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

3. Chapter 7

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…

---

Chapter 7

Four Days Later

He was tired, and these stairs were not helping. More than twenty, Angel counted, dark eyes blearily focusing on each step. He shook his canted head randomly, getting the strands away from his eyes, only to have them fall back into place again. Buffy looked equally spent and weary, clamping a hand on his back and pushing him playfully up the staircase. He inwardly cursed, reminding himself not to lash out and refuse her pushing. He both loathed and enjoyed the extra help from her.

Ah, what a troublesome existence.

They reached the door of his room, THEIR room. Angel leaned against the wall, watching Buffy open the doorknob. He followed her inside, seeing the girl throw her keys onto his desk, gently placing the goo encrusted sword and its case on top as well.

Angel shrugged off his jacket, going over to Buffy. She turned to look at him, pausing for a moment. Angel smiled, but it was only seriousness that showed through, a stark contrast of the expression he once had, now horrible wreckage.

She remembered what it was like back then, years ago, to love him fully, in soul and in body.

It had been so long, since then.

Then, her arms slid around his waist, while he touched a wound on her arm gingerly.

"What happened?" Angel asked, fully aware that the demons had clawed her.

"Oh, it's just…a scrape," Buffy said at length, pausing for a few seconds before giving him a kiss. It was slow, vague almost…reminiscent of nights spent making out in cemeteries back in Sunnydale.

She was older now, and he aged as well. Slightly scruffy, even after her complaints a few days before… She'd make him shave or else there'd be hell to pay.

Eyes closed, relinquishing the moment, hearts beating fast to the drum of happier times.

They were just so damn tired, and needy, and wanting. Her fingers eased underneath his shirt, eyes focused on his pants. It had been too long since they last…

Couples had to do that, right? That's what it was all about.

Angel lifted the pale blue tanktop off of her, her fierce gaze fixed on his own, dark eyes half-mast…

…they collapsed onto the bed with a fit of moans, the Slayer looking up at her lover who continued his ministrations. Angel kept up a slow but steady rhythm, face devoid of emotion save for the slight crooked grin that showed…microscopically.

They made love to each other, not saying anything. Both just doing it, because they needed to feel something besides being alone.

*

"What… You went on without her?"

"What else could I do? I had no idea where she went. She left no address, no relative's or friend's names… Cordelia Chase. All I had was her name."

"But you could have–"

"You want to guess the rest of the story? Should I just stop here?"

"Well, it is a little confusing, you must admit. A chance meeting with her, and this lead you… here, how? I know the exact details of your case, but I need to know more. You still haven't told me about the accident, or what caused you to commit–"

"–I didn't do *anything*."

"We'll see for ourselves. Go on."

*

One is the loneliest number…

Cordelia closed the cabinet door, pulling a…spoon out of her back pocket. She slipped into a rickety metal chair, the kind covered in a horrible green Naugahyde material. Her accommodations were bare, paint peeling, water stains evident. She couldn't expect much from this little hotel, but as long as there was a roof over her head, she'd deal.

And as long as there were plenty of Cheerios, she'd be fine.

Cramming a spoonful into her mouth, Cordelia leaned forward on the dirty wooden table. She gave a hearty smack to the small black and white TV there, getting a clear picture before static faded in again. The aluminum antenna wasn't working still. Muttering to herself, she straightened the black T-shirt and blue jeans, before eating more cereal. She ate her food slowly, cold milk waking her up.

She'd wait for the picture to come back. She'd become good at waiting.

That you'll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one

Faith straddled the vampire, a wicked smirk on her face. BAM! Another punch, the seventh. The poor thing looked like he wanted to stake himself without delay. So Faith helped him with that.

She rubbed her dusty hands on her pants, proceeding to crack her knuckles. It was early, too early to be awake. But she carried on, surprised to find this minor vampire nest desolate. It had been abandoned recently, save for that single vampire.

Didn't matter to go bother asking the vamp a question. First off, he was dead. Second: It didn't mean shit. Just enforcing the fact that yes, not all vampires are good.

She shook her head, sending dark brown tresses awry, before placing long stands behind her ears. Then, checked the watch Angel had bought her. 11:43AM. Spike would be asleep.

But he wouldn't mind seeing a guest at the foot of his bed. Or IN his bed, for that matter.

It's just no good anymore
Since you went away
Now I spend my time
Just making rhymes
Of Yesterday

Angel stopped his truck, pulling up to the hotel curb. He stared at the dashboard for a minute, turning off the ignition. The sound of the radio turned low died off, and only silence remained. Save for the few city life sounds, such as people and cars swooshing by, of course.

He adjusted his sunglasses, dark and foreboding, but in style. It didn't necessarily go with the brown leather jacket he was wearing, but that didn't matter much to him. He stepped out of the truck, looking at it forlornly. It was a dark but pale red, almost rust. Staring at it, the '56 model, it reminded him of…something. Someone he couldn't quite place a finger on.

He unlatched the back of the truck, pulling out the moderately heavy cardboard box out and onto the pavement. Angel sighed a bit, reaching forward and taking another box out of the truck, just to place it near the other one. He pulled up a brown paper bag wrapped in a white plastic bag, and a few thin rods of wood in his other hand. Stakes. Well, they would be, after Buffy gave her own demonstration of chopping to each. Angel couldn't find any spare chairs at the dump, so…this would do.

Calm and calculated, he went into the hotel through the back door, sunlight streaming down, but never touching the darkness of his sunglasses, or the eyes behind them.

*

"Buffy. Buffy, come here. Damn it! Pay attention, woman," Spike growled, coming down the staircase. He adjusted the ratchet devices strapped to his arms, looking at the odd tableau before him. That ponce, Wes, he thought his name was, leaned against the hotel counter, worn leather jacket and faded gray jeans. One elbow on the counter, he inspected the crossbow in his hands, just as–

"God, people can hear you all down the fucking block," Faith told him, coming out of the office area. She rolled her eyes in Spike's direction while hoisting the small bundle of sheathed swords from her shoulder onto the counter. Swinging her legs up, Faith sat on the counter, legs dangling as she bent over to look at the weapons.

He restrained himself from making a snarky comment in return. Faith had a mean streak in her, that he loved, but now was not the time to argue with her. There was a mission to take care of, much as he hated strenuous work, but it had to be done. That way, money could be accepted, alcohol could be bought, and sex could be had.

It was a simple concept, really.

Buffy had contacted Wesley to help her in regard to the Wolfram & Hart situation. Angel had a vision earlier of a restaurant in trouble, patrons about to be hurt by vampires. What intrigued the group was that lawyers who worked for Wolfram & Hart frequented this eatery. They wondered what was up.

Why would clients attack their providers?

Turning the question over in his mind, Angel came out of the basement, adjusting the buttons on his shirt cuffs. Black shirt, pants, and boots, all very familiar. His trenchcoat, the original one from Sunnydale, was gone, lost in the fire that wrecked his car and his life…

They all glanced at him once, turning away to their activities when Buffy came from the other office entrance. He stood up a bit straighter, face clean shaven and dark eyes stormy.

"Angel. Where were you?"

Hands on her hips, her tone was clipped, blue eyed gaze fierce. It was ironic really, this seemingly diminutive small blonde girl staring up at the tall, dark and brooding man. She looked like she wanted to kick his ass, which was possible, you know. Wiping the floor with him, and all.

Angel fidgeted, a boy caught stealing candy. "I was… In the basement."

"No you weren't." Buffy waved a hand. "If you were, you would have heard my screaming earlier."

"So that's why she didn't listen to me. Can't hear anyone 'cept herself," Spike murmured.

"SHUT UP," Angel and Buffy growled, looking at Spike briefly, then each other.

Buffy stabbed a finger at Angel's chest. "You didn't take your pills this morning."

"So? Not like it'll kill the pounding aching of my head," Angel clipped, going into the office. Both Faith and Wesley looked at him with concern, and a hint of confusion. Normally he was not so direct with Buffy, but they knew that their arguments had grown more numerous. Sure, Wesley was an acquaintance, and didn't hang out with them much, but even he could tell.

Angel rifled through the papers on his desk, opening a drawer hastily while the aforementioned two watched. He slammed the drawer shut with a crash, sending papers and pens flying, then barged out. In his fist, he clenched the orange plastic container which he nearly shoved in her face. "You want the pills? Huh? Here's the DAMNED PILLS!"

"Don't get like that with me," Buffy snapped, slowly shaking her head, her eyes growing dark and intense. "Don't get like that. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. I care about your health, all right? It's the least I can do!"

"I know you do," he said with a glare, chin jutting out in defense. "Oh, don't I know it. That's why you won't let me fight, is that it? That's why you can't stand the fact that I don't want to play messenger boy anymore, isn't it."

"That is not–"

"Yes it is–!"

"Don't do this to me, Angel–"

"What? What? WHAT am I doing?"

They yelled at each other, snapping and sarcastic, the distance between them closing. The electricity between them sparking, and the other three people could only watch and stare at them. Eyes wide, Faith never heard them speak so harshly against each other. Yes, old fights over missions, money, love… But this. This one took the cake.

Okay…Knowing these romantic saps, this is where the kiss comes in.

"–This - this isn't some stupid game, Buffy! This is my LIFE, okay? What's left of it! You can expect me to sit here, listen to your orders all the damn–"

Buffy scowled, fingers flexing. "I do not give you orders!"

"–Can I finish? Is it allowed?" His eyes were narrowed, nearly sneering. "I'm not your damn child. I'm not one of your damn friends from high school. This isn't Sunnydale, Buff–"

The Slayer smacked hard him across the face.

His head whipped back to the left, scars already there from a previous crash.

Her hand shaking, Buffy stared at him, eyes wild and frightened. Teary, lip trembling, the lost little girl looked upon her much older lover, who she hurt. After all the trips, the worries, the hours spent waiting, wondering… And this. He gave his life to save the world, she sent him to Hell to do it, so many years ago.

Disfigured, human, and glaring, Angel straightened to his full six-foot plus frame, thin yet firm.

Her hand waved, and she shook her head mutely, tears ready to fall. "Don't."

Voice shaky, Buffy went into the office, and a clatter of books and papers could be heard. She picked them up, the ones Angel threw, and sat in the chair across from his desk, head in her hands.

The echo of yelling died down, and only Angel remained in his slow burn while Faith, Wesley and Spike looked on. Previously amused by their display of an argument, Spike now only looked at Angel with a glare.

In fact, he went over to him just as Angel lowered the hand holding the canister.

Spike shoved Angel's arm, grabbing his elbow. He turned him to view him in the face, a look of shocked anger.

"Are you daft? We're not supposed to mention the place around the girl. You know how she gets."

Now it was Angel's turn to look confused. "What? What place?"

"Little old Sunnyhell. After what happened to her slayerette pals. Dead, the whole lot." Searching Angel's contorted face for some sign of recognition, Spike looked even more incredulous. "Don't you remember?"

After a moment's pause, Angel nodded. "Yeah… yeah." Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Angel waved to Faith halfheartedly. She remained quiet through the fiery exchange, casting occasional surprised glances to Wesley, which he offered in return.

"Faith, Wes, think you can take care of it? The vision…"

Wesley nodded, picking up the bag of weapons Faith recently put the swords in. "We're on it."

He watched them leave the hotel, the courtesy Wesley displayed in holding the door open for Faith, the eternal gentleman.

Spike softened the hold on Angel's elbow, noticing the pained expression on his grandsire. "Think you need to take a rest?"

"Why do you care?"

"'Course, we don't want you dying on us. Can't run a business called 'Angel Investigations' without the namesake. And I don't want your girl to be distraught again," Spike grumbled, bringing Angel over to the couch near the staircase. "Damn near tore a hole in my leather in the hospital."

Chuckling slightly, Angel looked up at Spike, before his eyes focused on the canister in his hand. "Go… Go talk to her. You're better at that kind of thing."

"All right," Spike replied, starting to walk to the office. He called over his shoulder with a short wave, "You owe me a trip to the pub!"

Settling back on the couch with a large sigh, Angel rested his cheek against his palm. The force sent a…what, was that? A piece of paper, or something, white and flitting down to the floor like a lost bird. It came from the crack between the couch cushions, right into Angel's sight.

He noticed the paper– wait, envelope that had fallen and he bent down to pick it up. Angel then flopped onto the couch.

The name on the folded envelope read 'Cordelia'.

Must've fallen out of her jacket, Angel thought. No harm in reading it...It may give me some clues about this mystery woman.

He opened the envelope, taking out the letter Cordelia had read days before. This must be what she was talking about, Angel thought, brow furrowing. Wolfram & Hart. Not surprising. But...

'There have been more cases of paranormal activity located in the western part of this country, especially on the coast. A new group, known simply as the Chintsuzai, has joined up with the law firm pertaining to demons and humans alike, Wolfram and Hart. This merge will most certainly result in disaster for those you are trying to protect. Your vehicle has been prepared and your boarding there has been accommodated. You will leave in two hours.'

Besides the generic block print, scribbles and drawings of stick figures and flowers could be seen in the margins, making a smile cross his face.

Another word. 'Chintsuzai'.

Chintsuzai. Where have I heard that before? Hmm… Better get Buffy and Spike to look up this one...

Standing up, her put a hand to his forehead, the pain remaining.

Just as he wondered how he could forget Xander, Willow, and Giles…all of them, had died.

Though, he could blame it on the fact that he didn't know they passed away.


*

"Chintsuzai. Japanese for painkiller," Spike went on, holding a book in his hands. Buffy was typing away on the Blueberry iMac Angel had in the office for research. The former vampire kept busy by flipping through some old books on cult mythology. Sitting on the corner of his desk, he looked flustered, on the edge.

"God, you people have me reading books now. What's next? Strap some tweed on the boy and send him off to Watcher school, isn't it?"

"And it's also the name of the new crime organization rising to power here in Cali. Roots go back to Japan, hence the namesake," Buffy said, leaning on her elbow as she surfed through different websites.

"So, the girl's Japanese," Spike said, sighing. "And working for this group."

"No, no. She's not. She's working against it; it said so in the letter," Angel spoke up, not bothering to look up from his book.

"Sure Angel, that may be true, but still… We don't know anything about this girl. She could be a turncoat."

"Could be? Did you see those leather pants she was wearing? Major chaffing," Buffy mumbled, looking as if she'd fall asleep. The tension has dissipated between her and Angel, a few lewd remarks and dirty jokes from Spike sending her on another trip.

Angel rolled his eyes, looking to Spike. "She's innocent. Cordelia just needs a hand. She's against Wolfram & Hart, remember?"

"That's what we'd all like to think. But she could be workin' for them, just as well."

"Mmmhmm." Angel was looking through his books again, and a moment later he slammed his desk with his fist. "I think I've seen her before, but I can't figure out WHERE."

"You think maybe she's a demon?" Spike put in. At Angel's look, he explained, "You know… young age, familiar. Though if you did meet her, I never ran into her when I was with you."

They let that settle in for a moment, nights of debauchery and death rising in their memories.

"Something different." Angel fidgeted, wondering whether to mention the dreams. The visions, in which he found himself in situations with a lovely brunette, her face and name known but unclear. It was like the times when you had an idea or word on the tip of your tongue, but it just wouldn't come out of your mouth.

Buffy leaned back, looking intently at him. "Different how?"

"Like… I knew her. She was important to me. I don't know why though."

"Deeeemooonn. Vamp Vixen. Betcha," Buffy said with a nod, pointing a finger.

"Anyway, that's in the past," Angel replied, grabbing his long black duster off the coat rack and putting it on. "I heard a bit of an accent. Maybe from the east. New York or so. Buffy, I need you to find out who took a plane to L.A from New York in the past three days."

"Okay. I'll just look through thousands of possibilities," Buffy said dryly.

Realizing the idiocy of his question, Angel scowled, patting his pockets. Yes… he had the tools. All he needed was the trap.

"It'll be impossible to find her," Spike said, looking at Angel's glare.

Angel picked up the envelope that the letter came in, noticing a small slip over paper in it. He took it out, seeing a hastily written address scribbled on it. There, he thought. "Not impossible," he said to Spike, starting to walk out of the office. "I'll go find her. You two do some research. I want a thorough background check on her and the Chintsuzai, so we can know what we're up against."

"Angel!" Buffy called after him as Angel went to go to his car, "Be careful!"

"I will," Angel said as he slipped out the door. I'll be careful.


*

"WESLEY, DOWN!"

Ducking his head as a platter tray sailed through the air toward him, he rolled and caught his breath. It slammed into the face of the vampire about to bite him, so Wes used the opportunity to lunge his stake forward. The wood met its target, dust swooshing when Wesley stood up abruptly. He elbowed another vampire near him, then proceeded to stake it.

The place was a mess.

Tables overturned, patrons screaming and running, the restaurant with the funny European name was in shambles, courtesy of two vampire killers and a bunch of their prey. Splinters, torn metal, remains of tables, food, and plates littered the floor. Dinners were ruined, stains on the tablecloths and carpeted floors.

Sounds of grunting and screaming could be heard, Wesley rolling and shoving his stake into another vampire while Faith flipped over a table to pummel another one. Blow after blow connected, Faith and Wesley outnumbered three to one, but the odds were increasing in their favor.

In one such scuffle, Faith landed on top of a grungy street vampire, straddling him. She pointed the stake against his chest, well aware that Wesley was busy throttling another vamp behind her.

"Does the word Chin– Wes, a little help here."

"Chintsu…ZAAIIII!" Wesley yelled, finally giving a hard right to the vampire. He shouted a mock battle cry, leaping forward.

Faith nodded, looking down. "Chintsuzai. Right. Does that word mean anything to you?"

"I will not reveal anything! I remain true to my cause," the vampire spat.

"Oh, come on. I don't got time for this bullshit. Blah, blah, truth and justice for all. Spare me," Faith snapped, grabbing a handful of the vampire's hair. "Who the fuck came up with the idea to raid the place? You know, before the big signing on the dotted line? Joining up with Wolfram & Hart?"

He hesitated, but after Faith pressing the point of the stake harder, the vampire muttered, "We're to let them know that this is just business. They can't expect to reign us in."

In that dramatic way of hers, Faith leaned back, nodding. Her expression showed complete surprise, smiling, if not sarcastic. "Doesn't that make sense. Show your fangs, bite the hand that feeds ya. Just to let 'em know you're the big bad, even if you're joining up. They don't own you."

She leaned in, voice sweet and seductive. "But really, all this is for a good, quick one, ain't it?"

Roaring, he lunged up and twisted her wrist to plunge the stake in her side.

"Faith!"

Fireworks in her mind and eyes, Faith clutched her midsection, blood pouring–

FLASH! Blonde and brunette scuffled on the rooftop, each landing solid blows. They twisted and turned, shouting insults, wrists connected by handcuffs. Then, the cuffs were gone, and it was a free-for-all… Lunging, ducking, kicking…

The blade shoved into her stomach, curvy and dangerous, much like herself.

Wild blue eyes belonging to Buffy stared at her in shock, just as Faith pushed her back, knocking the Slayer down and out to the ground.

She told her… something. Another sarcastic comment, so blurry and faded right now. The truck passed by the building, and she felt herself slipping towards silent bliss.

It was over. She'd get away, go to see him, the Mayor–

An arm shot out, Buffy's fierce gaze meeting Faith and pulling her back. They both toppled to the ground, tripping over equipment and tools on the roof.

"This isn't gonna happen, Faith. I'm not going to let you. I can't. I won't," Buffy told her with conviction, panting. A cut on her forehead, she crawled over to the rogue Slayer, taking the jacket off the brunette beauty. And as the darkness flooded in, her own jacket pressed against her stomach wound, Faith could hear Buffy's voice.

"I don't know why I'm doing this, but you're not gonna to win. You are NOT going to win. I won't let you. I'm getting you to the hospital, and then Angel… I don't know what I'll do. I'll find a way to get the blood to him."

Her last thought, red seeping into her vision, was if the color made her more like him.

–"FAITH!"

She grabbed a fallen silver platter, gripping it with both hands before shoving it cleanly through the vampire's neck. With a scream, he was dusted, head decapitated and dissolving to nothing. Faith fell a short distance to the ground, a pained expression. Her fingers were sticky and wet, pulling the wooden stake from her stomach.

A short scuffle of sounds and clanking metal, then a scream followed, Wesley rushing to her side. Stray onlookers gaped with wild, frightened eyes, seeing Wesley pick Faith up, lifting her with both arms. A mock groom taking his bride over the threshold, Wesley juggled carrying Faith and his bag of weapons.

They left quickly, carnage and dust remaining.

---

Chapter 8 Unhappy Benediction

"Faith. Faith, listen to me. We're about to go into my apartment. Stay with me," Wesley instructed her, carrying her over the threshold. In the back of his mind he could picture veils, flowers and thrown rice, but that was beside the point. Faith was injured, her head resting on Wesley's shoulder, eyes half open. The jacket, her jacket covered her stomach, bright red blood seeping through.

She stirred, Wesley lowering her to lie on the couch after kicking away a few newspapers.

A thumb brushing her cheek, Wesley frowned. "Faith?"

Eyes opening fully, Faith murmured, "Wes... Shouldn't you be takin' me to a hospital, or something?"

"It's just a minor flesh wound."

"Fuck Wes, this doesn't feel like a fucking 'flesh wound'," Faith growled, face constricted. "Hurts like hell."

"Don't complain. It could have gone much deeper. Besides, there's no need to alert the authorities to the fight. They'll connect us to the restaurant."

Her eyes rolled heavenwards, sighing. Wesley stood up and grabbed a black leather bag from his desk. He went over to Faith, opening the bag and taking out some antiseptic, bandages, gauze…whatever the heck he was doing, Faith was getting cranky.

She cleared her throat, wincing when he ripped her already torn tanktop to examine the wound.

"I am SO gonna kick Spike's ass after this. Always trailing after Buffy," Faith murmured dreamily, raising a hand to hold her forehead. "If he'd at least…for one fucking second, LISTEN to me…"

Wesley looked a trifle flustered, beginning to clean the wound. "He doesn't, now?"

"What?"

"Listen to you."

"'Course not. He either gives a fuck, or doesn't. That's the way it is," Faith scoffed.

"And you don't care if he acts out of order… Or at least, out of your control?" Wesley asked in a low voice, ignoring the stray wincing from Faith. He then started to bandage the wound.

Her eyes narrowed. "It's not like I'm his mom or something. Spike's a vampire."

"That isn't any excuse," Wesley retorted. After getting a raised eyebrow in return, he explained, "At least, in a healthy relationship I suppose, you each take an equal part in listening, helping each other."

Continuing in silence for a while, Faith stared at a point on the ceiling, searching for signs, ideas she could only read. The corners of her mouth tugging upwards in a smile, she watched Wesley finish, patting her thigh. Indicating she was done, Faith sat up slowly.

"When was the last time you had a girlfriend, Wes?" Faith asked, smile becoming a devilish grin.

Blushing almost, the cold young man disappeared for a moment, her old Watcher in place. He considered her question for a moment, then answered, "It's been a long time."

Faith raised an eyebrow, leaning forward ever so slightly. "Too long, from the looks of things."

She didn't know how right she was.

*

God, she was beginning to hate Los Angeles.

Cordelia went flying into a bookcase, her right arm pinned behind her by a greenish demon in street clothes. "Hey...Watch the jacket!" She was in her L.A. 'apartment', personal items thrown here and there. The lights were low, and the mood was dark, the furniture done in shades of green and blue.

"Are you prepared to die?" The demon asked with a scratchy, deep voice as it pushed her into the bookcase, a jagged scar running along its cheek.

"I'm prepared to rip your throat out!" Cordelia yelled, turning her head against the edge of the shelf her face was pressed against. She saw another demon rifling through her suitcase, another big bruiser standing guard by her door. These two demons were as ugly as their brother, with dark black eyes and scaly green skin, also clad in street clothes.

"Personal stuff! Personal stuff! So nosy!" Cordelia shouted.

The demon going through her stuff picked up a sexy piece of black lace lingerie. He held it up in front of his face, leering at Cordelia with one eye. His other wasn't there; only the socket was.

"Oh, you're gonna get it all dirty now," Cordelia muttered, then closed her eyes in frustration as the demon clutching her arm told her to shut up.

Cordelia pushed herself away from the bookcase, back handing the demon with such force that it flew to the ground. Before the nosy demon knew it, she had an arm around its neck, sharp serrated knife pressing slightly into his throat.

The guard demon moved to stop her, but she whirled around to look at him, demon still in her arms.

"I think you should put that down now," she said to the guard, nodding her head towards the gun in his hand. Her hazel eyes glanced to the demon in her arms, then to him. "Unless you want to stare at the gaping hole in your brother's throat, riiight where his esophagus should be." She smiled cruelly. "Put it down."

The guard demon growled, then obeyed reluctantly.

"See? Was that so hard?" Cordelia asked the demon in her arms that shook his head, afraid. "Aren't you just a big cute...scaly...demon thing," she drawled.

Cordelia suddenly felt a hard blow to her back. The first scarred demon had gotten up and kicked her; she fell face forward as she let go of the demon in her arms. Guard bent in low to catch her, and he pulled her up straight, holding her arms behind her back.

"And I'm so popular all of a sudden? Who sent you?" she asked Scar, having a good guess as to what he'd say.

"McDonald said you're worth two thousand alive, but I don't mind bringing him a corpse," Scar replied, punching her in the stomach. The eyeless demon stood by with a smile, showing a lot of crooked teeth.

"Is that right?" Cordelia muttered as another blow connected with her abdomen, and she doubled over in pain. Thought I was worth more than that. "Never knew I was - popular."

She heard a loud crash. The four occupants of the room looked to the door, or what was left of it. The remains of the door had fallen forward into the apartment. Angel stood behind the doorframe, glaring.

Feeling a bit dizzy as she was barely awake, Cordelia took in the wonderful vision of Angel there, and loved his hideous features.

"How come all the time I see you, you're in trouble?" Angel asked.

"Starting a new trend?" Cordelia replied, elbowing the guard demon behind her in the stomach.

Angel started inside, but he was blocked by the invisible wall in front of him. Not invited, Angel said to himself, but became clearly confused. As a vampire, Angel could not go into any personal dwelling without being invited by the person who lived there. But he was alive, human right? He checked his pulse.

"Invite me in!" Angel called as Cordelia flipped the scarred demon over her shoulder.

"What?!" Cordelia slammed her fist into the guard demon's face.

"Invite me in," Angel urged, slamming his hands furiously at the invisible barrier.

"You are SO not a vampire, the last time I checked!" Cordelia gasped, just as the eyeless demon put her in a strangle hold.

Angel moved to come in, but he walked face forward into the barrier. He took a step back confusingly when Cordelia yelled in frustration, grabbing the eyeless demon and throwing it towards an adjacent wall with amazing strength.

"Cordelia," Angel started impatiently. "Isn't this where you're staying?"

"Yeah," Cordelia said, jump kicking the scarred demon.

"Then how come I still can't come in!?"

"They…probably - put…protective… BARRIER!" Her words were choked by a pair of filthy hands on her neck. She elbowed the demon behind her, holding back a curse before explaining, "Right after they came in, I think. Just in case someone came by to see little old me being oh…you know… ATTACKED!"

Angel nodded patiently, an eyebrow raised. "This isn't a motel room."

She looked like she'd been caught. "I sorta borrowed the place from a friend."

"Borrowed?" Angel inquired, grimacing as Cordelia raked her serrated knife across the guard demon's throat, making him fall dead to the floor.

"What do you mean, 'borrowed'?" he asked, but only got a shake of her head in response.

"Heads up!" Cordelia growled, throwing the scarred demon out of the apartment, making it fly into Angel.

Angel grabbed the demon by his neck, snapping his spinal cord. He watched the demon fall to the floor. "You know, we're gonna have to be straight on these little things," Angel said.

"I can take care of myself," Cordelia responded with a wince.

"Oh really?" Angel said, "Behind you."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, punching the eyeless demon looming up behind her, without a grunt. She walked over to her bed, looking at her suitcase as Angel leaned on the doorframe.

"So what happened to your 'friend'? Did you kill him?" Angel said, a serious look on his pale complexion.

"I didn't," Cordelia muttered as she looked at her lingerie on the bed, feeling embarrassed. She stuffed it into her suitcase, closing and locking the suitcase. Turning to Angel, sheen of perspiration on her face, her hand tightly wrapped around the suitcase handle.

Angel straightened his posture. "You can't stay here. Wolfram and Hart probably know you're here by now," he said, getting a surprised look from her.

"I saw the letter," he explained.

"Oh." She walked over to the door and into the hallway, looking up at him. "No use being all secretive then. Bet you've read up on why I do these things."

It was Angel's turn to be surprised. "Yes."

"And?" Cordelia gave him a quick once-over. Angel could see she was either pleased or faking it, regarding what she saw. "Where's the stake? The lecture? Sword, stake, whatever floats your boat. Shouldn't it be in this whore's heart by now?" She said 'whore' sarcastically.

She sounds so much like Buffy, Angel thought. The way she speaks, her words, her voice...

He didn't like comparing her to Buffy, because they were so different in so many ways. It was like a pros and cons list.

"No," Angel responded, his dark and smoldering eyes sending chills down Cordelia's spine. "People change. I should know."

The two let that sink in for a minute, silent.

"You can stay with me," Angel said quietly, looking to the floor. "At the hotel, I mean," he added, amazed at his behavior.

"With you?" Cordelia considered it for a moment, then nodded with a smile. "I think I'd like that." She shifted uncomfortably, glancing down the building hallway, then as her suitcase. "Well, you know, until this whole thing blows over."

"Yeah." Angel gently took the suitcase from her, slightly surprised that this woman with her small frame could carry the moderately heavy suitcase easily. She's not like other girls, he reminded himself, thinking of Buffy and her own Slayer strength. Cordelia wasn't a Slayer, and it was doubtful she was a slayer-in-waiting, but she was in excellent physical condition. Years of practice and honing her skills for revenge must have taught her that. She was graceful though, lithe and thin, not bulky or muscular. Just right.

"I don't want to keep you occupied with my safety," Cordelia said as they walked down the hallway, to the elevator.

But I wouldn't mind being with you, she added silently.

I want to be occupied with you, Angel thought at the same time.

The conflicted acquaintances were intent on getting to the Hotel without incident, while hoping they could reign in their interest for each other.

*

"He's letting her stay here again?!" Buffy looked incredulously to Spike. He shrugged, standing in the doorway of Angel's office. Buffy slumped in front of her computer monitor, disbelieving. She had been researching the Chintsuzai while Angel went on his escapade to see Cordelia. Angel and Cordelia were now sitting outside, talking in the courtyard, doing whatever people like them did.

"Yeah," Spike replied, taking a swig of his beer.

"I don't trust her," Buffy snapped, then pushed away her mouse, frustrated. "All I keep getting is the same thing," she said, pointing to the computer screen.

"And that is?"

"Blah blah, Chin-too-sai are evil undead people, yadda yadda. For all I know, they're the ones who created Pokémon or something!"

"It's Chintsuzai," Spike corrected her.

"Whatever."

"What do you mean, you don't trust her?" Spike tried to change the subject. "She seems to be kind towards Angel, if you get my meaning."

"Well aren't we Mr. Contradict Myself? An hour ago, you were saying-" Buffy straightened, adapting her voice to sound English "-'The bird is dangerous. We should be careful around 'er'," she finished, mocking Spike.

"Angel doesn't think that," Spike said after rolling his eyes at her impression of him, looking in the direction of the courtyard. He saw Angel standing in front of Cordelia, talking quietly. "I think he likes her."

At this, Buffy clicked the mouse so the screen went back to the desktop. She stood up, coming to Spike's side to watch the events unfold in the courtyard. Straightening a pile of folders on the desk, she murmured, "I hope you're not trying to say what I think you're trying to say."

"What?" Spike took another sip, watching her put the files on Angel's desk. "You think I'm jealous?"

"In which way?" Buffy snapped, patience thinning.

"Oh. I get it." He winked, nodding the beer can in her direction. "You're jealous of her."

She looked incredulous. "And I would be… how?"

"She's taken your big, strapping young boy away. Shame, it is," Spike said with a laugh, before Buffy smacked him upside the head while walking by. "Oww!"

"Come over here, Spike," Buffy growled, a mocking tone.

One step closer, and Spike would be eaten alive. Undead, at least.

*

"How were you sired?" Cordelia moved dark colored tresses off her shoulder, looking intently at his profile. It was getting late sort of, but then it was hard to tell in the courtyard. Her question had no real importance, other than to get him talking, communicating. Plus, she was getting cold. She considered moving closer to him, but then he might do the flinching, shying away thing again.

"I was… drunk. Darla found me in an alley, promising me that she'd let me see the world. I only wanted to get in her corset, so I didn't really do anything when she bit me."

"You were made in an alley?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Cordelia covered her mouth, suppressing a giggle.

"What's so funny?" Angel asked, raising an eyebrow as she started laughing.

"You were loaded, and she took advantage of you... This girl has some good taste," Cordelia joked, trying to cover her mouth between bursts of laughter.

"You think this is funny?" Angel's good-natured glance turned into a dark glare.

"Oh...I'm sorry. You don't have to be so sensitive," Cordelia replied after seeing his look. She inched closer to him, tracing her index finger across his cheek. He nearly flinched, but stayed there, pain and embarrassment etched on his face.

Angel cleared his throat as his glare softened, and he turned to look at Cordelia, her face suddenly mere inches from his.

"Some high Chintsuzai members are having a party in a few days at some place I know. I'm thinking we should crash," Cordelia whispered, her gaze locked on his dark eyes.

"I haven't been to a party in a while," the brooding man responded as he looked to the ground. "It's mostly because I didn't feel like going, what with…" he tossed off.

"What happened to you because of the accident," Cordelia finished, frowning a little, thinking.

"Yeah." Angel nodded as he looked into her eyes.

If you get over what happened to him…how he looks like, he such an amazing person. To carry on, after all the stuff he's gone through. And he's so chivalrous, and caring, and interesting. Total non-idiot, nothing like the guys I've been out with before, Cordelia thought. Okay. Now my thoughts are rambling. I'm losing it.

A rush of warmth shot through her, from head to toe, making her tingle. She took in a deep breath.

Do not do anything. Do not.

He's not hot. Okay? Not hot at all.

Serious people issues. Dark clothing. You don't like him.

Do… not.

"So, I-"

Cordelia suddenly leaned forward and made a daring move, kissing him. She knew this was just so wrong, to do something like that. How common sense told her that she was playing dangerous games with a man already involved in a serious relationship. Cheating was wrong, and she knew from experience that it hurt people. She didn't feel like being the initiator of something so hurtful.

Buffy was inside the hotel. One look out the window and down to see them in the garden might break her heart. Possibly Cordelia's nose as well if Buffy was the vengeful, physical type. She appeared to be just that, in Cordelia's opinion.

A soft, pleased noise coming from him, was muffled by her lips as he returned the kiss gently. Her long lashes fluttered as he kissed him back, liking the taste of him.

And suddenly, a wave of pain shot through Angel's head, a pounding ache. It felt as if he could actually feel the blood pumping through his head. Pressure mounted, worse than his normal headaches. A vision.

The pain lasted for merely a second. A flash wracked his mind, blinding him. Angel's vision cleared, and he noticed he was no longer in Cordelia's presence, kissing her warm and wonderful lips. The seer watched as events flashed before his eyes.

– FLASH! A young girl, hair worn long and in a cute little ponytail, screamed in horror as the fangs plunged into her mothers neck. Sucking sounds were heard, then the vampire disdainfully held his victim at arm's length. He twisted her neck so hard that the crack of disrupted vertebrae nearly made the young girl throw up. She stared with wild eyes, another street vampire restraining her. Without so much as a laugh, he let her go, and they walked off.

She cradled her mother's hand in her lap, whispering softly.

The girl's name was Cordelia.

FLASH! "I'll be with you until you do."

She leaned, sitting next to him. Passion for saving those who needed help, burned in her eyes. He was sad, depressed because of what he'd done. But she'd been there for him, cared for him, maybe even –

FLASH! She'd asked him a question, coming into the office. He responded, confused mildly by the strong intentions visible on her face. Then, she was walking up to him, and then she was in his arms nearly, kissing his mouth. –

Angel snapped back into this reality. The ...vision, Angel guessed, lasted a moment. But it's effect and purpose worried him.

As Angel had experienced the stabbing feeling of pain, Cordelia went through the same ordeal. She didn't know what was happening, but merely saw the flashes, wondering why this had to happen, while she was with her …current proximity infatuation.

–FLASH! "–Do you have *any* idea just how *precious* you are?"

Her brow grew furrowed, confused by his question. She knew that something was wrong with him, a spell, that whammy or whatever. But after all her complaints, having Mr. Sensitivity around was not exactly a good thing –

FLASH! "Cordelia. I'm gonna fix this. - Promise. - I'm gonna get you back. - I need you back."

FLASH Angel fell to his knees, on a dark gray stone floor. A blonde stood in front of him- Buffy, wasn't it?- looking as if she would behead him with her ornate silver sword. Another flash, and he folded the blonde into his arms, tears in his eyes.

A vortex, growing in the mouth of a demon, made of stone, behind him.

The girl pulled back after she kissed him, and his eyes closed.

She stabbed him through his chest, pinning him to the stone demon.

Agony, confusion, longing, those all showed in Angel's dark, soulful eyes. And then, he was sucked into the vortex, gone forever. But no...Not forever. He was here, kissing Cordelia's lips right now.

Wasn't he?

Cordelia blinked, looking into Angel's closed eyes, feeling Angel's soft lips on her own. The whole thing had come and gone. But the girl wanted to know one thing: why?

I'm losing my mind, Angel thought as he reluctantly pulled away from Cordelia. She had leaned forward, not wanting to break the kiss.

"The party," Angel mumbled, looking down at his hand, fingers curled around Cordelia's slim fingers. He would have stayed here all night with this girl, taking comfort to just be with her. To feel something besides the pain and hurt in his mind and heart, and conscience. But he had other things to do. Saving the world was one of them. It gave him something else to think about, other than those flashes.

Cordelia nodded. "Uh huh."

She stood up abruptly, rubbing her sides. Then she folded her arms for a moment, right before letting them hang loosely by her sides again.

She's fidgeting, Angel thought. Nervous. I don't blame her.

"Got somewhere I can change?" Cordelia asked, pointing to the various stains of demon goo on her shirt. She winced, wondering about the cleaning bill Buffy faced. With the kind of job she had, assisting Angel with his various baddies, she must go through a new wardrobe every couple of months.

Angel stood up, looking down at her. "Yeah."

They walked inside the Hotel.

*

"Buffy, I need to grab some clothes for Cordelia–"

The lights were off, dark mauve curtains flapping in the late afternoon breeze. It was the period between sunlight and shadow, where people headed home from work, others to work themselves. The air was plain but chilly, papers and other lightweight garbage tumbling down the street. It had the feeling of a desolate region, right outside the hotel. The sky was no longer a burnt orange, but now a pale, steel blue.

Whispering words of death and adventure, the wind carried in through the opened panes. It swooped in low, like a predator, only to caress pale, scarred flesh. No, not of the face, but of someone's leg, faint traces of scars on the thigh. From years of whipping and rousing debauchery, the same leg intertwined with a more tanned one, a feminine one.

He watched his girlfriend's legs intertwine with a vampire, watched Spike perform his sexual motions while on top of a less than grinning Buffy.

However, the girl appeared to be enjoying herself. She didn't grin every five seconds with a smirk like Spike did, but oh boy, was she approaching it.

"Uhn…" Her voice faded, almost a content purr coming from her.

The English vampire did not give pause, and soon Buffy was arching her back again. Once more, and then again, and again–

"Oh God, Angel!"

Thankfully, this wasn't shouted in her orgasmic ecstasy. She pulled up the bed sheet to cover her chest– like he hadn't seen it before– while Spike rolled onto his back. Spread eagle for a few seconds, the non-modest vampire then remembered certain…etiquette, and covered himself with a pillow.

Angel's pillow.

Buffy reached out, taking in a deep breath as she untangled herself from Spike's limbs, and the bed sheet.

Angel only stared at this mocking tableau, unsure of what to say, or how to react. In the old days, he'd have Spike thrown up against the wall, a stake rammed dangerously near his throat. But now, he couldn't do that. He could only watch the girl he loved, had given up his eternal struggle for…make love to another man. A vampire.

Like he used to be.

Seeing them, together like this, made him more self conscious than ever, more aware of his appearance. A feeling of hatred washed over him, towards himself. So meaningless, insignificant and weak…His inner loathing almost overcame him, making his knees buckle slightly. Angel's hand was still on the doorknob, and he pulled the door shut behind him, before Buffy could get up.

Angel couldn't breathe, needing to escape that confining room. He needed air. His lungs burned for it with a ferocity that was unimaginable. He needed to get out of that room, that place filled with both sad and vibrant memories. Angel staggered into the hall, mind racing, jaw clenched except for the few stray curses under his breath.

Half-staggering and half running down the staircase, Angel missed the last two steps, tripping and losing his balance. He fell, not for the first time. He collapsed at the bottom, his erratic gait finally failing him. The wave of self-pity came on again in that instant, but soon gave way to another feeling of surprise.

He could feel strong yet tender arms lift him up, a hand caressing his ravaged face.

Cordelia wrapped her arms around his less than broad shoulders, enveloping him in her caring, tight embrace. She held him close to her, letting his head rest on her shoulder. Her fingers tangled in his ruffled hair, voice low and murmuring unintelligible words. Stroking his back, Cordelia rocked back and forth from their place on the smooth, cold floor.

Neither of them said anything. They didn't have to.
Chapter 9

"You caught your girlfriend sleeping with another man."

"Correction. Vampire. And I caught BUFFY sleeping with SPIKE."

"I know that–"

"Kinda seems more poignant if you use their names, right?"

"Angel, please. What happened next?"

*

She rocked him back and forth, running her fingers through his hair, voice soothing. Cordelia told him it was going to be all right, that he'd get through it okay… He didn't yell, didn't scream, or cry. Just looked haunted, pained, eyes staring into space. She adjusted herself from her crouched position, her fingertips running over his shoulders, of which she grabbed on, trying to shake some sense into him.

"Angel. Speak to me. Please? Don't let me out."

Foreboding eyes lifted slightly, before he shook his head, peering down, strands falling into place.

"Listen to me."

He showed some signs of recognition, looking down.

"Don't you see where this is taking you?" she asked, voice strained, wispy bangs framing a concerned face.

Her question, so familiar, so painful…

– "…Don't you see where this is taking you?" she asked, her hair short, sitting a short distance across from his desk with a young black man and a snappily dressed man with glasses. Yet even though her question, painful and raw in his ears, he could only feel the sharp edge of cold slicing into his heart –

"–Keeping this to yourself won't do you any good. You can't let me out," her voice came, strong and in control.

Fumbling for words, he managed a nod. "I'm sorry. I'm… sorry."

"It's okay. It's… It's gonna be okay," Cordelia said slowly, looking like she was trying to reassure herself. Angel turned away from her, about to be lost in his little world again.

"You shouldn't have to put up with this," he told her, looking morose while he adjusted himself to sit on the bottom landing.

What? *I* should be saying that to *him*.

"To think that… This is my life. Like that movie. Wasn't there a movie?" Angel wondered fondly, mind on old memories and forgotten actions. Inching closer to him, the still fresh memory of their vivid kiss in her mind, Cordelia shrugged.

"Angel, don't take this the wrong way… I don't mean to offend you or anything, but do you ever wonder what life would be like if you hadn't shacked up with Buffy again?"

He laughed a little, nervous, lame, and to himself. "It'd be no better than this."

Patting his knee, Cordelia looked at him hard, peering through ruffled hair to view a tortured face.

"That's true."

*

"You never stopped to think about that, did you?"

"When I was around her, I couldn't think of anything else. I just focused on her. She really… Forget it. I'm not getting into that again."

"Perfectly all right… For now, at least. Go on."

*

Damn, he was right for bounding down the staircase.

After listening to Angel's basic and short explanation of what caused him to run, of which she guessed might be, he seemed to deflate. The anger in him diminished, anger that was once unbridled in such a strong and powerful figure. He was Angelus, the Scourge of Europe. Terror of… Continents, and all that jazz.

Right now, he just looked sick to his stomach.

"…Oh. I uh, I kind of saw Buffy walk past the hotel last night," Cordelia began, vouching her own semi-testimonial. "With all those looks…and how buddy buddy they are, considering you're her main squeeze, I thought–"

"Was, her main squeeze. Past tense needed," Angel corrected her. At her astonished look, he ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed his face, feeling like he just woke up. "I don't know, though. I don't know anymore," he said through his fingers.

The shrill ringing of the phone startled Angel and Cordelia, preventing her from responding. It also made Angel hesitate to get up. However, she did, gracefully running over to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Who is– Is this Cordelia, Angel's friend?"

"Considering I'm only one of two females in this building, then yeah. Wesley, right?"

"Yes. May I speak to Angel?"

"What for?"

"There was an– ah, don't touch that! …Sorry. There was a fight."

"Sounds like you got someone in there with you?"

"Faith. She's been wounded."

"Shit."

"Indeed. In the meantime, while she and I are uh, recuperating, perhaps you and Angel might check out the address we picked up? I'd go by myself, but I don't want to leave her alone."

At this point, Cordelia turned slightly, viewing Angel out of the corner of her eye. He was still hunched at his place on the staircase, unsure of it all.

I don't want to leave HIM alone.

"Give me the address."

*

"Get off… GET OFF OF ME!" Buffy growled menacingly, pushing Spike away. He frowned at her, watching her scramble out of the bed. Limbs twisted in his own, the sheets, the hastily thrown off clothing. Her body flexed placidly, pale in the moonlight that filtered in from the window. Buffy yanked a cover from the bed, trying to be modest but failing miserably.

Spike leaned back, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up the cigs and lighter he left there. Just when he lit one up, Buffy looked up from pulling her jeans on.

She fumed, face red and fiery. "THAT'S your solution? 'Oh, I'll just go have a light, and forget about the fact that I RUINED Buffy's relationship?"

He looked incredulous. "WHAT relationship? You call that, that thing you got with the fucked up ponce… A relationship?"

Considering just giving him the finger, Buffy straightened, fist clutching her shirt while the other hand covered her chest with the bed sheet. "Don't talk about him like that."

"He's not even here."

"I don't care, all right? What we did… THIS. THIS is wrong! This is not a relationship! This is a tryst. An affair. A fling, damn it!" Before he could respond, Buffy turned around, showing her back to him while she slipped her shirt back on. "Don't even. You and I both know it's not going to work out. You're evil, Spike, and I still don't get why I'm… Doing this, with you."

Spike straightened, shoving the covers to block his lap from view. He almost seemed to chuckle at her last sentence, but instead his expression grew cold. "Don't you take the high road with me, Slayer. You can't deny that you wanted this. Remember? You remember how you came to me, asking, begging for it? It'd been so long, since Angel had gone away. And you wanted something to fill up the gap, the space he'd left right when he got depressed.

"You didn't care for him anymore. That's why YOU came to ME. Because you just needed a quick fuck to make you feel better. But it turned out to be something more," Spike told her, voice lowering a notch. Shirt and jeans fully on now, Buffy could only stare at him in return.

Eyes closing, she took this in. Took the spoken word of their secret love sessions, voiced by her pale blonde paramour. The confirmation that she'd left Angel for another man, carried on with him… But it wasn't the same. She didn't know if she loved Angel anymore, not since the accident. It was all so conflicting.

"I think you should leave," came her voice, thin and trembling.

Spike looked at her for a moment, then resolved to stand up. Fully bare, he walked past her, leaning in slightly. "If you think getting rid of me will solve your problems, then I'd like to see how you'll solve the mess you made of Angel."

After he walked into the bathroom, Buffy wept.

*

They'd been walking for hours. It was late, somehow…so late…or early, whichever way you looked at it. She hesitated when it came to walking next to him. Should she walk slightly behind, or a step forward than him? Would it be okay if she leaned slightly closer to him, or were they to appear as total strangers?

On second thought, why was she debating about him again?

"What goes around, comes around," Cordelia murmured under her breath. The phrase popped into her mind from nowhere, vague and indistinct. She wasn't aware if Angel could hear her or not, since he seemed so occupied with staring at the pavement. His movements were jerky, stiff, on edge. Glancing left, right, jerking and twitching like a bird…he was nervous. Or at least… antsy.

What else would you expect from a man who lost his eternal love to a stronger, more powerful man?

Cordelia knew Angel was hurting painfully inside. She knew he loved Buffy; that he was still in shock as to how someone so close could be torn away from him. Gone. Not in the deadly sense, the passionate, mind, body, and soul sense. He appeared to take his relationship with her very seriously, almost like a job.

What she knew of relationships was that people didn't necessarily get into them because of that aspect.

Angel was silent most of the way, preferring to stay outside when they asked around for information. Cordelia pointed out that most of the people asked were demons, but he adamantly disagreed to join her. His pride, what was left of it, teetered on the edge, ready to slip and fall.

Cordelia wondered about his answer.

How would he be if he'd never stayed with Buffy? If he was a vampire? If none of this would have ever happened?

Would he be the strong and powerful vampire he used to be, fighting evildoers by nightfall, trying for redemption?

Or would this have happened no matter what?

Conflicted as she was, Angel nudged her softly. Casting her glance upwards, he put a gentle hand on the small of her back, edging her forward slightly. "Think you can make it back to the hotel?"

Cordelia sighed heavily, moving closer to him. "We haven't found anything, Angel."

"We'll find something tomorrow. No use walking around like two idiots," Angel replied.

"One idiot. You're not including me in that tally."

Angel sighed deeply, fingers flexing in his trenchcoat pocket. The pavement was slick with rain, blurry images and lights reflected from the storefronts. It seemed like time passed quicker, these days, so heavily wrapped up in the pain, and heartache, and daily life. Logos, stray papers, garbage littered the streets, pop culture abound in the City of Angels.

He slowed to a stop; she followed his lead, staring up at him.

"Nothing of importance, except for people who had no idea what we were talking about," Angel told her, knowing well that she knew, she'd been there. She'd seen the crestfallen look on his face, another frayed end of the case leading to blank stares and unanswered questions.

"Yeah," Cordelia responded, biting her lip. Her arms twisted behind her in a girlish way, before crossing in front of her. The light moved down, a gentle haze cast over them both. He drew her aside, right near a storefront with barred windows.

Gaze scrutinizing, he touched her fingers. "You're shaking like a leaf," Angel accused.

…Oh God…it was happening again…

He'd said the same thing that fateful night when he and Buffy made love for the first time.

Just thinking about it, those words especially, made it seem so much worse, so far off, old. Back to the days of childhood, teenage years. Grandiose words, strong meanings, frivolous things treated better than they should have been. 'Made love'. God…

They had sex, and he'd gone evil. It was as simple as that.

"I'm not cold," Cordelia chattered, surprised that she could get so chilly in California.

A poor, trembling thing in his eyes, Angel shook his head, regretful. "I should've brought the truck."

Cordelia brightened. "We're almost there. Back to the hotel, I mean."

"I know. Are you all right?"

They moved, continued walking. He had asked her that, and Cordelia looked at him, the slight difficulty for him, pain visible.

"I'll be with you. That's more than okay."

Her voice was low, trying to conceal the rush of emotions filling her, feelings of pain and doubt.

*

Reaching Wesley's place was too fast, too soon it seemed. Anger, shame fueling her legs, muscles coiled like springs, Buffy's fist rapped on his door. Why was she here? It was too late for her to remember…In both time, and the fact that the door's locks were being opened.

No normal person sprang to the door immediately at two in the morning.

"Buffy?"

Wesley frowned, looking like he expected someone else. His eyes narrowed, opening the door wider for her to come in. She looked deathly pale, streaked wet with rain, boots muddy. "Did Angel give you my call?"

Angel–

"No. I came here on my own," Buffy explained, taking a step in. Feeling like a sponge due to the extreme wetness, Buffy could only stare. She stood across from Wesley, watching him lock the door up tight. Hat pulled down, she looked like a lost high school dropout, reminding her of the time she dropped out of college to be with Angel. It was a risky decision, and one she did not initially make. They'd tried to co-exist in two places, but after the Sunnydale debacle, and his accident, Buffy choose to be with him, to take care of him.

"What happened?" he asked, decidedly flustered.

"I…I don't– Oh God…" Buffy sniffed, baggy coat sleeves wiping away burgeoning tears. "He… He walked in on us. Both. Oh, he saw us, Wesley, he saw us together."

"Calm down Buffy," Wesley instructed, touching her arm gingerly. "Who saw you with who?"

"Angel. Angel saw me with Spike," Buffy said, her eyes growing wide with water. "Wesley…. I don't know what to do."

"He saw you with…" She nodded. Wesley frowned. "Oh dear lord. You and Spike had sex?"

Almost lunging forward, desperate, needing warmth to cling to, anything… Buffy sobbed on Wesley's shoulder, body wracked with grief. He tried to quiet her, calm her down as he rubbed her back gently.

"Shh. Shh…"

"I had sex with him… Why do I feel… like this?" came her sobbing words, before she broke into a fit of cries. Crying so hard, from deep inside, that she did not notice Faith in the doorway.

Wesley opened his mouth to say something, realization appearing on his face.

Standing still, Faith waited for her own tears to fall.

But this time, she felt nothing.

*

It was late when they came back, very late. They quietly went up the staircase, and it was Cordelia who dragged Angel into her room. He thought she was drunk at the time, but then remembered she hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol. Neither bothered to check if Buffy nor Spike was there, because they simply didn't think of them. At least, not in the open.

He took a full sight of the room cleaner than his own, and this wasn't even lived in.

Nearly instructing him to take his clothes off– bad move there, she only meant his jacket– Cordelia threw her own soggy garment to the floor. She plopped herself down on a plush easy chair, tucking on leg underneath. Angel stood near the doorway, looking foreboding and dark in his duster and boots.

"Take it easy," Cordelia instructed him, nodding her head to the room. "Get comfortable, for once in your life."

Almost embarrassed, he looked about before gently draping his wet trenchcoat on the back of a chair. Taking another hesitant look around, Angel moved to the chair across from her, sitting down slowly.

More silence, again.

They had kissed.

The thought sprung up in their minds again, the little smooch in the courtyard. Clearly rushed, quick, and damn it… Why were they thinking about it? Mostly due to the visions neither one knew the other had. Outer body experiences, they were called, but neither Angel nor Cordelia wished to bring about more questioning by telling each other about it.

It was a very complicated relationship, having your time together based on fabricated lies and restricted truths.

The silence settled in, Cordelia rubbing her ankle, mind far away. Angel, slouched in his chair, chin resting against his palm.

Straightening in her seat, she looked over at him, a wondering look. He looked so depressed, even then, not doing anything. The room was foreboding, now that she realized it, so dark and lonely, even for a guest.

"Don't."

It was he who spoke, a strict tone in his voice.

"Don't what?" Cordelia looked incredulous. Her grip on her ankle loosened, head canting ever so slightly. Angel's words were slightly blurred, not only because of him leaning against his palm, but because of the slightly crooked mouth. The same one she had kissed with her eyes closed, not bothering to care what he looked like. She only wanted to taste him.

"I know you," Angel began, straightening in his chair. "From what I've gathered, at least. I'm in no mood for any psychoanalysis."

She looked moody, hurt almost. "Psychoanalysis? What's with the touchy?"

Angel blinked, hesitating. "The what?"

"You. We just came back from a clearly uneventful night, finding nothing. A little outing, which I may remind you, followed the moment I found you lost after seeing your girlfriend screwing another guy. Because of that, I think I'm more or less entitled to ask you if you're all right or not."

Now he was squirming.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

Now she was going to smack him.

"Are you all right, you big dork?"

A memory flitting in the back of his mind, Angel adjusted his position again, fidgeting. She had been around him long enough… Well, the past few days that they'd known each other… To notice that he did that whenever he was uncomfortable. Or at least, the head ducking thing. Averting his face, trying to shrink the tall and lean frame into nothingness.

"I guess."

More silence. He stood up, moving to the desk emptying his pockets in the meantime. A stake, other items, a lighter… He dropped them there, then moved back to the chair. Walking slowly, he looked at the room's setting like he'd seen it for the first time.

"Hmm. Angel. Well, you certainly don't look like one."

He glanced up at her, before sitting down again.

"Sorry," Cordelia admonished, leaning forward. "I just don't know the meaning of tact."

"Apparently."

"How did it… Were you…? I'm… I don't remember what you–"

Angel shook his head. "No."

"Oh."

"I have a picture of… me, before it happened," Angel said carefully, glancing to his bureau. Without another word from either of them, he went over to it, pulling out an envelope buried in the third drawer. He threw the envelope to her, and she immediately rifled through it.

"Oh…" She came across a picture of Buffy, a small man with green eyes, and him… There were some lines on top of Buffy, a ghost like image. Perhaps the negatives got mixed, and two images were on the same photo.

Cordelia thumbed the picture, looking at his former self. He seemed taller maybe… more muscular. Not much of a smile, but he sure as hell looked better than he did now. The man seated across from her was thin, hair more tousled and longish, looking half-dead. He always had a wounded look in his eyes, which had seen things far greater than they did now.

He looked so in control, sure of himself back then. The girls probably kicked and bit each other over him. But now…

Oh, how she wanted him to feel whole again.

She stood up, tentatively walking to him and sitting on his lap. He pulled away when her hand rose, but her fierce gaze locked him in place. Soft fingertips ran along the curve of his broken jaw, along the scars of his face. She touched his right eye, kissing the flesh there tenderly. His heart accelerated. Her breathing was hitched.

"Taking advantage of a disabled man is part of your plan?"

Her fingers dug underneath his shirt. She kissed his jaw and neck. "You're not disabled," she murmured, reminding herself to keep her breathing controlled.

"Okay. I'm disfigured. Remember that?" He wanted her to never stop, to be with her like this… He hadn't known such pleasure for too long.

But she'd leave him eventually.

"I don't care." She nibbled his ear. "I want you."

"You can't."

"I want you NOW," she repeated, unzipping his pants, hand slipping inside his jeans.

"No, you're don't," He choked out, trying to put some sense into her. Trying to make sure she didn't get hurt. That she didn't waste her time on a pathetic being like him. That she wasn't just doing this to comfort him over the fact that Buffy, his girlfriend, slept with Spike.

"I'm gonna tell you the truth, Angel. I like the way you look. But you have get in gear. You're alive. You're human. You take what you can, and deal with it. Besides…I need you for YOU," she told him, tapping him lightly on the nose.

"For sex."

"More than that, you big dork!"

– "Pfft. Fred can't even tie her shoes without 'Oh, you're my big fat hero!' around," Cordelia quipped.

Angel looked downcast. "You think I'm fat?" he murmured–

He cried out, jerking away from her. Cordelia looked at his eyes snap shut tightly. He muttered through gritted teeth, "Not now."

"Angel?"

His eyes closed, narrowing, concentrating.

Another vision… How many wracked his brain these days? He could barely think straight, much less move.

But when he opened his eyes again, her saw her straddling him. Genuinely worried, or what could pass for it… Damn, he barely even knew her, and now they were… That this.. It was going to - to happen, wasn't it?

He needed to feel her, to see if he was still alive.

*

They were standing.

His shirt went over his head, her fingers curling the belt loops of his jeans. Hands met flesh, stroking the bruised upper chest, faded wounds and pale scars.

Clumsy fingers met the straps of her tanktop, pulling it over wet and dark flowing hair. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it free, and slowly, arching, turning, they fell onto the bed.

Wild, crazy, just needing each other.

He was on the bed now, this light girl on top of him. Her mere touch sent chills down his spine, making his mouth water and ache for hers. She licked his stomach in little swirls of her tongue. He was lean, more or less as defined as Spike. Not that she knew about him. Well…she could imagine. He did wear that tight black shirt all the time.

Thing was, she didn't take on an immediate 'throw him against the wall and have sex with him' feeling with Spike.

It didn't matter. ANGEL was here now, not Spike. She tugged and soon both his boxers and pants came off.

"Cordelia," Angel breathed, smiling at the dark hair streaming down on his face. She shook her head mischievously, raven rivulets making him laugh. He had such a nice, good laugh, a contrast to his normal, sad and foreboding self.

She leaned down, whispering against his ear. "Are you sure you want me to–?"

There was such trust in her eyes, familiarity. Longing, yes, from a girl he barely knew. A girl who had seduced a taken man. The anger flared up again, flashes of the harsh, fluid movements of Buffy and Spike, interconnected…they drifted into focus, bodies intertwined, moving, and moaning. Making love behind his back–

"Make it stop," Angel instructed. Her underwear was soon off, and he found himself inside of her rather quickly, vulnerable and wanting. "Make it all stop."

His movements grew harsher right after that, harsh like his face.

*

Faith could only slink away from her spot near Buffy and Wesley, inching back to the opposite room so that Buffy couldn't see her. The Slayer went on for a few more minutes, alternately crying then ranting. Wesley would have offered her a place to stay, but Buffy excused her behavior right after, then left, giving a full apology. She needed to let the guilt out, to find someone who could understand her on common ground.

It'd been so long since Wesley had a girlfriend.

Faith slid to the ground, staring far off into space. She knew at a juncture like this, she should be yelling and cursing. Spike was fucking Buffy, lying to her all this time. But Wesley's earlier bit of advice stuck with her. Spike didn't care for her anymore. He only cared for himself. So it was natural, in his dumb ass way, to move on to greener pastures.

But still, next time she saw him, she was going to fucking MURDER the guy.

"Faith."

It was his voice, Wesley's, strong and cold, right over her. Faith looked up to see him standing there, offering a hand to help her up. She complied, standing up, and he brushed her arms with his thumbs slightly. His scrutinizing gaze reminded her of a doctor checking his patient.

"Faith? Are you all right? I'm sorry for what happened between… Buffy and Spike."

Head nodding mutely, Faith stared at the ground, trying to process it all.

He eased his grip on her.

"Don't."

He looked confused. "Don't what?"

"Don't… stop. Damn Wesley, I can't fucking deal with this… this feeling. It just hurts so bad, I don't know how I'm gonna deal with it," she told him, rubbing her fore arms. Face almost dismissive, she scrunched her nose. "I mean… Spike isn't perfect. Fine. I can deal with that. But it's like… we knew where the other was coming from, you know?"

He looked flustered. "Coming from where?"

An eye roll. "Feelings, man. We knew the motivation, the thoughts, and… the… the SEX. Aww. Fuck."

Taking this… comment in, Wesley placed a gentle hand on Faith's back. He nudged her in the direction of the couch, and her legs moved. Boots picked up, down, walking. Her whole body was numb though, even worse than an all-nighter.

Fight, that is.

Uh huh. Riiight.

"Just rest, Faith. It's too late for you to go home at this hour. And you're in no condition to go. Sleep. Just sleep," Wesley said, indicating her to lie down on the couch. Obeying, Faith turned to face the cushions, feeling a thin blanket draped over her side a few seconds later.

She turned, Wesley straightened, pulling the blanket off.

He leaned again, putting a hand to her forehead. "The least you could do is not get sick," he said, checking her temperature. Out of the blue, but he needed something to say. Well, something instead of unintelligible murmuring and gawking.

And damn, he even smelled pretty good too.

Faith leaned forward, in a rush, balancing to plant a rough and tumble smackeroo on Wesley's lips. He made a sound after her action, surprised, shocked, unwilling to stop.

It was all turning into a bloody soap opera.

This was Faith.

This was wrong.

Logic and reason were caged in his mind, yearning to be free. But his recklessness merely laughed in triumph, set free and wreaking havoc. He had responded to her, didn't push away, didn't reprimand her. He bloody well liked it, and didn't want to stop.

It was Faith, after all. But still.

Her fingers clenched on his collar, pulling him down to fall onto her on the couch. Adjusting himself, Wesley let himself go, shedding the cold exterior. He'd failed so many times, became lost, felt lost… And now here she was, kissing him, Faith. Faith was fucking kissing him, and he was going to go insane from the notion.

"I…need you…"

Her voice was a blur against his mouth, legs angling to wrap about his hips.

"…To take your shirt off."

And just as he obeyed, he found a reason to open up once more.

*

She was lost, scared, hungry and alone.

Buffy walked away from Wesley's building, confused as to where she'd end up. Sure, she initiated the events that got her there, but that didn't mean she knew what she was doing. Right?

Uh…right?

She continued on for a while, reminding herself not to seem defenseless. Vampires loved that, and she wasn't in the mood for running into one right–

…Oh dear lord.

Her shoulder bumped his accidentally, her head tucked down before she could stop it.

"What? You're just going to walk past me, like nothing?"

God, that accent was too alluring in its sarcasm and annoyance.

Buffy turned, seeing Spike there. The cigarette dangling from his lip, the bottle in his cold fingers showed he was drunk, or getting there.

Spike motioned to her, nodding. "Come on, love. You know you want to go inside."

"Spike…" Buffy began, clearing her throat. Resisting the urge to pummel him. "I… Some other time. I don't need this right now."

"Ah. So that explains why you took the long route from the Watcher boy's house to just walk on down by my own little crypt to…" Spike trailed off, his smirk fading when Buffy approached him. She moved steadily towards him, making the vampire backpedal a few feet until he was at the front door to the motel room that he and Faith shared.

"Shut up. Just shut up. Just shut up and kiss me," Buffy instructed, her eyes wild with fierce determination. A twinge of pain, sadness in her voice soon evaporated, mouth muffled by his own cold lips. They kissed feverishly, his bottle glinting in the streetlight, before Spike reached behind him and wrenched the door open.

They fell inside.

The room was no longer vacant, but occupied.

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