Title: If There Never Was
Author: Ignited
Posted: 03-11-2002
Rating: R for language and sexual
situations
Email: Ignited
Content: Romance,
Drama, Angst, AU-ish
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…
Spoilers: Everything
up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of
speculation here.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse
were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is
intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Disharmony, List
archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!
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…
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. Chapter 10 Dedication: To Greenie, 'cause I'll
miss him dearly!
Feedback: I am a feedback junkie, so make me
high.
Part 18
"Cordelia. I need to. Are you sitting down? Well. of course, that's -
obvious," Wesley said at length, standing near her place at the kitchen
table. He placed a hand on her shoulder after removing the sticky plastic
gloves and throwing them out. Her fingers reached over and grabbed his
hand.
"How is he?"
".I can't find the bullet," Wesley said
slowly. "He's losing a lot of blood. Plus, the accident has already wrecked
havoc on his insides, so unless the ambulance can-
"No." Cordelia
shook her head. "No. You're not telling me this."
"Cordelia." He
paused, clearing his throat. ".I - I can't stop the
bleeding."
Abruptly, the young woman stood up from her chair, pushing
past him. She moved into the small living room, to see Angel still on the
couch. He was pale and sweaty, eyelids fluttering. It looked like it pained
him to breathe, much less keep the soaked rag in place with a trembling
fist.
So lost and helpless, mortal and weak.
She found herself
moving to his side, kneeling. Kissing his forehead tenderly, Cordelia held
the rag in place, applying direct pressure to the wound. Maybe those Health
classes paid off after all. But if they did, would she have been in this
mess in the first place?
No. The demon said something along the lines
of it being Angel's fault. Not her own.
Just then, the front door
thundered with a series of fast knocks. Wesley opened the door hurriedly to
see a panting Faith before him.
"I called. Quite a trip. They're
comin'. As fast as any ambulance would come around this neighborhood, that
is."
"Meaning not so fast." Wesley frowned, rubbing his
temples.
"Why can't we just try taking him there?"
"Buffy and
Spike are missing, and it's hard to move a gunshot victim," Wesley replied,
remembering slowly. yes, when he was shot. And Gunn, his friend and
co-worker, a man he never knew, but did. Saved him. He knew him. They. They
were friends, he could remember.
"It's internal bleeding. I can't
stop it," Wesley repeated, strong eyes on Faith, avoiding looking at the
pair nearby. Her posture stiffened, eyes no longer wild, but now fearful.
Not careless, for that was Faith through and through, five by five and all
that jazz. But Angel was her guide. Her rock. They weren't together, but
after all he'd done for her, in this world and the next, it felt almost
like... she was losing a leg.
Or an arm.
"But. we just can't
leave him. Come on. We can take him. We can, all right? Wesley, please?"
Faith cast a look in Angel's direction. 'Please', she had said. Desperate.
Wishing against time.
"Faith. I've tried the best I can do. He's
worse off than I was," Wesley admitted, rubbing Faith's shoulder. Her arm
was gone, numb, as Angel slipped away from her.
Cordelia gave them
both a look, slightly nodding in Angel's direction. Wesley took the hint,
pulling Faith by that same arm with him into his room.
The silence
festered like a disease in the stale air between the former vampire and his
love.
Angel's eyes lifted to look at Cordelia.
"I'm dying,
Cordy."
"No!" Noticing her own abrupt tone, she explained more
softly. "No, you can't die. NOT here. Not like THIS," Cordelia told him,
grasp tightening, trying to force some love and strength into him.
It
was so quiet in that little apartment.
"I don't think I
can."
"Don't say that." She managed a half giggle, nervous panic
creeping into her tone. Her hand caressed his face once more; thumb brushing
the scar on his chin. "Everything's gonna be okay."
An echo of a
phrase said in comfort, so long, long ago.
"We'll be fine,
Angel."
He turned away from her.
".Pretty soon back in the
hotel. Connor, Wes, and Fred and Gunn- Everyone will be there. You'll see.
Everything will be - right as rain again."
She waited for
him.
"I've.You have to go on without me. Don't mourn me. You need -
to live. Promise me that- Promise me that much. .Take care of him, Cordy,"
Angel instructed her, fingers clenching weakly on her fingers as he felt the
life drain out of him, bullet wound far too deep. Blood flowed freely, and a
sick sense deep within wondered why he wasn't salivating by the mouth. It
was warm, sticky blood, human.
The smell alone nauseated him now. He
liked that sick feeling.
"Angel." She sighed, right hand stroking his
brow, left hand pressing down on the rag still. Her fingers felt wet, blood
seeping through. "Shh. Quiet. Don't speak," she told him, voice
cracking.
"Cordelia.I always wanted-" His breath came out in a
gurgle, coughing a little. Eyes lifting to look at her, left, right,
focusing. "Cordy? .I can't see you."
"Oh God.Angel. ANGEL!" She shook
his shoulders, sending a lock of dark brown hair about on his forehead. He
stared with unseeing eyes, haunting and dark, and yet a stark
contrast.
"No. No. You CAN'T leave me alone. You just
CAN'T."
She hit his chest uselessly, recognizing the familiar lack of
breath. But that was bad, because he NEEDED to breathe. She checked his
vitals, feeling no pulse.One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Cordelia still hit his
chest, crying his name, cursing because she didn't know what to do. CPR.God,
her mind was a jumbled mix of images, all roads leading to
Angel.
"Open your eyes, Angel. Please. please open your eyes. Oh
God.please. Please!"
No sounds of life coming from him. Like
always.
He was dead, not just undead.
Dead through and
through.
"I can't. I can't- Don't do this to me, Angel," Her voice
breaking and barely there, she pounded his chest. It grew weaker with each
blow, until she merely rested her head on his chest, crying. "Don't leave
me- You CAN'T leave me. God, you just can't! Don't leave me! Don't leave me
here alone, Angel! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE!"
The last caress,
frantic, more pounding, crying, falling so far down that there was no
light.
She heard the heaving breath of Buffy, could almost feel the
softness of leather as Buffy buried her face in Spike's shoulder in the
doorway. He'd show no emotion. He was a vampire. But he was
pained.
They waited.
And all Cordelia could do was sob.
Because she felt dead inside..And stuck. Stuck in this God forsaken cruel
image of a world, where vampires were endless in numbers, loved ones cheated
and lied.a world without Angel.
Everything was so
quiet.
Tranquil.
Dead.
How could she live without her
soul?
*
She mourned.
Cordelia watched the coroner come,
watched them zip the shiny black body bag shut. A last glimpse of Angel's
face before the zipper closed. He had been so cold and lifeless, more so
than she ever knew him. She remembered those times they'd fallen asleep
together innocently, her head resting on his strong chest. In the morning,
she'd smack him playfully, knowing he'd eventually wake up. Before that
happened, treating him like a stuffed animal, dead but alive, was
fun.
Now, seeing the body being pulled away, resting on a
stretcher.
The.
The body.
Angel's body. Angel was
dead.
Her hands moved up, down, up again. She rubbed her arms, trying
to rid the sense of death that clung to her like a slick and oily black
cloak. It smothered her, going into her mouth, down her throat, filling her
lungs. She remembered Wesley coming up behind her, his hand on her shoulder,
massaging it. Telling her lies, that "everything would be all right", that
they would figure out some way to change everything back to the way it
was.
How could everything be all right?
Angel was dead.
Nothing would ever be right again.
She knew that now, as days passed
by, the body count rose. Fires raged throughout Los Angeles, spreading to
other parts of California. Faintly, Cordy could see and feel the hustle and
bustle of her friends, the shouting, and the explanations. Scrambling to
save a new city in their eyes, a place they lived in, and yet only heard
about. In her cramped position, knees up to her chin, long dark hair a
barrier to the world. she mourned.
Angel told her not to.
She
didn't listen.
"Cordelia."
"I love you," he had told
her.
"My word. Your hands are like ice! Get up."
"I
want to be with you," he had said to her.
She closed her eyes and
held her knees tighter, hearing Wesley talk to her.
Console
her.
Cordelia wanted him to stop. He didn't. He grabbed her, shook
her violently, sending her to her feet. Limbs loose, head rolled back until
she found her eyes again and focused. Feeling a man's touch on her body that
wasn't. his. It was - It was Wesley. She pushed him away, staggering to her
feet, and then down again.
".Wesley?" Her mouth felt strange and
numb.
The world snapped into focus, and it was still so wrong. She
could feel her back against the foot of Angel's bed, could see Wesley's
piercing gaze stab into her. He was clean-shaven, clothes casual and
relaxed, and yet with that rumpled look both he and Giles managed to wear so
well.
Giles was dead, too, now that she remembered what Wesley had
told her.
"I think I've finally figured it out," Wesley said, and she
remembered him again, how he had been. That 'Eureka!' look in his eyes,
mouth set in a line of determination. He was on the verge of something.
Something important.
"Figured what out?" Cordelia asked, a 'come
hither' motion of her hand so he could help her up.
After Wesley
pulled her to her feet, he continued, "How to fix
it."
"It?"
"This reality. You said that you and Angel faced a
demon, the same one who shot him, is that correct?"
"Yeah," Cordy
agreed, rubbing her temples.
"Because of the mistake Angel made, as
you so described, and the reparations it caused, this is the reality that
shaped out of thoughts, ideas, and nightmares from Angel's mind. Due to the
carefully weaved construct, trying to go back into the past to warn him
might not work," Wesley told her.
He had a knack for getting her
confused. "Why not?"
"I don't have the same textbooks I did as
before," Wesley said, shrugging sheepishly. "I can't do that type of spell.
With time passing and trying to venture in, things may have the possibility
to change. Variations, Cordelia. There's a small chance, but it may happen.
And who's to say the demon might not already know what will happen when we
warn him? We can't take that risk."
"You know. Sometimes. You really
don't make sense. And you really get on my nerves," Cordelia admonished, and
for once she noticed the surroundings. They were in a motel, she ventured,
how far from home, she could not tell.
Everything was so far
away.
"But you know I love ya for it, Wes."
He saw her hands
shake, thumbs looping jeans loops. Continuing, Wesley told her, "But there
may be another way. It's even more riskier than the other procedure I
mentioned, and has a lower success rate, but if and when it works,
everything will go back to normal."
Her head raised, voice pained,
eyes still streaky.
"What do you want me to do?"
*
It
had been a sunny and breezy day, the smell of flowers greeting Cordelia
Chase's nose.
She hated it. It seemed to mock her.
Surrounded
by the smell of gasoline, oil, and automobile parts, Cordy rubbed her arms.
Cold in this bitter wind, the jacket Buffy gave her did no good, as she
still felt ice slam into her. Soft, warm arms embraced her as Angel leaned
to whisper in her ear. But like a rare dream, it grew thin and vanished,
carried out into the four winds. Instructing herself to focus, she took in
the sight of the little band of rebels, and longed for those missing and
lost.
Buffy, Spike, Faith, and Wesley were there, calm, sarcastic,
reckless, and wise. After asking why they had to perform the ceremony at the
junkyard, Wesley replied that it was better to do it in a more open area
than a lime green wallpapered home designer's nightmare. She thought he was
hanging out with her too much.
"All you have to do is cut these
sticks on my mark. Buffy will throw the lit candle into the pile there and
you'll step into it," Wesley said, crouching to arrange a semi circle on the
ground. Cordelia hovered nearby, pacing a little. Meticulous, Wesley has
arranged some dry twigs into the half circle shape, dark red ribbons tied
around the middle of each. The smell of herbs and incense rose up, cast down
onto the floor and spread out in the circle.
"Whoa. Wait a minute.
You want me to step into the fire? Uh, if you came with a flame retardant
suit, now's a good time to tell me," Cordelia asked, doubt creeping into her
voice.
"It won't harm you," Wesley assured her quickly, standing up.
He looked to Faith briefly, noticing her talk to Spike quietly, just as
Buffy lit a few candles situated near the circle on the ground. "It's
supposed to resemble the path we all travel. The journey of life, how it
rises from a simple spark, blossoms and catches fire, burning brightly until
it is quenched by death."
Cordelia raised an eyebrow, nodding sagely.
"And you got all Hallmark on me, when?"
"For lack of a better
expression, it also resembles the love you feel for Angel, and how much
you're willing to show it."
".It's a test."
"A test of
love."
Her breath caught up, and Cordelia tried to clear her
thoughts. There was no way she could mess this up. Mostly because if it
didn't work, she'd probably get burned pretty badly. Then again, she'd take
a little fire if it meant she could see her Angel again.
Connor,
Fred, and Gunn were entitled to that.
"I'm ready," Cordelia admitted,
although she felt nothing of the sort.
"It's time to kick the tires
and light the fires, baby," Faith spoke up with a flourish, stepping up to
the plate. Spike followed close behind, and soon the four surrounded
Cordelia, who remained a step or two behind the semi-circle.
Faith to
her left, Buffy in front, Wesley, right. Spike had the job of grabbing her
from behind, in case anything went wrong.
"Don't worry at all, love.
If anything happens to you, I'll be sure to remember those fire safety
commercials," Spike grinned, head canted. The harsh moonlight cast down and
accentuated his pale skin, blue eyes darting to view the fleet of vehicles
on the highway nearby. There was chaos, horns blaring far off, people
shouting and screaming.
Everyone wanted to get out of Los Angeles,
the place of ruin.
The sky above was tinged dark with clouds and
smoke, making the soft orange glow of candlelight warm and alluring. Buffy
was uncharacteristically quiet, but soon she moved to Cordelia, carefully
stepping past the arrangement on the floor.
"Cordy." Although the
sound of cars and trucks were not too far away, Cordelia could still hear
the constricted voice of Buffy. How she was tense, muscles coiled, expecting
to fight at any moment.
And tired. So tired.
"Yeah?"
"I
want you to know that. I hope there are no hard feelings between us. What
happened with Angel, I couldn't-"
"I know," Cordelia cut her off,
eyes growing stormy almost. She was too old for all this, she felt, worn and
weary from so much, so much pain that assaulted her. Beat her nearly to
death. But in the end, it was words that could hurt her now, every last
syllable of Angel's last wishes cutting into her like violin strings. "I
know you didn't mean to hurt him. You couldn't help it. Wacky alternaverse,
remember?"
Biting her lip, Buffy glanced at Wesley, who looked more
or less impatient. "I'm not even sure if we'll remember this. But I want you
to know for now that I'm - sorry. And I don't mind."
"Don't mind
what?"
"You and Angel."
It was Cordelia's turn to grow meek
and quiet. "Oh."
"Things changed," Buffy smiled simply, showing a
flash of a smile. The old Buffy peeked through, not this new one with pinned
up, messy blonde hair, ripped jeans and a stained sweater.
"That they
do," Cordelia grinned back, head canting. "And what with the whole
bizzaroland, vampy scoobies, Anya necklace thing, I figure we're both even.
That okay?"
"Okay."
For the first time, perhaps ever, perhaps
in this world only, Buffy and Cordelia hugged.
After a moment, they
pulled away, smiles fading and cautious faces returning. Buffy turned back
to the place where she stood, getting a cocky look from Spike. He waved his
arms dramatically, gesturing to her, then to himself.
"What? No hug
for me?" Spike asked with a malicious grin, receiving an eye roll from Buffy
in response.
"I assume we're all present and accounted for," Wesley
began, looking around. "Good. Then let's begin."
Forcing down the
lump of dread forming in her throat, Cordelia felt merely like a voyeur. She
could hear Wesley speak a strange language, perhaps Latin and a mix of one
so old, it hadn't been spoken for millennia. A blade sliced across her
palms, snapping her into reality when Buffy smeared Cordelia's blood down
her face, resembling teardrops.
The stinging sensation soon gave way
to anticipation, her fists clenching as instructed.
Wesley, candle in
one hand, book in the other, continued. "I call forth the higher powers to
guide this champion through the darkest hour. Let faith and courage shine
down upon her and grant her the light and wise vision to distinguish glory
from the fallen, truth from lies, love from what was once there and cannot
be undone."
He went on for a while, and yet Cordelia could not help
but break her frown with a smile, seeing the jovial form of Faith wink back
at her. The wind whipped high and harsh around them, sending scattered
newspaper scraps and other things like dust and used food trays into the
air. It built up so suddenly, blowing through jackets and upwards. Burning
brightly, the fire was in danger. And this was a one shot chance only, as
the nearest shop containing the rare ingredients Wesley used was just over
on another continent.
"Buffy, now!"
The candle flew in a
perfect arc, moving down, down, into the pile of smoking herbs and spices.
They immediately caught flame, and saying a quick prayer-
Cordelia
jumped into the fire.
*
Falling.
The scenery around
her froze, unmoving, and yet she felt the sensation of falling. It was like
a television show when one moment, you see one picture, and then another
picture emerges beneath the first.
This wasn't TV. This was in three,
not two dimensions.
The picture had sound, sight, and smell. It had
Buffy in front of her, hand extended, body frozen. Her eyes were strong and
clear, flickers of flame dancing in them. It had the sound of cars blaring
from far off, the rich smell of burning incense. It had the prickling sweat
on the back of her neck, residue of fear.
In one sickening moment all
that began to shimmer, as if it had been a reflection in water and someone
tapped the bowl. Her body spasmed, and she felt torn in every direction,
soul free and electrified with energy.
She fell for who knew how
long. Cordelia felt nothing in this void, no arms, legs, anything. Her soul
was tugged into an invisible current, a charge of gunpowder than needed to
go off. Everything was fragmented, harsh and rigid, then soft and fluid
again. Reality opened to greet her, the darkness and warmth strangely
familiar.
Feeling the tug of flesh, her body crying out to her, a
force tugging at her. Her soul wanted to be anchored, but it was too soon.
Thoughts, ideas, words floated around her, the world shifting into focus.
Flung too far back, she watched herself escape from the sewers, walking. How
the darkness coalesced, forming the shape of a cruel killer.
Now,
now, she screamed, and wishing for the compliance of her born vessel,
Cordelia pushed herself into the shattered image, for this was the moment
that could save Angel's life.
Fingers, ghostly, tendrils of energy
touched the painting of her life ending, and could not enter, a barrier in
between her goal.
She had a soul there, and could not take another
one in.
Cordelia could only watch in horror, watch her Angel loose
his life yet again. She mourned when he hit the ground, watched her throw
herself on Angel, shielding him from harm, body heaving with apprehension
and dread.
Cordelia was lost.
And in pain.
How. How am
I supposed to do anything? I can't, she cried, feeling another presence. It
was the souls of the dead, calling out to her, tugging at her faintly with
cold tendrils. Cordelia pushed them away, a soft cloud being lifted, which
would grow, she knew, until thunder would strike and she'd be dead.
Permanently. Cordelia was in limbo, she recalled Wesley saying once, between
worlds.
Time passed, and she felt Angel's heart break along with her
own when he told Cordelia not to mourn for him. The images replayed for the
second time in her mind, and all of it, the bitter taste of defeat was
sickening and saddening.
He reached up to touch her-
That
hadn't happened. This was. this was different!
- "With time passing
and trying to venture in, things may have the possibility to change.
Variations, Cordelia. There's a small chance, but it may happen"
-
The world opened up to her then, a hole in the fabric of fragmented
reality that bound her, opening, yawning before her. Cordelia focused, and
felt herself flow into that opening, wishing beyond hope, the darkness
fading away, slipping, giving her courage.
The vibrations of slipping
through encased every fiber of her being, moving formlessly. Through Angel,
only for a moment. The pain there, mentally, physically, but it was all to
brief as she.
She fell into herself.
Two souls collided,
merged, on the same wavelength but separated by days. They exchanged
information, hopes, ideas, like two friends who bumped into each other. So
quickly, in a flash, melting and shifting into one. Her eyes opened wide,
and there was Angel, looking up at her, eyes half shut.
"Angel."
Holding her breath, trying, damn it, anything, thinking, not wanting him to
die. Those fingers went up and clasped his own, blood sticky and flowing
into the palm of her hand. The liquid covered her palm, Cordelia 's other
hand pressed fingertips gently on his brow as she leaned, hoping against
hope even as the tears started to fall.
Cordelia told him she loved
him. She would always love him.
Then, Angel
died.
Again.
Burrowing her head in her arms, Cordelia groaned,
heart ready to burst. This all was too much for her, too wrong for her.
Seeing him again, watching him die twice. If he had never gone on that
stupid mission- No, if she had kept her big mouth shut, then none of this
would have ever-
"I know."
He woke.
"What- Angel? But -
you died!"
"I did," Angel admitted, head nodding lazily in agreement.
"And you can be sure I won't die again."
Her mind and body were
disconnected then, but not by magic, by the sudden shock of Angel speaking,
those eyes dark and light at the same time, boring holes into her brain,
engraving the image there for all eternity. Still clenched to his own hand,
her fingers squeezed, and Cordelia, the seer, the young woman with a sordid
past and an actress with a bitchy reputation, both, and yet not fully
either, kissed Angel with a ferocity that was unimaginable.
It was
all ending around her, and the room faded to white.
*
The room
was conservatively decorated, sconces lit, mauve walls homey and earthy. It
was different from all the other rooms, in it's own way. So many things had
come to pass in these hollowed walls, so many ideas carried out,
conversations being held. The lighting was dark, but not too foreboding, not
dark enough to ward people off.
The owner of the room knew plenty
well how to do such a thing.
Cordelia Chase rose from her position,
sitting up, hair tangled, clothes twisted. She unconsciously pulled her
shirt around the midsection to line up correctly, before grasping her ankle.
The bed was so inviting and comfortable, new sheets starched and smelling
fresh.
A moment, an eternal span of two seconds, and Cordelia rose
her arms to touch her hair. Short, a little higher than her shoulder. That
blonde color, so different than the rich dark brown he smelled preciously a
year before.
"Mmm."
Wiping her nose with the back of her hand,
Cordelia could feel a body move next to her. Legs tangled in the soft sheets
that she now kicked aside, viewing Angel to her left, curled up and resting
on his side.
Angel.
.Angel?
Her mouth worked, but no
sound would follow. Cordelia tried again, no avail, instead grabbing his arm
and shaking him awake. "Angel!"
Those eyes opened, head lazily
turning to view her. It was as if he took in the sight of her for the first
time, cogs turning in his mind before he jerked back. Angel sat up abruptly,
backpedaling and nearly falling off the edge of the bed, instead settling
for smacking those firm back muscles against the headboard.
The dark
eyes were the same, jaded, mouth set in a line as lips parted,
disbelieving.
"What just happened?"
She hesitated,
moving to him, a beat, then again, hugging him tightly. She loved the
firmness of his chest, those muscular, not thin arms wrapping around her in
response.
"Cordy." He made her heart sing. "You. Do you
remember?"
"I remember-" She sniffed, burying her head in the crux of
his neck and shoulder. "You. Thank God. But it lingers, you
know?"
"It always lingers," Angel told her softly, not saying
anything about the fictional months with Buffy. They didn't exist. His
memories were fading, giving way to Los Angeles and its people in need of
help.
"Angel." Cordy trailed off, pulling away from him. She stared
at him, an organism under a microscope. Noticing her stare, Angel pulled his
head back, feeling an imaginary blush to his cheeks.
He looked so
innocent, devoid of the pain and anguish present-had it been days, minutes.
had it ever happened?
"Am I. How bad is it?" Angel
ventured.
"Well. Your brow's a bit.. extended." Taking a breath to
keep the dams from flowing, Cordelia finished, "And.the rest of you. It's
not bad at all. It's perfect!"
Trying to move as fast as possible,
Cordy threw her arms around Angel's neck again, kissing every inch of his
face. Her fingers tangled in his short, spiky hair, his hands touching the
small of her back, a smile of relief appearing on his face.
"Although
the hair was kinda nice."
"No it wasn't."
"Yes it was." Her
voice was low and smoky, pointer finger twirling a gelled strand. "What
about me?"
"It - tickled."
"Oh. right." The memory of their
lovemaking stung, fresh in each other's minds. Even in the other reality, a
harsher one, she still loved him. And it was that love that kept them
together, that kept them sane. So much pleasure and pain poured out of them
into the activity, and here. now. There was a thing called 'the curse'. Try
as they might, breaking it, toying with it, walking the line of flesh and
torment would be good for no one.
Face it, Cor. Your sex life
sucks.
He pulled away this time, a serious
look.
"Connor."
They both leaped up and bolted to the crib,
seeing the emptiness of the white blanket there.
"Where is
he?"
Angel turned, seeing Cordelia already at the door. She tried the
knob, but it wouldn't budge an inch.
"It's locked," Cordelia stated.
He moved over to the door. "Break the thing."
"I can't."
"Why
not?"
"Because I've broken enough hotel property for a century in
jail, of which I 'm likely to survive, so I don't want to be open to that
thought."
"Cord." Angel brushed her aside, wrenching the door
open.
"The perfect gentleman."
They moved into the hallway
together, walking down to the staircase. It was all here, the hotel, the
furniture, wallpaper. Cleaner than before, no cobwebs due to lack of energy
given to clean it. Her fingers laced with his own, and they were moving down
the staircase. The glow of light radiating from the ceiling and office made
it seem so much brighter. Cheery, even.
Hopeful.
One by one,
heads turned. That shy girl with the mildly southern drawl, her fingers
flicking to amuse the baby there, who gurgled, opened and closed tiny fists
in response. She was beautiful, long hair down, and the name came to Angel
easily. Fred. Fred who turned, Gunn near her shoulder, moving to the
counter. Strong arms lifted an axe casually, placing it on the surface. He
was there, that bright smile and good heart. Wesley, with his textbooks,
glasses, and that scholarly look of his.
"Oh my God. Wesley - they're
awake!"
Angel and Cordelia moved to them, the other members of the
Fang Gang happy, jovial, and relieved. Wesley clapped a hand on Angel's
back, Fred hugging Cordelia while Gunn smiled.
"Good to see you guys
again," Angel said, a small smile. He relinquished his hold on Cordelia's
fingers, broke the physical connection, the solidness of everything
reassuring him that she would not get away. She would not leave. She would
stay with him.
Even if.
Pressing gently on the small of her
back, Angel escorted Cordelia into the office. They sat, side by side,
across Wesley's desk, smooth, easy.
It was so hard to
digest.
"We were wondering if - when you two would wake up again,"
Gunn began, looking jazzed. He seemed to be like that, more energized, now
that Angel was here. And Cordelia. Without her visions, Angel's
stubbornness, business had come to a standstill. They needed them, in more
ways than one.
Cordelia pulled her legs up, holding her ankle. She
watched Fred move to the coffee machine, smiling pleasantly. "It wasn't
easy."
"You already know what happened? The Temsik demon.." Angel
trailed off, Wesley turning from the counter with a load of books in his
arms, one opened to reveal a wood cut painting of one such demon.
".I
- gathered," Wesley said feasibly, glancing to Fred briefly before plopping
the books on the desk. Fred moved to Cordelia and gave her a cup of coffee,
Cordy touching her shoulder in thanks. Touching the bridge of his nose,
Angel looked down, up again to Gunn.
"You weren't there - did they
try coming here?"
"Nah. But we gathered from some of Wesley's
contacts that Wolfram and Hart planned this for months. Sorta like a side
order of mayhem," Gunn drawled, eyebrow raised.
"Did they - Connor.
Connor. Where is-?"
Angel stopped mid sentence, Gunn moved to reveal
Connor's bassinet, the baby cute as ever. Kicking and squirming in that
adorable way babies possessed. Quickly, Angel's mind worn body carried him
to his son, peering down at him. And for the first time, it seemed, in so
long, but not really, Angel smiled brightly, eyes half open.
"Connor
missed his daddy, didn't you Connor?" Fred asked, trailing a finger along
the edge of the bassinet. Grinning, she watched Angel moved to pick Connor
up, only he hesitated, retracting his hands. Hands that grabbed the edge of
the counter, and he staggered back, turning away.
Dark eyes
fluttered, everything falling so hard and heavy.
"Angel," Cordy
began, eyes wide. His name came out in a gasp, fingers weak and trembling.
Just as the coffee mug hit the floor and shattered, Angel followed suit,
falling.
The world went white and red, then became painted
black.
*
"How are they?"
"They'll be fine,
Fred."
Fred leaned, peering into Angel's room. The lighting was low
again, and she saw Angel in his bed, resting. Pulling back, Fred turned to
Wesley, who idly flipped through a thin, leather bound book in his
hands.
"Are you sure? What if - what if it's permanent brain damage,
Wesley? They didn't wake up before, and they're asleep again." In that
curious, yet frightened way of hers, Fred stared at Wesley, mind leaping
with logic and reason.
He shook his head, and gave her that warm,
reassuring smile that she liked. "They've been through a lot, Fred. The
sudden unexpected reemergence into reality, from the long coma-like state
they were in, well, it would certainly shock anyone's system, even a vampire
and half-demon's."
It seemed so odd to refer to Angel and Cordelia
that way, to think of past times, and the present.
"They'll wake up
soon. And then we will talk."
He left then, leaving Fred alone at
Angel's door. She took a few steps forward into the room, angle of sight
allowing her to see the body lying next to Angel, Cordelia, her fingers
curled, resting on the pale skin of Angel's chest.
And she
waited.
Continue
on...