If There Never Was

by Ignited

One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind… C/A Angst/Drama

1. Default Chapter

Title: If There Never Was
Author: Ignited
Posted: 03-11-2002
Email: Ignited
Category: Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish
Rating: R for language and sexual situations
Spoilers: Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here
Summary: One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…
Distribution: Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!
Dedication: To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you.
Author's Notes: This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of Vanilla Sky, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on Vanilla Sky. Open minds are required, please…

---

Part 1

"It's not
What you thought
When you first began it
You got
What you want
Now you can hardly stand it though,
By now you know
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
'Til you wise up"
~ Wise Up, Aimee Mann

---

The room was faintly lit, candles burning softly, sending a warm glow into the shadows. There was some music playing, a classical piece that soon gave way as the track changed on the CD player. A click was heard, and the notes drifted on the air, the same classical tone, but modern. Gravity of Love played on repeat… but not too loud, while the pendulum rocked back and forth on the nearby moon and stars mobile.

There were articles of clothing strewn about the floor, a woman's stilettos overturned. A rumpled dark gray sweatshirt hung carelessly on the doorknob of the glass window doors. The walkway into the bedroom was generally messy with items thrown about, a lone wooden chair lying on its back. The click of the CD player was soon the only sound heard. And the cause of this disorder?

The vampire sat on the edge of his bed, Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in one hand, a pretty brunette occupying the other. His fingers tangled in her hair just above the shoulder, highlighted. Index twirled around a few brown and blonde strands, before the five moved in as one and subsequently massaged the flesh underneath.

She was giggling by that time, looking up at him with a coy smile. Her hands would momentarily grab and hold his own, tracing fingertips over the calluses and lines. Then she'd drop his hand, or he'd pull away to turn the page. Or he'd do that tickling thing, randomly flicking his fingers in her face just enough to elicit a squeal out of her.

It was comfortable to simply sit there with her head on his lap, his posture hunched forward, right elbow resting on a knee, and his writing hand holding the book open.

Cordelia had been fiddling with his left hand once more, before she kissed it, declaring it better with her 'demon-y powers'. Then Angel found himself leaning down to kiss her, soft brown wisps tickling him in the process. They were still at it 3 minutes later, coming up for air before diving right in again. He lifted her up into his lap, and she straddled him, her mouth suddenly glued to his.

They kissed slowly, tenderly. She pulled away from him, a hand on his cheek, fingertips on his brow. Smoldering brown eyes looked up into hers, a small yet distinct grin appearing on his face. She seemed interested in the spiked brown hair, cut short, watching her fingers slide through it.

Her hand falling down to her lap with a light smack, Cordy's head canted. Her arms went up again, slipping around his neck.

"Do you love me?" she asked him, a hushed tone, but also in amusement.

Angel's mouth opened slightly, eyes closing before he kissed her once more.

After he pulled away, she angled her face so that her forehead met his. Again in a whisper, Cordy continued, "Because if not, I'll have to kill you."

"Too late," Angel answered, offering a little shrug. "I'm already dead."

She smacked his arm lightly, waving an accusing finger. "Don't get smart."

"I don't have to. I'm already smart," Angel murmured, looking at her. It had been a long few months for him, what with Buffy's death and reemergence, moving on and past her to Cordy. Connor. Holtz. In the end though, she was all that mattered. He felt silly sometimes, thinking about her. Watching her. Obsessing over her. For the little things, he noticed them, enjoyed them. All because he loved her spunk, her creativity and sharp wit.

Lips barely open, Cordelia murmured his name softly. Her grip on him tightened, leg muscles flexing. Eyes half open, and in that sarcastic voice of hers, she said, "Oh. Really. You don't say."

Cordy flashed a mega watt smile, noticing he kept staring at her. To solve her confusion, Angel sighed in amusement.

"God, you're beautiful."

You're not so bad looking yourself. She leaned forward, mouth very close to his ear. "Do I have to kill you now, or later?"

"Anytime, Cordy. Anytime."

Pulling back, Cordelia planted a kiss on his lips, grinning. "I love you," she said, mischievous but serious too. "I love you."

He could feel something deep inside him twist when she said those three words over and over in a rush, kissing him. Something fierce, controllable but wild inside him. The demon, he guessed, but it could be that lingering common sense. The reminder that he was meant to be alone, that he should not drag Cordelia into his mess. She deserved everything and more. Not him.

But she loved him, and it scared him sometimes, when he thought about how much he loved her.

Angel could only smile back, coming in for that patented slow kiss. He loved the curve of her neck as she bent down from her precarious perch on his lap. How her hair shined, short strands in her eyes, surrounding her cheeks. That very slight line, right near the curve of her mouth when she giggled and laughed. The rise of her eyebrows, lashes fluttering closed as her soft mouth met his.

He kissed her neck slowly, feeling her muscles tense. Not in the feeling of apprehension if he were to bite her, but in the feeling of upcoming near bliss.

It was all happening too fast for her young heart to take it, feeling the muscle beat rapidly like a humming bird against his hollow chest. She knew this was wrong, and in some ways…completely right. It had been too long since she felt the touch of another man, much less her best friend. He had picked her up, tanned legs wrapping around his midsection, her own fingers tangling in his now disheveled hair.

A soft sound to the music, there was an opera in the background, with a crescendo of violins and other instruments. The music's sound seemed to decrease as the evident sounds of moaning and kissing were heard.

Oh…and a rip…no, two, three ripping sounds of clothing–

Turn around and smell what you don't see
Close your eyes ... it's so clear

Angel threw Cordelia onto his bed, getting on top and straddling her. She smiled back up at him, feeling his fingers tangle in her short, lightened brown hair. A smooth hand caressed her face, before he bent down and his lips came to meet hers again.

"Angel–"

He murmured something unintelligible in response, mouth busy with kissing her neck, nuzzling as well. Her hands were bent crookedly to adjust his shirt, trying to pull it upwards. When he didn't cooperate by taking the thing off, she settled for another idea. Cordelia slipped her hands into his black cargo pants, giving the belt loops a quick tug to signal 'Off'.

What you need and everything you feel
Is just the question of the day

He kissed her mouth slowly. She responded, pushing up and against him in mock defiance. She sat up, on her knees, finally lifting his shirt over his head. He pulled the white dress shirt off of her in a rush, throwing the linen garment down. The shirt remain on the floor, another article of clothing she'd borrow from him.

She ate, slept, and lived in the hotel practically. She kept her clothes here, and always got more as per his offerings, but Cordelia liked to use his shirts. Just to wear 'around the house', the silk caressing her flesh and rendering her 'comfy'.

He was lifting the black tanktop off of her by now, absorbed in his musings. Clumsy fingers moved up, pulling the straps of her black tanktop down. The material slid gently over her head, leaving her bare breasts underneath. It wasn't too long before his hands found her abdomen. Cordelia's hands were on his face, as if guiding him to her mouth. She kissed him fervently, and he responded. An arm around her waist, he leaned forward, making her lie back on the bed gently.

Try to think about it ...
That's the chance to live your life and discover
What is it, what's the gravity of love

Arm supporting her, Angel pressed his face against her stomach, eyes closed. He kissed the tanned flesh there, turning his head, bent down. Leaving a long trail of kisses down her stomach, he came to her hips, looking up at her.

"We can't– Not in front of…"

"I can't. You can," Angel answered simply, pulling her black jeans off. "Connor's still asleep. And if he wakes up, I'll take him downstairs for Wes to look after." He traced the curve of her hip, right near the edge of her black underwear. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

She leaned back on her elbows, brow furrowed. Voice low, she asked, "Why did you word it like that?"

He paused from his actions, eyes lifting up towards her. "What?"

"Why did you word it like that?" she repeated, head canting, looking at him.

"I…don't know," Angel admitted, offering a shrug. "In case…you think something's going to happen."

"Nothing is going to happen, right?" Her emphasis on that first word unnerved him, making him lean back on his heels a little.

"Define nothing."

"As in you getting all 'grr' and you know…the killing of people?"

A slow grin spread on Angel's face. Body rising up, his strong hands pushed her down again gently. He looked back, pulling the bed sheet on top of him and Cordy. Bracing his arm on the bed, his free hand caressed her face, gazing into her eyes intently. Almost searching, trying to see what other parts of her he had yet to discover, parts uncharted and wild.

"I love you," Angel murmured, some part of him realizing that sounded sappy. But it was true. There was no denying it. Slowly, their relationship had reached the point of romance, far from the simple budding friendship they began years before. Finally, they were together. Even with all their differences, they still loved each other. He felt ashamed of all the times he hurt her, all the times he obsessed about her to the point of– God, if she ever left him…

Her lips crashed into his again and again…

"Angel."

"What?"

"ANGEL!"

The vampire's head snapped to the right, hearing a knock at the door. Angel looked back to Cordelia, seeing her fall back down on the bed with a sigh. He quickly pulled the sheet over her bottom half, and she pulled the rest up to her neck.

"Close call," Angel gritted, pulling away from her side. Fingertips brushing his arm, Cordelia indicated with a waving hand for him to bend down. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips, a smile following afterwards.

"I love you," she told him, voice genuine.

"I know." He winked at her. Drifting over to the door, Angel picked up his silk robe from the floor, slipping it on. He was both tired and hyper at the same time. Tired because he knew he'd eventually have to clean up the mess they'd caused… And hyper because Cordelia was in his bed.

CORDY was in his bed. Life was good.

Angel soon found himself becoming annoyed when Wesley greeted him after opening the door.

"Wes. What is it?"

The former Watcher looked flustered. "Ah…" He took a quick glance at the lack of Angel's attire…boxers, robe…adding up to– "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Angel glanced briefly over his shoulder, seeing Cordelia hang off the edge of the bed, trying to reach for his shirt. "Not at all."

Thump. The covers went crashing down with her.

Wesley tried peeking over Angel's shoulder, a look of concern. "Is there–?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Angel smacked Wesley's shoulder in a friendly, masculine way. He closed the door shut behind them both, a plastered smile on his pale face. "So. What's happening?"

Eyes narrowing, Wesley shook the fake tone of Angel's voice off. "We've located a follow up to the current case."

"With the Temsik demon?" Angel's posture straightened, fake façade gone, the serious image remaining.

"The very one," Wesley answered. "It appears there's been a string of crimes near Lafayette Park that have all occurred within the past few days."

Angel crossed his arms. "Why didn't we hear about it?"

"The victims were all attacked by a perpetrator of demonic origin. The Los Angeles law enforcement chose to retain the actual causes of death, passing them off as gang victims. I've tried to bookmark a meeting with the coroner, but it's becoming rather hard." Wesley's voice lowered. "You see, the bodies were mutilated beyond recognition, parts missing. Runes and incantations were scarred into their flesh. From what I've gathered, they were all killed by the same being, due to the similar abuse and inscriptions. It's the same one who I believe caused all that trouble a week ago."

"Another point that confirms the police are in denial," Angel surmised. He shrugged, hands slipping into silken pockets. "And isn't everyone these days."

"Right." Wesley nodded, Angel directing him with a hand on his back to the end of the hallway. "Gunn and Fred went out on my orders to collect some books which may prove useful to figuring this out."

"Ooookay then, Wes." Angel smiled, backtracking to his bedroom door. "I'll be there in a while."

"I suppose you can have Cordelia bring Connor down any minute," Wesley drawled, taking some satisfaction at the wince on Angel's face. "He should be waking up from his nap–"

The startling cry of an infant's wail made Angel jerk in surprise.

"–About now."

Angel gave Wesley a tired salute, before heading into his room.

*

"Wait…here. Stop– stop moving." Cordelia scowled at Angel, looking up to his amused face. Her proximity both startled and allured him, those gentle fingers straightening his collar. She lifted her head, smiling when Angel tapped her nose lightly, a kiss following afterwards. Her fingers latched onto the lapels of his leather jacket, playfully nipping at his lips.

"When the two of you are done…"

Cordy pulled away, both she and Angel turning to see a disapproving Wesley. It was at least twenty minutes after Wesley's interruption, and both Angel and Cordy had gotten dressed. Gunn smirked at them both, arms slipping into denim jacket sleeves. Fred twirled a pen in her fingers, holding a leather-bound book with both hands. Wesley handed Gunn a short sword, hefting his own.

"…Maybe we can finish this case now?" Wesley raised an eyebrow, sighing.

"Sorry." Angel's tone was curt, eyes looking downwards as he marched over to the bassinet nearby. A warm smile crossed his features, gentle finger stroking the hand of his son. Connor gurgled, smiling up at him, wrapped in a cute blue jumper.

Angel leaned down, that recently familiar dorky smile coming onto his face. He assured the baby, "We'll be back soon, all right little guy?"

Manicured nails reached his line of eyesight, fingertips resting on his shoulder. Angel's eyes lifted to see Cordelia standing beside him. An apologetic smile, she lifted Connor carefully from the bassinet, rubbing a hand against the infant's back.

"You keep staring at him, and we both know you'll start with the baby talk again," Cordelia accused, flashing a mega watt smile. She gestured to the others with a nod of her head. "Go on. Demons to kill. Should be fun."

Her vampire turned on a heel, the soft sound of conversation between the other three greeting his ears. Everything was normal…Weird in a way. This little 'family' his son would grow up into. British Uncle Wes with his old texts and proper mannerisms. Aunt Fred and Uncle Gunn, both complete opposites but with good hearts. And..who else? Auntie– Mommy, the young woman turned part demon, who received visions and could sometimes levitate. And Daddy, a good vampire that dressed well, had a good heart, and repeatedly left the blood mugs out.

At least that's what Cordelia's description of him would be.

"Where's Lorne?" Angel called to Wesley, but it was Gunn who answered, tracing the edge of his sword.

"Out chattin' it up with the demons. Same old, same old." Gunn went back to eagerly listening to Fred. Her slightly Southern drawl ensnared him, even with her talk about pi and mathematical formulas. The boy was smitten, but just too proud to admit it.

"He's should be fine," Fred added, playfully smacking Gunn's arm.

With a small flourish, Angel turned around, his hand smoothing Cordelia's bare shoulder before caressing her cheek. Concern flooded his voice and reached his eyes. "Think you're gonna be okay here…Alone?"

"I'll be fine. We need someone to hold down the fort, and it looks like it's my job tonight. No problem-o," Cordy answered, that smile bringing out color in her tanned cheeks. He could almost feel his knees go weak, and he damn well resisted the urge to kiss her. Because if he did, then they'd never get this simple little case done, and that…was bad… right?

Uh. Uh huh. Right.

He found himself staring at her.

"Angel."

"Mmm."

She looked puzzled, but mischievous. "What's your malfunction?"

"Oh!" Angel swallowed down the lump in his throat, dark eyes furtively glancing up from that spot on her neck, to meet hazel. "Uh. Nothing. Nothing." His fingers flinched, hand pulling away and down. Angel almost moved in for a hug, but remembered that sandwiching the baby between them both was not a good thing.

Connor gave a small sigh, eyelids at half-mast.

"We'll be back," he stated, pulling away from his position near Cordy. Feeling around in his pocket for the keys to his black GTX convertible, Angel heard the others in step behind him. Even though he couldn't see her, Angel could feel those lingering eyes on him, and that gentle whisper in his ears despite the back door slamming shut.

*

"Fred! No, come on over here!" Gunn shouted, elbowing the face of the nearest Temsik demon. He could feel slimy claws latch onto his jacket, pulling him back from his walk to Fred. The aforementioned girl screamed Gunn's name while simultaneously thwacking her own demon with a bat. She yelled something else, and it wasn't long before Gunn gave the demon a good blow to the back of its head.

The Temsik demons were wrinkly and scaly, dark green skin covered with a glistening sheen of perspiration. Their eyes looked sealed shut, perhaps by birth or burning. Heads misshapen and teeth elongated, they were numerous and rushing the good guys. Angel had long since gone into vampire mode, roaring and shoving the hollering demons off of him. His leather jacket was torn, various bruises and cuts on his face and hands.

The sewer stank of garbage and mildew, plus the slippery and sloshy floor made it hard not to skid. Rumbling pipes hanging above also continued their shaky, echoing moan. The constant sound made it hard for anyone, much less a vampire with acute hearing, to think clearly.

Wesley sliced the gut of one demon, kicking another in its shin. "Angel, get to Fred!"

There was panic in Wesley's blue eyes, as he saw that Gunn was overtaken with two demons. The ratio of bad to good was 3 to 1…Not good. Fred could hold her own under easier circumstances. However, it seemed that he nor Gunn could get to her in time. She nearly lost her head months ago, and Wesley would not like to see that happen again.

Angel kicked another demon that tried getting up from the floor. His head snapped to the left, seeing the leader Temsik demon nearby. He could tell it was the leader clearly by the golden bracelets on its rough wrists and neck. Usually leaders adorned themselves while subordinates settled for less.

Punching another demon that came up from behind, Angel growled in frustration. If only he could just reach out and twist the thing's neck ever so hard to the right and–

"ANGEL!"

Wesley's strong voice brought Angel back from his wishing. To his right was Fred who was in dire need of serious help, a demon clamping his hand on her neck. Gunn was too far away and so was Wesley. He made his move, hands clamping on the leader demon's neck after he leaped forward. Twisting, he could just feel the thing die, feel vertebrae snapping–

Another demon rushed his side, making him drop the neck of the one he was twisting. Angel cursed, plowing his fist into the new demon's face, turning and shoving his sword into its midsection right afterwards.

Damn it. Stay or go right. Kill the other demons, hope Gunn throws off the guys in time, risk Fred's life. Go right, save Fred, and wait for the shoe to drop, wait for those demons to possibly get away, regroup and start killing again.

He made his decision.

Right.

Angel shook the clawing and dying off of him, letting it drop to the floor with a moan. Turning, he threw the short sword he clutched with a bruised hand. The blade sliced through the air, and planted firmly between the shoulder blades of the Temsik who almost crushed Fred's windpipe. Gunn had leaped up right afterwards, elbowing the demon that restrained him. With a small flourish, he hacked off the heads of the two demons that had previously occupied Angel's time.

The fight ended a few minutes later. Without the leader for support, Angel surmised, the remaining demons had grown afraid and careless. His boot accidentally kicked one body on the floor while walking over to Wesley. Features shifting to normal, Angel tapped Wesley's back gently.

Wesley looked down at the broken body in front of him, death by sword wounds. He took off his glasses, cleaning them with a handkerchief from his jacket pocket.

"I got the leader, Wes," Angel shouted over the sound, head hanging down a bit. He idly touched a scrape on his forehead, feeling the pain fade away, tissue mending, cuts healing, scars averted. Yet another plus of being a vampire.

Wesley turned around, offering a half smile. He could see Gunn helping Fred up from the ground, wiping the dirt off her jacket. "Good. Let's tend to the wounded."

A nod was Angel's response. "Yeah…"

He offered that crooked smile of his, before heading down the passageway with a silent Wes, a stoic Gunn and a bemused Fred. They were all aching, too tired to make insightful jokes and only settling for witty remarks from Gunn instead. All they needed was to be rid of the foul sewer stench, and up into the air again. The city, and as Angel would have it, the man-made lights.

*

It had taken a long while, but somehow Angel returned to the hotel, Fred trailing behind him with eyes half open. The night had passed in a blur, and soon it would be daytime… Tired muscles stretched as he walked up the staircase, too sleepy to check if Lorne had returned from… well, whatever he had been doing. Angel checked his watch, seeing that it was only 1:29 AM.

Angel made sure Fred got to her room without collapsing from the lack of sleep, wishing her good night.

Cordelia would either be in panic, caffeinated-to-stay-awake, 'mommy' mode…Or maybe after all her worrying and prattle to Connor, she had fallen asleep.

Entering his room quietly, Angel then went with the second option. He closed the door shut behind him gently, slipping out of the torn, black leather jacket. Holding it in his fist, Angel walked over to his bed, seeing the sleeping form of Cordelia. She was in shorts and a short, dark gray tanktop… different from the simple dress shirt and underwear hours before. Maybe Wesley's interruption has started a sense of embarrassment in her. Either that or she just wanted to be more comfortable. He didn't know much about women's relationships with clothing.

However, upon further inspection, Angel could see those lovely fingers clutched around a dark, black silk material. Cordy had it pulled up and against her face, like a little girl with a stuffed animal.

It was one of his shirts.

He could feel that dorky smile come on again. Angel turned and walked to Connor's crib, placing his jacket down on a chair. The infant was sound asleep, his small breathing wondrous to Angel's ears.

Gunn and Wesley had gone home, wounds needing to be mended. There were no serious bruises, thank God, and everyone would be all right. They'd meet the next day, Saturday, just to hang out.

His 'family' couldn't be doing better.

After taking a quick shower and changing into black pajama pants, he slipped underneath the bed covers. Feeling a gentle sigh coming from his Cordy, Angel's eyes closed with a smile on his face. It wasn't too long afterwards that he felt those fingers uncurl from the silk shirt and softly touch his bare chest, staying there.

Protected.

*

He watched her from his place in the shadows of the alley, eyes roaming every inch of her flesh. The sun caressed her body like a gentle lover, her eyes wild and burning hazel. Cordy stretched gracefully like a feline, her head canting– neck, there, there was the curve and exposed skin– to look back at him. She rubbed her arms, suddenly frigid in the harsh heat, city street pavement sizzling golden. Air rose in short drafts, blowing papers and garbage littering the ground.

Her dress was pure white silk, with spaghetti straps, reaching just above bare knees. The blinding wind blew down around her, never seeming to touch her. Dress flowing like an angel, the lovely smile present. Her hair then flew up in the breeze, hair never getting into her eyes, just 'floating'.

Slowly…everything happened so slowly.

Cordelia flexed her hand, a soft wave. Beckoning him to come closer. He resigned, afraid to feel the dangerous pricking across his skin. How ironic, that the harsh ball of fire in the sky could be so generous and kind hearted to this woman, his love. Yet to him, it was a cruel and horrible thing, slaying and destroying.

Angel stepped out into the sunlight, taking her hand.

All motion stopped. The air whistled past their faces, gooseflesh erupting because of the temperature. Delicate fingers caressed his brow and cheek, lingering.

"I love you," she told him in all seriousness. "But you have to learn to let me go."

Opening his mouth to speak, Angel suddenly found himself alone on that empty street. He glanced around, seeing no cars whatsoever. Neither were there any people. The sunlight streamed down, reflecting off the immaculate glass of harsh steel buildings, storefronts. It was a typically busy street, only devoid of all things moving. Traffic signals flared yellow, then red in order, directing no cars.

The street was entirely empty, as far as the eye could see.

Forcing down the lump in his throat, Angel found his voice again. "Cordelia?"

It had to be at least noon. So why weren't there anyone, anything moving on Rodeo Drive, a normally lively and busy center of commerce?

He turned around slowly, taking in the utter silence, save for the wind rushing past his ears.

Totally alone.

The vampire started to run, duster billowing behind him, searching for signs of life. His heart rose, buildings flashed by the faster he ran, stomach begged for food. For blood, what kept mortals alive and well.

Plus, vampires too.

He kept running and running and running until his legs gave way, and soon the darkness flooded in.

"I can't stay with you until you see the truth."

*

That Morning

Those tumultuous brown eyes snapped open, the alarm clock going off. Only a dream. He could feel the smaller body move next to him, groaning. A thin arm pulled the covers up and over his girlfriend's head, eager to reach the place of sleep. However, Angel had no time for this because he had a schedule. He always had a schedule; it made everything in order. He liked order.

Kicking the canvas bag out of his way on the floor, he shuffled into the bathroom. The lights were still off. It was around five in the morning, and the sun was not too far off. He wished he could've gone for a run, just to let off some steam, but she wouldn't let him leave. Not now.

Misguided fingers turned the faucet knob, letting hot water roll over the calluses of his fingers. He looked into the mirror, unable to see anything. It was still dark. Adjusting his pants, he flicked on the light, leaning against the rim of the sink with both hands.

Angel's reflection was there, just as he remembered it. How could he forget such a face? His victims had not, nor did his friends. No one could forget that disfigured face, ever since the smash up. He called it that sometimes, because he didn't like it being referred to as 'the accident'. It wasn't a damn accident. He could see from his left eye, the right not as well due to the damage being mostly on that side. It was hard for him to talk sometimes, but he managed. It was pretty bad; scars evident, skin uneven, jaw a bit crooked and looking like hell. He stood up straight, glancing at his brow, once joked about, now slightly irregular on the right side.

He never really liked himself, but it now felt like his true demon could permanently be seen: something horrible and deformed, and ugly.

It seemed ironic that he was once known as "the one with the angelic face," and now? What was he, a shell of his former broad shouldered, powerful self, now more gaunt and thin, hair grown longer so that it got in his eyes. He eventually hoped it would be long enough to cover his face again, but she wouldn't let him do that.

His jaw was set, cold and calculated, in need of a shave. Broken in four different places, the doctors had said when he came out of the hospital. They didn't operate immediately because of the coma, which could lead to brain defects if they worked on him. He did wake up, and they set to work, mending the broken bones and tissue. Sometimes Angel wondered if he'd ring when going through a metal detector; they'd put some much damn metal in his skull, you'd think he could pick up radio stations.

No matter how hard the doctors tried, they could not mend his ravaged face fully. There were procedures that hadn't been accomplished, new techniques that needed to be tested. He volunteered, they declined.

So he would wait. Wait for this damn thing to stay with him in his now shorter life. Humans could wait. Why couldn't he? He was one of them, after all.

"Mmm."

Angel turned, flicking the light off. He walked back into the room, grinding his teeth, fireworks exploding in his jaw because of it. His breathing was hitched just thinking about his situation, gait erratic… he made it to the bed, looking down at her. She was turning once more, taking the cover off with her.

"You - didn't need to wake up so early," He told her, looking at the floor.

"I can't stay sleeping any longer. Otherwise, I won't wake up 'til noon tomorrow." She yawned. He appreciated the loveliness of her mouth. "…I was dreaming about you."

"I'll go make you some coffee," Angel responded gruffly, and it wasn't long before he pulled on a black silk robe and made his way downstairs.

She yawned again, pulling the covers once more. The soft comforter twisted because of those firm legs, material hanging over the edge of the bed messily. She pulled the cover off, leaning back and rubbing her right eye.

Looking in the direction of the door that was left ajar, she raised an eyebrow.

"I guess someone's not an early riser," Buffy admitted, before yanking the covers over her head, while thinking of excuses to say to Angel for not getting there early.

---

Part 2

So hard to understand, to know, to figure it all out…

…"I thought everything was fine. But I soon realized it wasn't. Nothing…everything was hard. Life was hard, this thing called living. I went. I tried. I didn't ask questions."

"And why didn't you, if you thought something was wrong?"

"Because… I- I felt that it was the way it should've been. Perfect irony. Eventually, I turned out to be wrong. Consequences. They're funny that way…"

"So that's your explanation for all of this."

"I-I don't know WHAT happened, okay? Stop…stop it."

"Relax Angel. I'm just trying to figure out what happened. Do you feel up to continuing?"

"I…I don't think I can answer anymore questions today."

"Relax. Relax…Let's see if we can put this all together."

*

Buffy came down the hotel staircase, skipping one…two stairs at a time. She decided to wear the black leggings, white T-shirt, gray hooded jacket and tennis shoes because it wasn't that cold that morning. Usually she'd wear warmer clothing because Angel didn't bother turning the heat on.

The aforementioned man stood off to the side in the office, unrecognizable from her point of view. He wore the long robe and he was skinnier now, just like when she first met him. His hair was longish and tousled in that way she loved. It got in his eyes, but once in a while she'd blow the bangs away, sealing his lips with a kiss.

Turning to look at her, his trouble eyes lifted to meet her own. Angel looked suspicious, or what could pass for suspicious on his face. "What?"

"Nothing," Buffy answered, tone abrupt. She made her way to the counter; eyes fixed on the small stack of newspapers waiting. "These came in today?"

Gesturing with his coffee mug in his hand, he placed Buffy's mug on the counter. "Some are from yesterday, but most are today. Sorry I couldn't get you the old ones sooner."

The Slayer shook her head, flipping through the pages. "It's fine."

Angel took that as a cue to shut up, and did so, taking a sip of the hot, black coffee.

"Aren't you going to ask me how my night went?" Buffy asked, blue eyes lifting to meet with his briefly, a coy smile.

"How did it go?"

"We took down five vamps. It would've been six if Faith hadn't let the other one go, after she teased him."

Now Angel looked confused. "Teased him?"

"You know, that whole 'I'm cool, Slayeriffic, five by five, one night fling, yadda yadda yadda."

"Slayeriffic."

Buffy nodded. "Slay-er-rif-fic," she repeated, as if talking to a small child.

"You need more coffee. Your puns are weak," Angel accused, smiling at her. It pained him to do so. She flinched visibly, smiling back before looking at the papers. Of course, he remembered to include the comics before she had a seizure, and kicked his butt. Which was easier than ever, since he couldn't contend with her Slayer strength. Human weakness. If he didn't get those messages from the Powers That Be, he really would feel worthless.

Angel knew depression in his unlife, and it seemed to come back and haunt him when he was living now, too.

He watched the corners of her lips raise up in a smile, knowing that he loved her.

Always.

He'd given up his crusade to be with her, had he not? The Mohra's blood made him human, and he could not bear wanting to change back. Not after seeing her face, feeling her skin. Feeling her inside of him when they had sex for the second time…

"Did you eat anything?"

Angel looked to the toaster on the table near the counter. "No, I–"

– "You're not much of a foodie. I know." Hair in pigtails, cowboy boot on the lemon colored tanktop–

"– didn't eat… yet."

Buffy looked up once more. "What's the what?"

"Pardon?"

"You're getting all spacey. And use of proper grammar? …Something's bugging you."

"It's nothing." He fidgeted, scratching his firm chest underneath the robe.

A shrill beep went off, making him jerk from the sound. Buffy leaned down, checking her beeper. "It's Faith. I told her to meet me bright and early. We found a nest down on Third."

"All right. See you later, then?"

"Yeah." Buffy straightened, adjusting the stakes on her belt. She started to go, then thought better of it, stopping. Quickly, she kissed him on his good cheek before pulling away. Lifting her canvas bag, eyes downcast, Buffy left the hotel, leaving a confused Angel behind.

*

"What's wrong?"

Angel heard the question faintly, it jogging his memory. He could clearly remember hearing that question often, but from someone else.

A pale hand slammed the tabletop in front of him, making him shake out of the daydream. Another gaunt face with high cheekbones stared at him, head canting.

Spike snapped his fingers. "Hell-o?"

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"Oh. Right then," Spike acknowledged, a sarcastic tone in his voice.

Angel didn't like being outside in the sunlight. The first few weeks were marvelous, but ever since the accident… Angel hated it. They were at a small café, sitting inside, far from the window. The convertible was parked outside, in the alley. He didn't want to go in public, but Spike told him he needed some air. When Angel pointed out that it was daytime, Spike just gave him a look, and borrowed his blanket in the car.

They sat towards the back, Angel keeping the right side of his face to the wall, so fewer people would stare again. Fortunately, his longish hair covered some of his face, so that was good. Besides doing that, Angel kept his hair longer than before since he didn't bother with his appearance after the accident. What good came out of a great hair day, when you looked like you'd seen far worse days?

It took Buffy a lot of coaxing for him to dress decently; she bought him a lot of his clothing. Lots of dark, muted colors. Thankfully, she didn't bother with the whole shaving thing, because otherwise he'd feel like a child, her catering to him. He had a three-day stubble grown in, and didn't care.

The people already were staring. Some young guys came in, probably jocks. It was a crowded restaurant, so they couldn't make a scene. But upon seeing Angel's face, they started snickering.

"Fix your face, man!" A helpful one suggested.

"I'll give HIM a face to look at!" Spike growled, features shifting slightly, demon struggling to emerge. He felt protective of his grandsire, in some odd way. Sure, Spike disliked the poofter, but only he could tell him so. Spike reserved Angel for insults. That was all.

"Leave it," Angel muttered through clenched teeth.

–"You're handsome, brave, heroic... Emotionally stunted, prone to turning evil, and let's face it, a–" –

"Eunuch," Angel finished oddly. Spike gave him a curious look, leading Angel to fumble for a response. "Uh - that's the guy."

"Yeah…" Spike turned in his chair to look, then back to Angel. "Speaking of…" He pointed to his own face, index finger waving about in small circles. "The face?"

"It's better. There's an appointment scheduled for Saturday."

"Ah." Spike leaned forward, changing the subject. "Faith let me in on their little plan. We're to meet at 'O Leary's later. Have a little drink, watch out for the expected vamps, do a little mischief. You know, all in good fun."

"All right." Angel stirred his coffee, gazing out the window. "Buffy's coming too, right?"

"'Course your bird's going to be there."

Angel nodded distantly, wondering where that voice in his head came from. The voice that wasn't Buffy.

*

"You had a vision, seeing another girl, right?"

"This was more than a vision. I FELT her. I knew her from somewhere. I just couldn't quite place what and where."

"It wasn't like the extended period before? You two, when you were reading?"

"Extended? No. That was real. I remember…I could feel her skin, taste her. I need her…God, where is she…?"

"Forget about that for now, Angel. Let's speed it up a bit, shall we?"

"…Right, right."

*

Bus rides were a bitch when you were wearing too tight leather pants. Major chaffing.

She groaned, trying to resist the urge of yanking her pants off. Of course, when safely in her room at the motel, she'd do it. But the idea of walking around in her black lacy panties in public did seem fun.

Anyway.

At least that place was better than others she'd been to. Boston. New York. Chicago. Now something on the west coast. The climate was sure as hell hotter than the usual haunts, but it was something she could get used to. As long as she stuck to the task at hand, then everything would be all right. A clean sweep down this street, then she'd go and shack up. Maybe make a phone call or two, have a little fun.

She traced the counter top with flexing fingers, tapping an unknown tune. It was boring, just waiting there in a smelly old records store, but it was required. She did the casual flicking through the LPs thing again, nose scrunching when a dust cloud flared up. These things were called records, she remembered, having heard the word used once or twice before. They seemed foreign and odd in her opinion.

The reason why she was there, came into the store, worn leather boots and low riding jeans completing the hoodlum look.

The idea of just plain sleeping seemed more than good. Three vampires dusted hours before, and her muscles were aching. It's because you're being a lazy ass. They never took that much out of you like before.

"You goin' later tonight?"

The question was not directed at her, thankfully. She made a show of flipping through the LPs some more, pulling out an old white album. The Beatles. Oddness. She could smell cigarette smoke, angling her head just so to peer out from long dark brown tresses.

Two vamps in non-fang mode. Both were deathly pale, and in need of serious body hygiene.

"O'Leary's right? Jacob said he'd be there with the rest. It's Happy Hour," the cigarette smoking vampire joked, playfully punching the other street vamp.

"Cool. We're all goin'? The entire crew?"

"Yeah. Jacob figured we'd bag at least a dozen meals to go."

"Right, right."

'O Leary's. Rolling her shoulder muscles, Cordelia Chase stretched. Looks like I'll be putting off that whole sleeping thing. Better go in with more muscle than I thought.

*

Buffy hefted the crossbow at waist length, looking at it disdainfully. The craftsmanship was shoddy, the balance was irregular…Ugh. Yuck.

She placed the crossbow back on the shelf, looking about the magic store. It was dark outside, and pretty soon she'd have to leave to go meet Spike, Faith, and Angel. Buffy scrunched her nose, walking slowly by an antique weapons display. She wondered why her mind filed in Angel last. No. It was time to stock up, not go over the whole Angel situation.

The whole place was inviting, the walls paneled in wood, air filled with incense. A row of glass-paneled display cases formed a counter on one side, while tables and stands were scattered throughout the rest of the floor space. There were odd types of merchandise all over the place, weapons, jars filled with liquids, books. Just lots of magic stuff.

Lifting a tapered wooden stick– almost like an extra long stake– Buffy's mouth curled into a smile. She could feel the wood in her hands, imagine the exquisitely carved weapon burying into the gut of an unseen monster.

The metal and plastic screamed, the silver car crashing into the black GTX, a grinning monster appreciating its handiwork. In slow-motion, his world fell apart–

She took a deep breath, straightening the stick. Deciding to buy the item, Buffy turned and walked to the register, trying to shake out the still fresh images of horror out of her mind.

*

Cordelia stood outside the door to the bar. "'O Leary's," the sign read. She parted her leather jacket, revealing the tops of her breasts, fixed her shirt, and ran her fingers through her hair before entering the bar.

In the deep bowels of the bar, Cordelia sat alone in a small booth, secluded in the shadows. A mug of beer on the table in front of her, her hazel eyes roamed the occupants of the bar, the mug leaving a small pool of liquid on the table, already condensing. Her eyes fell on three people entering the bar, two men and one woman.

Interesting, Cordelia thought to herself. The three were at the other end of the bar, and she watched as they took seats at the bar counter. She noticed the startling differences among them, wondering why they were actually...friends, maybe? They all looked so different from each other.

One of the two young men wore a baggy black trenchcoat, his hair a shock of white, cheekbones harsh on his pale face, full lips. He appeared to carry himself well, so she figured he might be English. Or maybe a vampire. Perhaps both. He had that whole Sid Vicious, Billy Idol, mad at the world, punk rock, Sex Pistols craving…British thing about him.

Other people might not be able to guess, but she learned to notice little things like that. Or maybe it was because she got bored easily. It was always hard to tell. She moved a lock of hair away from her face, regretting her choice of a messy ponytail half piled up on her head.

The girl, she had blonde hair and blue eyes, a light tan, and looked straight out of a Gap commercial. Of course, Cordelia thought. Your typical air head that calls herself an actress, sleeping with directors and hoping to be James Cameron's poster girl.

Chuckling to herself, Cordelia grinned slightly, leaning back. I bet she was Homecoming Queen in High School, too.

However, the other man attracted Cordelia's attention even more. He was a good thirty feet away, but she could see him so clearly, it was as if she had twin telescopes for eyes. She saw the back of his head, dark brown hair longish and messy. His six-foot plus frame concealed by a black shirt, pants, and dark gray trenchcoat. A hand protectively on the girl's waist…well, trying since the girl never stopped moving.

The girl moved to the counter, the blonde guy sitting two stools away. The man in the trenchcoat finally turned upon sitting down next to the blonde girl.

Cordelia winced visibly, taking in the sight of his face, plastic surgery gone wrong. The left side of his disfigured face was a trifle better than the right, but there were scars evident. It looked like someone had taken a baseball bat and smashed his face in…but she knew that was exaggerating. Still, it must've been hard for him to talk or see, what with his right eye near shut, and mouth slightly crooked.

He had the most amazing eyes though, of what she could see from her position in the back.

Weird. And ugh, Cordelia thought, discreetly gazing over at him. Why can't he just fix it?

She looked up, watching the girl stand up, lightly pat him on the shoulder. He looked startled, as if he had been daydreaming. He gave a slight smile– which looked weird on his somewhat sad face, Cordelia noted– and nodded to the girl. The girl walked pass her booth, to the lady's room. Probably his sister or something, she thought to herself. Doubtful he can get a girlfriend with a face like that.

Sighing, she stood up, realizing that nothing of importance was going on in this place. It also wouldn't help to 'casually' sit there, just waiting for vamps, and be noticeable. Throwing a five to the bartender as she walked out, she threw her jacket on carelessly. The weather here in L.A. was very warm during the day. At night, however, the mercury dropped harshly. Calmly walking down the alley behind the bar, she shoved her hands into her pockets.

Oh yay, Cordelia thought, closing her eyes a little, giving herself what seemed like a dreamy expression. She heard a faint shuffling behind her, the sound of rubber soles on concrete. She could've done that whole "Oh-I'm-just-a-damsel-in-distress-so-please-go-easy-on-me" act, but kicking their asses would be so much sweeter.

Spinning around, she faced two demons, both wearing street clothes, their skins a deep color of ocean blue. Each had two small silver horns on top of their bald heads, arching forward.

"Aren't you two just a bunch of cuties..." she muttered, getting into a fighting stance. She noticed one of the demons brandished a rusty broad sword, the other holding a crowbar in his fist.

"Come with us or die," the one to her left spat out, taking a step towards her.

"Schedule's kinda booked. I don't have time for some creeps like you two."

"All right," said the other, lunging towards her, waving his crowbar.

She had been prepared for this. She took his wrist under her arm, catching him off balance and using his momentum to throw him into an alley wall. A slight sound was heard, as he hurt his arm from it slamming the wall. He reeled, dropping his weapon and falling to the ground, cradling his arm. Cordelia took this opportunity to quickly snatch up the crowbar.

"Shit!" yelled the other demon, lunging his sword at Cordelia. The young woman blocked it with her crowbar, and delivered a kick to his chest. He fell back, slamming the alley wall behind him.

"Yoooo...." the one cradling his arm called out, at first weakly, then louder, tears in his eery blue eyes. "Ydhrrndll, flathinsha!" he yelled, curled up near the wall.

Cordelia blinked, confused, then felt large, rough arms around hers, bracing her arms back. She struggled with the two new demons that came from the shadows.

There were four new demons in front of her, six in play. Eight in all, but two were down and out of the game. The demons were brandishing weapons as well, two with knives, one with a billy club, and another one with a small medieval double-bladed axe. She could've taken three of them. But she was restricted from doing anything, the two demon's arms like vises.

"Kill her," the demon to the left of her, the one holding her had said. She kept struggling, knowing that it was no use, because these two were more than ordinary demons; they were both a deeper, richer blue than their brethren.

Uh oh.

*

"It wasn't fair!" whined Buffy, for the fifth time. "I mean, here I am, kick ass mode, ready to stake the…the jerk, right? Then one of his buddies comes up from behind and rips my new suede boots. Does he even bother to think how much they cost? Noooo. And– Spike. Spike, are you listening to me? Spike?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, you were talking about..." he trailed off, looking back to the glass of beer in front of him, the same glass he had been staring into for the pass five minutes as Buffy was ranting. He, Buffy, and Angel were in the dark and gloomy dive off of Main Street, 'O Leary's, for nearly fifteen minutes now.

"I was talking about what, Spike?"

"The...The…boots," Spike said slowly, managing to remember.

"You were just lucky on that one. Angel, you there?" She poked Angel, who was sitting next to her, his dark eyes roaming the customers in the bar. His mind kept focusing on that daydream… That girl, with her cute little pigtails… She couldn't be no more than 18…maybe 20. She looked at him with such trust in her eyes, a beautiful smile on her face.

"Yeah, Buffy. Let's try to keep a low profile here, all right? We don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves."

"Of course, but I just wanted to keep the convo going. Because my idea of a late night does not involve sitting between two vamp…a British vamp, and an Irish…guy. You know, we need to pick out a last name for you," Buffy added randomly.

Angel turned, an eyebrow raised. He opened his mouth to saw something, but snapped it shut, eyes rolling in the back of his head. He jerked on his stool, Spike jumping forward to keep him up straight. Feeling like the metal in his head came loose, Angel shook in his chair, eyes shut. The images passed before his eyes, vivid and brilliant.

"Vision!" Buffy whispered harshly, moving close to Angel, eyes scanning the room and back to her. She reached forward, embracing him, looking at him worriedly.

Blurred images ran through Angel's mind, some hard to interpret. A girl, hazel eyes flashing, tanned and beautiful, fighting some demons. A scream, and blood on the pavement. The alley where this was taking place looked familiar.

"Angel...What is it?" Buffy asked him urgently.

"A girl..." Angel said, voice hoarse, blinking rapidly. "She was fighting some...Some demon. Hazel eyes, dark brown hair. I think it was outside...Alley behind the bar, maybe...Maybe close to Pearson..."

Spike listened intently, fingers straying from his bottle of beer. Thin fingers then draped across his own, a tanned arm running over his shoulder like a snake. Spike looked up, that familiar devilish grin coming onto his face. Faith cocked her head, giving Spike a slow kiss on the mouth.

"What's going on?" The second Slayer asked, looking to Spike, before glancing to Angel, a pale hand on his furrowed brow. Buffy removed her hold on Angel, coming over to Faith.

"Angel just had a vision. We're going out," Buffy explained, a curt tone.

"We can't!" Faith bit her lip. "You know Jacob and his posse are due in here by eleven. They show up and see us throwin' the big to-do outside, you know they'll figure something's up."

Spike kissed her fingers, letting her drape her arm across his shoulder for support. "Right, love. We've been at this too long to mess up now."

"Fine. Angel–" Buffy looked over at Angel, but he was already gone, the back entrance door slamming, a flash of a dark gray duster.

*

"I didn't know WHAT was going on. You probably think I'm crazy. You're not far from the truth. All it took was the trigger…the trigger that cost me everything."

"The cause of all this?"

"Yeah. Thing is, I don't have any clue as to WHAT the trigger is."

---

Part 3

"Now look...You guys don't wanna do this...I bet you're workin' on Union hours, right?"

The demons looked at her, and she knew that if they were human, their eyebrows would've been raised.

"Ignore her insults. Kill the wench," said the big bruiser of a demon holding her left arm. The demons nodded, one coming up close and jamming a knife into her side. She winced, flesh feeling as if it was on fire. Is this poison?

The blood gushed out of her wounds like a dam of water being released. She felt a rush of dizziness, but stood her ground, head bowing a little.

"Before you die...Tell me about your superiors. Now," Leader said, shoving her up against the wall. Her head slammed against the concrete, stars in her eyes. She was still awake though, as she peered back at him, red filling her vision. She now had a gash on her forehead, a normal one, not the excruciating ones burning her stomach. Blood ran down her cheek.

"Tell me!" he roared, shaking her. She remained quiet, wondering what the hell they were talking about.

"You know, it's not nice to bother a lady like that. You have to ask nicely," a voice said, a figure coming out of the shadows.

The man!

His dark brown orbs narrowed at the large, main demon. "It's proper manners, you know."

"Kill him, as well," said the main demon calmly, releasing his grip on Cordelia, moving forward to the man. Cordelia slumped to the floor, staring through bloody eyes. The first two demons seemed to have regenerative powers, because they stood up, also advancing towards the man, bruised but not beaten.

They're gonna kill the chivalrous oaf.

But Cordelia watched as the demons threw themselves upon him, and he retaliated with a series of stiff kicks and punches, sending two demons crashing into a nearby dumpster. Staggering to her feet, she joined the fight, snap kicking one demon hard, and shoving another one with brute violence into the same dumpster as his friends. Four more to go, Cordelia counted.

She watched as the man moved towards her, panting. "Look, you better get out of here."

"I'm staying to fight with you."

"But–"

The other smaller demons attacked, yelling and waving their weapons. At the same moment, both Cordelia and the man lashed out violently at them, kicking them ferociously. Cordelia dislocated one demon's arm, while as the man snapped the other demon's neck.

"You have to teach me how to do that!"

"Look, miss, get some cover," the man said, a tone of strained patience in his voice. Cordelia looked towards him, a determined look on her face. He towered over her, almost a head separating them. His dark brown eyes looked so adventurous, yet so sad… Face contorted in worse than a vampire's grimace…He was stooped slightly, panting. The right leg was stiffer than the other, an explanation for his unusual gait.

And right behind him, came one of the larger demons. A sword in his hands, he lunged forward, prepared to shove his weapon into the man's back, into his heart.

Cordelia roughly shoved the man to her left, and he fell to the ground. In a split second, she leaped forward, tackling the demon roughly. They struggled on the ground for a moment, but she soon overcame him. The blood on her small, concealed knife was evident of that. She rolled off of him, rolling on top of the man, his own brown eyes gazing into her hazel ones.

*


Things had suddenly became very confusing.

He had that vision, Angel coming outside, only to find nothing in the alley. But his vision sense…whatever that was, picked up the pack of demons, and a girl, he knew, who was different. Not in a bad way, but she didn't exactly seem like a human or a vampire, either. He was confused because of this, but he trudged along the alley anyway, only to find the scene of violence unfurling before him.

She was pretty all right. Deep, dark hazel eyes, almost brown, rose lips, and dark brown hair. Her skin was tanned, more so than Buffy. This girl loved the sun… something he'd never get used to. There was a sense of familiarity in the air around her, but he couldn't quite place where he had seen her before. He may have been over two hundred and forty years old, and have a good memory, but he couldn't remember everything. And he didn't want to remember everything, sometimes.

So he had joined in the fight. She was a remarkably good fighter, strong and determined too. Not one to listen to orders, he had noted. But after this scene of violence, she had shoved him aside. She had tackled the demon about to kill him behind him. But why?

Her movements were fluid, evidence of years of training. Not a vampire, he knew. Even though he was human now, he still remembered the telltale signs.

She stared at him with surprised eyes. "I-I'm sorry..." she mumbled, rolling off of him and standing up, almost embarrassed. The blood was now trickling onto her shirt. There was pain in her eyes, but she managed to hide it well…Except for the bruise around her mid section. Her jacket was in the way, but Angel could tell she was bleeding profusely, even though the dark material hid the blood.

He could smell the blood, and it nauseated him.

Stumbling to his feet, he stared at her, already tired from the previous fight. Turning his head, he noticed that the main demon had used that distraction to his advantage and ran. Angel turned back to Cordelia, who was already staring at him.

"You're – human," He said slowly, knowing how stupid that sounded.

"Ya think?" the girl retorted, giving him a weird look. A familiar one. Barely constrained fascination of a macabre nature. A look of disgust that soon gave way to neutrality.

"This...This doesn't make any sense. How can you…" He looked at the ravaged alley, then to her.

"What?" She moved closer to him, reaching towards his forehead. He had a cut from the scuffle. He pulled away from her, ducking low. "You are too," She added, looking at him as if he was an organism under a microscope lense.

"Who are you?" Angel asked, keeping his guard up. Progressing…good. Usually Buffy handled these cases, since he didn't want to drive away potential clients by letting them get a good look at him. The accident prevented him from fully functioning in this world, but he knew deep down that he deserved it.

"I'm– no one." She bit her lip, hand pressed against her stomach.

"You're lying," he said carefully, straightening up. His wounds were aching, and he knew he couldn't take her on, even though she was tired from the previous fight. He had hung back a while before, hearing the demon ask her about 'superiors'. Maybe she was a tool of Wolfram and Hart, hence his questioning.

"I'm not lying. I'm telling you the truth."

"You're lying, again," He repeated, feeling reluctant to hurt her in any way. Sure, he was no longer the warrior, but the messenger… Yet he had no qualm about the vision's targets. They could be good or evil. Taking a step towards her, she looked at him, blood trickling into her eyes, mixing it with the tears sliding down her cheeks.

But then he looked into her eyes, seeing a rush of emotions. Pain, hurt, and anger… The look of someone who got through the world, through everything with an outer shell. Never letting anything in. But she was so vulnerable now, and needed someone. He knew it; he felt it from the bottom of his heart, which beat.

As if she could read what he was thinking, she nodded, taking a step forward. She then staggered, and fell. He caught her in his arms, embracing her as he glanced towards the deep cuts on her abdomen. She looked at him with scared wide eyes, and then they closed, as she went unconscious, faintly feeling the warm and comforting touch he gave her.

Angel didn't know what he was feeling. He felt as if holding this girl, hugging this mysterious warrior was everything that he needed in the world for the moment. He lightly rested his chin upon her head, his eyes closed, stroking her hair. Holding her close, he didn't notice as three people exited the bar behind him.

Buffy, Spike, and Faith jogged towards them, worse for the wear, fearing something was wrong. But then they happened upon their friend, in the arms of a total stranger. Exchanging glances, the three were shocked, but too sore to complain about it. Evidently, Faith was right. As soon as Angel left, Buffy was a split second from taking off after him, but it seemed Jacob and his crew arrived early. The three had gone out the side door, and into the melee. They killed about six vampires, before the rest retreated. It was to no use, since they'd get them anyway.

"Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds," Faith interjected in the silence. Startled, Angel straightened, holding Cordelia at an arm's length. Blinking, he looked down at the ground, glancing up towards Buffy. The Slayer raised an eyebrow at him, looking more or less curious.

She leaned a bit to see the face of the girl through dark hair streaming down. There was a small sense of déjà vu, but it left just as quickly.

"Angel. Are you all right?" Buffy asked carefully, concern filling her voice.

He nodded mutely, looking to her. "Yeah. Bruised a bit. I'll live."

"I think the bartender called the cops..." Faith continued, motioning her hands towards the end of the alley, the distant flashing of red and blue, and the sound of sirens.

"Yeah. Let's go," Spike said, slightly pushing Buffy and Faith into the opposite direction of the cops.

Nodding, Angel pulled the girl to her feet. He nodded to Spike, who gave him a hand. They half-dragged, half-carried the girl in their arms to the convertible. She was remarkably light, but he didn't care, he just wanted to get her someplace safe, to tend to her wounds. So the four headed off into the night, away from the law enforcement.

*

"You took her home with you."

"Yeah."

"Did your girlfriend object to that?"

"…What exactly are you getting at?"

"Well, I just think it's a little odd that your girlfriend– Buffy, is that correct?– who as you've said, has shown strong vibes of jealousy towards other women in the past, would agree to your choice of bringing an exceptional looking young woman home with you."

"…What the hell? So I could what? That I wanted to fuck her 'cause she was helpless and lonely, is that what you're saying?"

"Angel, calm down. That is not what I am saying."

"No. I'm tired of this. I'm telling you what I know, all right? You already think I'm crazy, so what's the point anyway?"

"Look. I'm trying to help you. At least give me that much."

"…I just wanted to help her. I had this… this vibe. Like she'd say. I didn't know how things would take off from there. I didn't know that sooner or later I'd be sitting here, going through all this *damn* questioning, wondering what the hell happened, and why the hell I'm STUCK in this nightmare!"

"Angel! Please!"

"You want the rest of the story, or should I just shut up now?"

"Continue, if you please."

"All right then."

*

"Uhn..." Cordelia groaned, moving her head back, hitting something hard behind her. She turned her head slightly, seeing the backboard of a bed. Looking forward, she sat up, noticing she wasn't wearing anything, except for her black lace bra and panties. An ace bandage was around her waist, some blood stains on it. She rubbed her eyes, touching her forehead to feel another bandage there, a small one.

Where the hell am I?

She remembered the events of the past night, and lay back down, wondering.

That wasn't a dream. It was all too real. But then...Where is that man?

Looking around, Cordelia noticed the place was exceptionally well furnished. The walls were a light forest green, the curtains and rug were dark forest green. Most of the furniture was dark mahogany. The covers on the queen size bed she was on were of deep crimson.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Is it okay if I come in? I have some clothes for you."

A familiar voice. It was the man.

"Okay. Just a second," she responded, standing up and covering herself in the sheet. She walked over to the door, opening it. He was there, wearing a dark green thin sweater, and black pants. An awkward moment followed, and he looked away, holding out to her the bundle of clothes in his hand, a frown present on his face.

"My, uh...Associate, Buffy, has some extra clothes here. For you."

"Thanks," she said sweetly, walking into the room and behind the old fashioned partition, looking at the clothes. A pair of light blue jeans and a white T-shirt. "You can come in. I'll be finished in a second."

Angel went into the room, sitting on the side of the bed. He waited patiently for her to finish, and a few minutes later, she did. She came out from behind the partition, going over to the bed and sitting down on it. She leaned back, resting on her elbows, looking over at him.

"So..." She yawned a little, a bit of a smirk on her face. "What's your name? We weren't properly introduced."

"Angel."

"You're kidding me. That's your name?"

"Yes."

Resisting the urge to make a foul remark, she settled for instead saying, "Isn't that appropriate..." Another slight yawn, evidence that she'd gone to bed late. "So, do you just like hanging around bars, saving damsels in distress?"

"What's your name?" Angel asked, avoiding her question.

"Cordelia," She said without pause, before a lazy smile appeared on her face, then a slight giggle. She sounded how she looked, like a teenager when she laughed. The girl looked very young, very familiar, but Angel couldn't quite place it. "Cordelia Chase."

*

"Wait a minute."

"What?"

"You mentioned earlier about the event at the beginning. You were with another woman. Her name was Cordelia. Didn't you think it was odd that this new woman shows up in your life, with the same exact name at the time, right after that dream?"

"It wasn't… I didn't remember that dream…whatever it was. I didn't remember that it ever happened at the time she told me her name. But just now, I remember that happened. See… I'm getting these flashbacks. Memories, events, things I've never seen before. They're like flashes. And I don't know WHY."

"Okay. Go on."

*

Again, that nagging feeling, a memory tugging, yearning to be free…

"What I'd like to know...is why were you there?" Cordelia asked, shaking him out of his little dream world. She looked into his eyes, a glimmer of seriousness in her fascinating eyes.

"I..."

"Oh, come on. You can tell me. Unless...If you feel uncomfortable, you don't have to..."

"No, no. It's not that. It's just that...There are some things you wouldn't like to know about me." Angel replied, looking at his hands again.

Another laugh. "I'm not exactly a poster girl for the Humane Society myself."

Angel grinned. He loved the way she laughed. He loved the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. He loved the way she'd twirl that rebellious strand of hair around her pointer finger. He loved the way the corners of her mouth turned upwards in a smile, a real, genuine smile.

"Tell me EVERYTHING," she instructed, smiling warmly.

"You have two hours?"

"I've got all day."

That smile again…

Whoa...Get a hold of yourself, man, Angel thought, pushing those thoughts of wanting and admiring aside. One girl. Soulmate. Buffy Summers, his TRUE love.

He found a captive and waiting audience though. Best not to disappoint the girl.

So, for the next two hours, he poured out his heart to her, getting insightful remarks and interruptions from Cordelia. He told her about his raising in Galway, Ireland. About Darla. Spike and Dru. Some of the things he did. How he regained his soul. A basic explanation of the near-century of remorse that followed.

How he met Buffy, and fell in love with her. How he protected and defended the Sunnydale-on-the-Hellmouth with the Scooby Gang. His moment of true happiness and passion with the Slayer. The things he did when he was Angelus once again. How Buffy had sent him to Hell, to save the world, and how he came back, but never again into the arms of the Slayer.

"...So I left. I came to LA. To make amends. I never did get to say good bye to Buffy. But she reminded me of that."

The Mohra's blood. It was bliss, until he saw that he was weak as a human. He'd give anything for this girl, but he needed to save lives instead. He was just ready to go and revoke the spell…but she'd given him a reason not to.

He stayed as a human with her. Fate's decision.

Stayed until that fateful night, when the accident happened. He didn't say the specifics. Only that he'd woken up nearly three weeks later, looking like he did now.

"There are many people in this city who need a helping hand. And I try to be there, to be that helping hand. It isn't easy, but the small things, the little ways you can have redemption ... They count."

She nodded, enraptured in his story.

"What about you?" he asked her, looking at her. His eyes roamed across her body, her curves for a quick moment. He watched her sigh, watched her roll over on her side on the bed, facing him. She had a beautiful smile on her face…

Why am I thinking about her like that? Angel wondered. Cordelia's definitely not Buffy, that's for sure. I barely know her. It's not like I love her. I don't. But she's so...intriguing. It must've been something if I brought her home with me. God...I'm acting like a teenager here.

"In comparison? Boring story about me anyway..." Cordelia leered, then noticed the interested look on his face.

She was thinking the same thoughts he was, about him.

Cordelia loved the way he had that brooding look on his face. She loved his hair, dark brown and tousled, his stature, tall and lean, and his gorgeous brown eyes. Fearful yet controlled. She also loved how he discreetly turned away from looking at her, trying to avoid eye contact. Trying to hide his constant staring.

He probably felt the need to not let her get a good look at him because of his face. Cordelia knew she was vain in certain…well, sometimes numerous areas. The guy had to be good looking, know a mean right hook, well off, intelligent. Hence, her small list of suitors. That old adage, 'don't judge a book by its cover' applied here. Here was a man who was not good looking, but had a good heart, an intelligent mind, and an old soul.

"I was raised in New York City. Mom died when I was little. Vampires did it. I didn't care what happened to my father, since he was never around." Her voice grew colder, eyes staring off into space. "I lived on the streets, picking up jobs once in a while. Grandparents took care of me, made sure I went to school. Once I graduated, I pulled out, and went slaying."

She was not right; her story wasn't boring. More like sad, Angel thought. Evidently, she grew up to hate vampires, her only goal was to track them down, and other creatures of the night as well.

Angel shifted on his place at the foot of the bed. He leaned a little in that way of his, never sitting up straight. Strands of dark brown hair getting into his eyes, he shook his head to move them out of the way. Cordelia leaned back on her elbows, staring intently at him. After she finished her sad story, he canted his head.

It seemed so familiar. Almost like Faith, but…not her. Someone else.

"You grew up to hate vampires," Angel said at length, letting a captured breath free. "I don't blame you."

"But you're not one, anymore…right?" After receiving a shake of his head and some mouthed words, Cordelia continued. "Good. 'Cause I remember hearing something about you - before? A vampire in L.A., trying to help people. I didn't believe it at first, but then… I thought maybe, just maybe it could be possible. Word of your soul traveled fast. Still… I didn't think too much of it, even after I heard you became one of the living. But you still run the agency? 'Angel Investigations'."

–"We help the–"–

"–Hopeless. Right?"

Blinking to see clearly, Angel's eyes narrowed when looking at her. She just– There was that other girl in her place, a phone in hand, grinning widely. But then, if that other–

"Angel? You all right?"

He caught himself staring at her, then quickly averted his eyes to look down at the floor. In a terse tone, he responded. "Why don't you head downstairs and Buffy can make you some coffee? I'll be down in a minute."

She noticed his hesitancy, and let it pass. He was obviously uncomfortable with letting people know the real 'him'– what with his physical appearance and the way he carried himself, Angel appeared to be a loner. And he also didn't seem to want to change that anytime soon. He was reclusive, dodgy at times, but seemed to have a genuine wish to be truthful to his cause by any means possible.

"Okay. See you in a few," Cordelia said slowly, trying to pour some cheerfulness into her voice, without sounding fake. She could tell it was one of those 'needing to be alone' moments, after having them so often. The girl sprung up from her place on the bed like a jungle feline. She padded her way to the door, before taking a last glimpse and then exiting.

Angel sighed deeply, hand on his forehead. "Great. Just flip out a couple more times around her, and she'll bill me as the Joker. As far as disfigurement and insanity goes. Not with the makeup."

Lying back on the bed with a small flourish, Angel stared up at the ceiling. Almost searching for a sign, you could call it. Thinking of excuses for not running down immediately, Angel smiled despite himself. She was a very good listener, and actually paid attention to the poor man.

Tracing fingers over the scar of his right jaw, his smile soon faded afterwards. But what were the chances a girl like that could be friends with a guy like him?

*

"I didn't know how she was feeling. I could guess she was uncomfortable. Who wouldn't be? All I knew was that I'd seen her somewhere before. You know when you're dreaming, and you see something, then see it for the first time a few days later? Or maybe even the next day? That's how it was. Only, I'd never seen her before in my life. I knew there was something special about her, but I couldn't quite place it."

"You mean déjà vu, right?"

"No, no. This one ran stronger. It was a premonition."

"Premonition?"

"Of what was to come. Something I generally didn't expect."

*

"So, why're you here in L.A?" Buffy asked, looking at Cordelia. She, Cordelia, and Faith were having a talk while Angel…She didn't know what Angel was doing. It seemed rude in a way, if he was still upstairs and did not come down to greet their visitor. But Buffy got used to Angel's sense of loneliness, how he avoided others. Even before Los Angeles, he'd always been like that. Though some of it was on the Scooby Gang's fault, Angel just kept to himself.

Now more than ever, after what happened. He hardly went out into the daylight, preferring to travel only when they were on a mission. Still, mind coming back to the present, Buffy frowned. It was eleven in the morning, and traces of steam rose into the air from the two coffee mugs on the coffee table. Faith preferred to lean against the office counter a while away, sharpening an axe blade.

"I have some things to take care of here," Cordelia replied, sprawling comfortably on a plush easy chair.

"Right," Faith said, noticing how guarded Cordelia seemed when asked that question. "You don't look like you live around here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, looking intently over at her. Faith felt as if she could bore holes straight into her brain.

"She means that you have this whole...un-californian look. Like, clothes or something? Are you from the east?" Buffy pummeled Cordelia with questions.

"Something like that," Cordelia smiled, shrugging. "I travel a lot."

"Oh. Really?" Buffy looked interested, leaning forward in her seat. "Travel. Something we hardly get to do. Places such as…?"

"New York. Boston. Stuff like that." Her tone was guarded, posture slack.

Faith seemed to perk up, eyes lifting from her task. "Boston?" She traveled a lot back in the day, but Boston was her home.

"Yeah. Pretty chilly when I went," Cordelia replied, leaning forward to pick up her mug. She took a sip with both hands firmly grasping the mug, leaning back. Silence hung in the air, voices caught in throats. Only the sound of the sharpening block in Faith's hand could be heard, scratching the metal smooth.

A step on the staircase was heard. One, two seconds. Then the other came fast. One. Two. Slow step. Fast. One. Two. Slow step. The sound of a foot being stalled, just slightly, erratic. Angel came down the staircase, stopping at the bottom landing. Three sets of eyes turned to him, before discreetly glancing away. He missed the sense of attention on him sometimes, how everyone used to look at him with lower authority, hanging on every word.

Now they just gave the required once over, before turning away.

He adjusted the sleeves of his thin, dark green sweater, rubbing his hands together. Nodding to Cordelia, Angel looked over at Buffy.

"Buffy. You two talked?"

"Three. Standing right here," Faith pointed out, giving a wave with two fingers.

"Three, three." Angel nodded to Faith. He saw Cordelia look over at him out of the corner of his eye. Looking over at her, he watched her eyes lock on his, and he was the first to pull away.

To Buffy. "So. How's things?"

"We're good. Girl talk. You know how it goes," Buffy answered, shrugging. She perked up, posture now straight. "Oh, Angel, I almost forgot. Spike checked out another contact, and we found another nest connected to Jacob. Hence, our getting ready. If we go in fast, right at noon, they won't put up much resistance."

A far away look crossed his face, before he closed his slightly parted mouth. "Good. All right then. We'll go in."

Cordelia raised an eyebrow, seeing Buffy stand up and move to his side. She whispered something in his ear, pulling back an inch, smiling. He gave a little smile, before it faded when she kissed his cheek briefly, gesturing to Faith. Stopping her sword sharpening, Faith followed Buffy up the staircase, participating in some quiet small talk.

They were alone.

"So, uh, how are you?" Angel cleared his throat, voice scratchy. "I mean, I know it's been eight minutes or so since I last saw you, but things can change in…that… amount of– time."

Lame. LAME! Angel thought. The boy needed to take a class on this kind of thing.

"Uh. Right." Cordelia took a nervous sip of her coffee, getting up and going to the office counter. She reached over where the coffee pot was, sugar packets now in her hand. Opening one packet, the girl let the sugar trickle into the coffee, free hand using a stirrer. "Tell your girlfriend that she'd better stick to her day job."

Angel laughed a bit too loud, grinning. He was near the counter, smacking it lightly to show his amusement. Getting a blank stare from Cordelia in response, Angel coughed a bit, scratching the back of his head. Chalk up another point for the Disfigured Loser Trying To Appear Cool board.

"Eh heh…Heh." He watched her crumple the packet into a tiny paper ball, making a sweeping motion with her other hand and picking up the mug.

Reality set in once again, making him take a step back and analyze the situation. Beautiful girl barely coping with ugly idiot trying to ruin her morning coffee break by spouting incoherent phrases. Niiiice.

He wondered why he was getting like this. The devil-may-care attitude left him, and here he was: trying to be sociable, funny, and putting on airs. If Buffy saw this act, she'd congratulate him. Or maybe give him a cookie. At least, that's what she joked anyway.

"I think we're going to go soon. Getting there early and viewing the layout and situation always helps," Angel explained, trying a different, easier subject. "You…don't happen to have any weapons on you, do you?"

"Why? You think I'm gonna mug you?" Laughing a little, Cordelia placed the mug back on the counter. She raised her fists for a few seconds, letting them fall gently to her sides. "Only these for protection. Low maintenance, but it's fine with me."

He stared at her for a second too long, snapping out of his funk. "Right, right." Briefly looking through the weapon's cabinet near the staircase, Angel handed a short sword and sheath to her.

"Think you can handle that?"

"Not your run of the mill stake, but yeah. I'm good." Cordelia waved the sword in a slow arc, a glint in her eyes.

He picked up his trenchcoat from the coat rack nearby, slipping it on. "We can wait for them outside in the truck."

"Truck?"

Angel gestured to the back door, walking towards it. She fell in step beside him, carefully holding the sheath.

"Out back. You and I will ride in the front," he explained, a fluid motion of his hand pulling the black sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on.

Cordelia nodded, following still. "Okay."

They walked into the sunlight, side by side, trying to push random thoughts out of their heads.

Starting the brand new day with confused minds, lingering wishes and slaying intentions.


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