure. Of course I am." A hitch in her breath gave her away.
"Yeah," he said, sitting down next to her. "Because this is what I do when I'm fine also. Sit around and stare at tables. I'm a pretty happy guy lately, so I don't get much else done."
She stared at him for a moment before her brittle smile softened and, to his relief, became genuine.
"Xander, you're such a dork."
He smiled. "I've missed hearing you call me that."
"Really?"
"No," he admitted with a grin. "But nobody tears strips off me like you can."
Her smile widened. "What can I say? It's a gift."
He sobered. "Cordy, look. Downstairs-"
"Was nothing," she said quickly. "Less than, even. Just a stupid fight. Don't worry about it. We have them all the time."
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Because-"
"Totally," she rushed on, avoiding his eyes. "Really. It'll blow over." She stood up quickly. "We're gonna be so late. Is there anywhere else I can change in this place?"
Xander sighed. Denial. Not just a river in … uh … in…
Egypt! Egypt, yeah, that was it.
- - -
Angel was still standing where Cordelia had left him. In complete shock. In two hundred and fifty-odd years, there had been times he had thought his un- beating heart would break, there had been times he was so utterly miserable that he could barely move.
But there had never been a time quite like this.
Dimly, he remembered his other life. Liam. A tavern brawl he had been in at the age of twenty. Isaac had bested him eventually – drunk that Liam was – and Isaac, in his rage, had begun to suffocate the younger man. Torn off his cloak and forced it down over Liam's gasping, mottled face. Liam had been unable to breathe.
Breathing. A long-unused luxury. But Angel had never forgotten what it had felt like. Or what it had felt like to have it taken away. Seeing the world go black and grey before his eyes, feeling all that he was, all that he had achieved (what little of it there was) being torn from him by the simple inability to draw air into his lungs. Clawing, choking, beating helplessly at his friend until his reprieve. That night had ended with forgiveness, wenches and ugly, intoxicated mirth. But this night…
Angel stood there, again unable to breathe.
Because Cordelia was the only air he needed now. And she was gone.
- - -
The young woman in question closed the door of Dawn's room behind her and leant her forehead against it.
Cordelia Chase did not cry often, and never without a reason. She did not realise it, but in recent years, her tears had all been for others. Never herself. Never in self-pity, never in jealousy, never in anger. Her tears had all been for her friends, for the helpless who were now her charges, for the hurt and lonely people she worked so hard to help. For Angel … and the insurmountable odds he faced in a battle simply to exist and atone.
Ever an honest girl, Cordelia was well aware of her own failings. Scarcely a day passed that she did not remember a remark she had made and flinch, or desperately wave away the stinging memory of the way she had once treated people in an effort to protect herself from hurt. But she was different now. She had been brittle, but now she was whole.
And it was all because of Angel.
Her best friend. The man who was everything and more to her, whose face was the last she saw in her mind as she closed her eyes at night and the first person she thought of each morning. Angel, who loved her and had been brave enough to tell her despite the impossibility of it all. Who she had run from in terror as the secret heart she had been protecting so fiercely was flayed open and left bare.
Unseen by anyone, for the first time in three years, Cordelia allowed herself the luxury of tears shed for herself. They didn't last long, but they were hot, bitter and tasted of loss.
- - -
Angel had finished dressing, because duty was duty. This was Willow's night. He would go to the Bronze. He would drink. He would even smile if he had to. But nothing could possibly make him enjoy it. Not without a smile from her in return.
Suddenly, purely on impulse, the vampire pulled out his cell phone. He punched in a number and waited while it rang endlessly. Finally, it picked up.
A somewhat breathless voice with a Texas twang said, "Good evenin', Angel Investigations, we help the-"
"Fred."
"Angel?"
"Yeah. Hi."
Fred's voice crackled down the line, immediately full of worry. "Angel, what's wrong? Is Cordy okay? Did she have a vision? Oh no, did Buffy die ag- "
"Fred, you like me, don't you?"
"Huh?"
"Am I a bad man … uh, pire?"
"What are you talkin' about? What's the matter?"
"You know I care about you, right?"
"Angel!" Fred's voice was panicked now. "*You're* not dyin', are you?"
Despite himself, Angel chuckled. Fred had a way of making him do that. "Fred, I'm not dying. Neither is Cordy, neither has Buffy. Everyone's fine. I just … just wondered if you knew … uh…"
The girl's voice warmed. "Course I do. You might not be the most, um, demonstrative guy in the world, but … we all know you love us."
"Do you?" he muttered, almost to himself, the phone clenched in his hand so tightly it nearly shattered.
Fred sighed. "Angel, didja piss Cordy off again?"
Angel nodded, before remembering she couldn't see him. "Uh…"
Fred clicked her tongue. "If there was a course in how to piss Cordelia off, you'd get an A. Y'all snipe at each other more'n my grandparents. It's the kyerump-"
"Fred-"
"Sorry."
"I'm late, I gotta go. I just … I just, ah…"
There was a smile in her voice. "I love you too, Angel." She paused. "You're a good man."
Angel smiled. "Thanks, Fred."
"G'night."
"Night."
Angel hung up, stuffed the phone into his inside jacket pocket, and sighed. At least there was someone he loved of the female persuasion who wasn't mad at him.
- - -
"Oh my god, Angel!" yelled Willow over the pounding music. "I'm so mad at you!"
Angel shuffled his feet. "I-"
"You shouldn't have done this," the redhead continued. "I mean, really." She put the gift-wrapped box down on the table and hugged the vampire. "But for a shady creature of the darkness, you sure know what girls like," she told him, smiling. "Thank you."
"Just thought, you know, it's a party…"
Over Willow's shoulder, Angel saw an unusually subdued and pale Cordelia's eyes widen in panic. He instantly realised her error. Cordy, usually the thoughtful one where such things were concerned, had forgotten to get a present.
"It's from both of us," he said quickly, as Willow released him. "Me and Cordy." *Me and Cordy. Cordelia and me. I and Cordelia. Cordy and I.* He sighed. *Idiot.*
Willow went past Buffy, Anya and Xander to hug the Seer too, who despite having said nothing to him since their arrival, shot Angel a quick look of gratitude.
"It's nothing much," said Angel, as Willow started to tear the paper off. "I, uh, we went to a little shop in Chinatown and the guy said these might help."
Willow opened the box and pulled out something wrapped in linen. She frowned as she unfolded it to reveal several thin papery sheets the size of cigarette packets. On one side of each were swirled images, reminiscent of Celtic art, on the other a slightly sticky substance.
"They're patches," explained Angel. "They're supposed to help with cravings."
"For magic?" asked Buffy sceptically.
"For any kind of cravings," Angel clarified. "Oh, they're not magical," he reassured Willow, as she opened her mouth. "They're herbal. It's some kind of yin-yang Eastern meditation thing; I'm not sure how it works. You wear them when, when…" -his voice became slightly hoarse- "you want something really badly that you can't have…"
He couldn't suppress a fleeting look at Cordelia. The Seer reddened and studied the patches a little too intently for somebody who was supposed to have known about them already.
"Guys, these are fantastic!" Willow exclaimed happily. "Thank you so much!"
"You're welcome," mumbled Angel, echoed by a slightly shamefaced Cordelia.
"Okay, so who's gonna dance with me?" asked Anya abruptly.
Everybody turned to look at her.
"What?" said Anya. "Presents are finished. The only thing left is boring small talk or dancing. I know which one I prefer. So who's with me?"
Cordelia straightened. "I'm your girl," she said brightly. "All systems go."
Anya smiled. "Well in that case, I'm your girl, too." She turned to Willow. "Only not in the way that *you'd* be someone's girl, if you get my drift."
Xander rolled his eyes. "Hon, the ashtray gets your drift."
Angel caught Cordelia's arm as she brushed past him. "Cordy-"
"Can't talk," she replied quickly. "Dancing." *And repressing, hopefully.*
As Cordelia followed Anya and the two girls threaded their way through the crowds to the dance floor, she tried to shake off the feeling of Angel's hand on her arm. It didn't work. She then attempted, with equal failure, to banish the desolate expression in his eyes from her mind. They reached the dance floor, and Cordelia threw herself desperately into the pounding beat, barely aware of Anya at her side or the men who let predatory eyes travel over the two of them.
*Time*, her subconscious told her quietly. *You said you needed time. Time to say what? If the answer was no, you'd would have said that already.*
Shut up. I'm dancing.
*To avoid him. To avoid seeing that look on his face and knowing you're the one who put it there. To avoid having to listen to me tell you that DO deserve him, if it's what you want.*
Shut up.
1.2 *Because you lo-*
SHUT UP!
And so Cordelia danced.
After a few minutes, Anya leant toward her. "You and I should start a club!" she called over the music.
Cordelia paused and eyed Anya with mild suspicion. "What kind of club?"
"Demons Who've Dated Xander," explained the former wielder of vengeance seriously. "I think we'd be the only two to qualify. It'd be very exclusive. Like Amway. Or the Young Republicans."
Cordelia stared. Despite herself, and with some difficulty, she stifled a wild fit of laughter. "Sure, colour me clubbed!" she called back.
Anya smiled hugely and they began dancing again. After a moment, Anya captured Cordelia's arm hard enough to make her wince. "Only, I get to be Treasurer," she yelled, no trace of humour on her face. "And you can't ever date Xander again."
Cordelia patted her hand. "He's *so* all yours."
Anya nodded with satisfaction. "Bet your sweet patootie."
The two girls smiled at each other in understanding, and picked up the beat again.
* * *
Angel lurked. It was, after all, what he did best. Wherever he was, he made sure that he could see Cordelia. He had been approached several times, but even the most persistent of his would-be suitors - a willowy blonde wearing a dress several sizes too small – had been put off eventually. Some took more growling at than others.
It was in this state that Xander found him and tapped the brooding vampire on the shoulder. So intent was Angel on his study of the distant Seer that he didn't even react. Xander leaned in close and put his mouth next to Angel's ear.
"Help, a vampire!"
Angel jumped at least a foot, his fists whipping up defensively. When he saw who it was, he dropped them with a surly frown. "Don't *do* that," he said roughly, and Xander took a step back in surprise.
"Sorry," he replied. "Jeez. This from a professional Lurkmeister."
Angel merely glared at him.
"Who can't take a joke, apparently," added Xander, annoyed.
Angel turned away. "I'm not in the mood for jokes."
Xander held up his hands defensively. "And again with the apology."
Angel frowned at him a moment longer, then crumbled. "Forget it. I overreacted."
The young man smiled. "Hey, there he is! Melodramatic guy, the Angel I know best. The new you? Scary."
Angel couldn't help it – a small grin crossed his face. It died, however, when he looked past Xander to behold Cordelia in the arms of a tall footballer type. Xander followed his gaze, and nodded slightly in understanding.
"No progress, huh?" he asked casually.
"Xander, I'm sure you'll understand if I really don't want to discuss it with you," Angel replied tersely.
"Sure," breezed the young man. "Just, see, things in the car were on the frosty side and I was wondering if-"
"You were gonna drop the subject?" cut in Angel. "Was wondering that myself."
Xander drew back in mild surprise. "My my, somebody's been taking one-liner class from the Master, haven't they?" He indicated Cordelia. "The Master in this case actually being a Mistress. My guess - tall, gorgeous and otherwise-engaged over there."
Angel faced him, anger flickering in his gaze. "What the hell *is* it with Sunnydale people? You always-"
"All I'm saying is," interrupted Xander, "that if your little 'fights' are as common as Cordy seems to think they are, shouldn't you guys have made with the patching by now?"
Angel deflated and resumed his scrutiny of the dance floor. "I don't want to talk about this with you. Okay?"
"Not much wanting on this side either, pal," Xander snorted derisively. "But I don't like seeing Cordy cry."
Angel was in front of him so fast that Xander's head spun. "She was crying?"
"Whoa, whoa! Personal space! And lack thereof!" Xander protested, backing away. Angel merely glared at him. Xander relented.
"Look. If she wasn't crying when I talked to her, she was about five seconds later, okay? I don't know what happened with you guys, but…" Xander took a deep breath. "I don't wanna see it happen again."
Angel looked intently at him, softening slightly. "You care about her."
Xander met his eyes and an old memory surfaced. "Don't you?"