Disclaimers: I would love taking the credit for being this creative, but nope, Angel belongs to Mutant Enemy, the WB and Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt & co. Those fabulously evocative lyrics from Train's Drops of Jupiter aren't mine either.
Rating: A/C ... Oh, wait, you mean PG-13.
Spoilers: Takes place after Angel Season 3 ep. "Couplet." I'm ignoring episodes after that.
Shameless advertising for Grammy 2002's Best Rock Song: Lyrics were somewhat modified in this chapter to suit the story. To view the lyrics in its entire glory, go to Train's website... .
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Chapter 1 of 7: One Week
(c) February 26, 2002, last update June 13, 2002
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It had been one week.
One tranquil, conflict-free, normal week. Angel Investigations was experiencing an average healthy flow of business. Some of the cases presented more challenges than others. Others made more money. All were solved.
And all were mundane.
Angel let out a small sigh, one of many that evening. His current predicament was his fault alone. He had been the one to ask her to go away, to take a vacation. To top it off, he had made it sound like she was doing him a favour. At the time, he had believed it.
With hindsight, he now knew better.
Over two centuries of existence and he still had a lot to learn. He'd go through many more if he could just take back those last five minutes before she walked out the door. If he had, for once, admitted how much his wounds hurt. If he had revealed how deep those wounds really ran.
Never before was he so acutely aware of how much he relied on her. She complained about being ignored or brushed aside each time he leaped into action before thinking, but the truth was that he really did take it all in. He heard her words and her tone, saw the way her face scrunched up as she pleaded with him to think things through, and most of all, revelled in the energy and charisma his Seer possessed. It was so abundant that it charged everything around her and lifted everyone's spirits, his especially. It was an unconscious habit, it was familiar.
He wouldn't exactly say that he missed it. It was just that every corner he turned, he expected her to get ticked off with him. Every minute, he waited for her incessant whining and self-preoccupation, regardless of the misguided "former Sunnydale cheerleader, wannabe Hollywood starlet" ideals that had rankled his nerves in the beginning. It was just that he had long ago grown accustomed to her constantly voicing her two cents.
Only, now, she was too pre-occupied with being all lovey-dovey with fawning over her lunkhead from Pylea. And ignoring fussing over him.
That was the reason why Angel had to get Cordy back in the atmosphere. Quite simply, he needed her to grace him with her effervescent presence.
Closing his eyes, he imagined her in a sunny, warm environment. Dressed in a swimsuit that covered just about nothing. Drawing envious stares to her elegant, model-slim body from women and appreciative looks from hordes of slimy men.
At that thought, Angel let out a snarl. He could and would tear apart any guy who so much as glanced in the same direction that his Cordy was standing in. He paused, considering this natural gut reaction. Then he chuckled at himself, only partly out of humour.
Possessive, much? Are you ever behind the times. You so need to get out more.
Yes, he could just hear her saying something to that effect if he every truly reacted that way in front of her. Luckily for him, she hadn't been around to see how he had kicked and beaten her love slave to get that tree demon to release him. All so the said love slave could sweep Cordy off her feet and whisk her off into the sunset.
All in a day's work for a cursed vampire.
Even now, he couldn't bring himself to say his name, this man who just happened to drop in. The man who couldn't have picked a more inopportune moment to reclaim his princess. The blood in his veins started to boil as he clenched his fists tightly at his sides. If he wasn't fully aware that his temperature couldn't rise, he'd feel himself go all red.
After all, that Pylean nightmare was in his town. He was intruding on his turf. And he had bested him, her champion. Angel wasn't used to that; no way was this going to be a recurring phenomenon. Grimacing, Angel conceded his latest petty obsession: at least he was still the taller champion.
He scoffed. Champion. Yeah, right. More like some loserly dork with a label to spell out the obvious. One who just happens to look like Angel, avenger of the night; doomed to be one half of a pair of star-crossed lovers. Talk about a painful character death.
For a moment, he contemplated finding Cordelia and swooping in. He would be all broody and dark, with his trademark black trench coat swirling around him. He'd fly around, lightening quick, fighting anyone who stood in his way. Then he'd grab the brunette damsel most definitely not in distress and hold her to him, all the while declaring his infinitely un-dead love.
Altruistic purposes and all, he would be rescuing her from a fate worse than, well, life without him. And in turn for his heroics, she would comprehend how extremely unfairy-tale-like her Pylean fantasy was and realize her repressed desire to be with her handsome prince of a best man-pire friend. By then, the Powers That Be or who-not would come to their senses and lift that pesky curse. Why not? After all, it was all in the name of kyerumption and being a champion and com-shuk-what-not.
He winced, despite the pleasant delusion. Since when did he act like such a romantic fool?
Probably around the same time he'd become a stuttering dolt.
Exasperated and to his horror, amused with himself, he rolled his eyes. This Xander-mimicking wouldn't even intimidate a stone gargoyle, let alone spark terror in the hearts of tiny babes and blondes alike. No wonder Cordy remained stubbornly ignorant. No wonder she's oblivious to my true feelings.
Angel growled again, vamping into his game face. This habit of being a glutton for punishment was really sucking the enjoyment out of his living dead life. For over two centuries, he didn't have the steel to express his true desires unless he could fall back on that 'evil demon brewing underneath his soul' crutch. Like a testament to what he had become, he was resorting to wimpy tactics that even Valentino couldn't have made work. As it was, he was seriously questioning his manhood.
Then again, he reasoned, he was doing fairly well in every other aspect of his life. Pretty well, by a lot of people's standards.
On the bright side, I have a miracle child, he thought.
Right, whose mother was a vampire that committed suicide to give birth to him, he scoffed to himself.
Well, I have a decently successful business named after me.
Of which you're not the boss of anymore, he reminded himself.
At least I have friends, he boasted in his mind.
That pestering voice in his head laughed. They're either demons, demon-hunters, or just spent the better part of their lives around them. Don't you ever get the sneaky suspicion that they prefer the comfort of the demon-riddled world over living amongst normal humans?
Angel sighed for what he believed to be the last time and reverted back to his normal face. His world no longer revolved around just him. It was unbelievable, but he was raising a son. And lately, his most pressing past-times were saving the world and discovering new ways to direct his Seer's splendidly beautiful smile his way. He had no control over changing his situation or the journey he was on. When he regarded his life from that perspective, it was easy to see how he had ended up the way he had.
Sure. That's what he would keep telling himself. Is that a lie I can believe? he sighed again.
So, was he back with the same frustrations? The moping? Hopelessly and helplessly spinning towards self-assassination?
Damn full circle thinking got him smack dab back at square one. After 248 years of practice existing with the same issues, one would expect he would move even the tiniest bit of progress forward.
Forward thinking. That was never his specialty. It was always Cordy's. His mind started spiraling down that path where all he saw was a Cordy-less existence. He felt a pang in the region between his neck and stomach.
I would miss her too much.
A smile crept on his face. Maybe this is finally progress. I admit that I miss her. He drew himself out of his customary slouch a little.
He definitely had to get her back. Not just back to L.A. and the Hyperion, or with the Fang Gang. He might not have a plan, as usual, but he definitely needed her wholly his again.
Back in my atmosphere.
The shrill ring of a phone startled him. Things had been catching him off guard a lot lately. He glared at the phone for a moment, expecting it to coil up suddenly and attack him. Second ring... Third ring...
No such luck for him today. Nonchalently, he picked up the receiver. "Hello," he spoke in what he considered his cool persona. Talk about a dialed-in performance.
"Angel?" the voice on the other end asked. His mind perked up at the sound of the voice and his body became more alive, more alert. "Angel... it's Cordelia."
Now that she's back in the atmosphere
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey...
Rating: A/C ... Oh, wait, you mean PG-13.
Spoilers: Takes place after Angel Season 3 ep. "Couplet." I'm ignoring episodes after that.
Shameless advertising for Grammy 2002's Best Rock Song: Lyrics were somewhat modified in this chapter to suit the story. To view the lyrics in its entire glory, go to Train's website... .
Chapter 1 of 7: One Week
(c) February 26, 2002, last update June 13, 2002
~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ @ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~
It had been one week.
One tranquil, conflict-free, normal week. Angel Investigations was experiencing an average healthy flow of business. Some of the cases presented more challenges than others. Others made more money. All were solved.
And all were mundane.
Angel let out a small sigh, one of many that evening. His current predicament was his fault alone. He had been the one to ask her to go away, to take a vacation. To top it off, he had made it sound like she was doing him a favour. At the time, he had believed it.
With hindsight, he now knew better.
Over two centuries of existence and he still had a lot to learn. He'd go through many more if he could just take back those last five minutes before she walked out the door. If he had, for once, admitted how much his wounds hurt. If he had revealed how deep those wounds really ran.
Never before was he so acutely aware of how much he relied on her. She complained about being ignored or brushed aside each time he leaped into action before thinking, but the truth was that he really did take it all in. He heard her words and her tone, saw the way her face scrunched up as she pleaded with him to think things through, and most of all, revelled in the energy and charisma his Seer possessed. It was so abundant that it charged everything around her and lifted everyone's spirits, his especially. It was an unconscious habit, it was familiar.
He wouldn't exactly say that he missed it. It was just that every corner he turned, he expected her to get ticked off with him. Every minute, he waited for her incessant whining and self-preoccupation, regardless of the misguided "former Sunnydale cheerleader, wannabe Hollywood starlet" ideals that had rankled his nerves in the beginning. It was just that he had long ago grown accustomed to her constantly voicing her two cents.
Only, now, she was too pre-occupied with being all lovey-dovey with fawning over her lunkhead from Pylea. And ignoring fussing over him.
That was the reason why Angel had to get Cordy back in the atmosphere. Quite simply, he needed her to grace him with her effervescent presence.
Closing his eyes, he imagined her in a sunny, warm environment. Dressed in a swimsuit that covered just about nothing. Drawing envious stares to her elegant, model-slim body from women and appreciative looks from hordes of slimy men.
At that thought, Angel let out a snarl. He could and would tear apart any guy who so much as glanced in the same direction that his Cordy was standing in. He paused, considering this natural gut reaction. Then he chuckled at himself, only partly out of humour.
Possessive, much? Are you ever behind the times. You so need to get out more.
Yes, he could just hear her saying something to that effect if he every truly reacted that way in front of her. Luckily for him, she hadn't been around to see how he had kicked and beaten her love slave to get that tree demon to release him. All so the said love slave could sweep Cordy off her feet and whisk her off into the sunset.
All in a day's work for a cursed vampire.
Even now, he couldn't bring himself to say his name, this man who just happened to drop in. The man who couldn't have picked a more inopportune moment to reclaim his princess. The blood in his veins started to boil as he clenched his fists tightly at his sides. If he wasn't fully aware that his temperature couldn't rise, he'd feel himself go all red.
After all, that Pylean nightmare was in his town. He was intruding on his turf. And he had bested him, her champion. Angel wasn't used to that; no way was this going to be a recurring phenomenon. Grimacing, Angel conceded his latest petty obsession: at least he was still the taller champion.
He scoffed. Champion. Yeah, right. More like some loserly dork with a label to spell out the obvious. One who just happens to look like Angel, avenger of the night; doomed to be one half of a pair of star-crossed lovers. Talk about a painful character death.
For a moment, he contemplated finding Cordelia and swooping in. He would be all broody and dark, with his trademark black trench coat swirling around him. He'd fly around, lightening quick, fighting anyone who stood in his way. Then he'd grab the brunette damsel most definitely not in distress and hold her to him, all the while declaring his infinitely un-dead love.
Altruistic purposes and all, he would be rescuing her from a fate worse than, well, life without him. And in turn for his heroics, she would comprehend how extremely unfairy-tale-like her Pylean fantasy was and realize her repressed desire to be with her handsome prince of a best man-pire friend. By then, the Powers That Be or who-not would come to their senses and lift that pesky curse. Why not? After all, it was all in the name of kyerumption and being a champion and com-shuk-what-not.
He winced, despite the pleasant delusion. Since when did he act like such a romantic fool?
Probably around the same time he'd become a stuttering dolt.
Exasperated and to his horror, amused with himself, he rolled his eyes. This Xander-mimicking wouldn't even intimidate a stone gargoyle, let alone spark terror in the hearts of tiny babes and blondes alike. No wonder Cordy remained stubbornly ignorant. No wonder she's oblivious to my true feelings.
Angel growled again, vamping into his game face. This habit of being a glutton for punishment was really sucking the enjoyment out of his living dead life. For over two centuries, he didn't have the steel to express his true desires unless he could fall back on that 'evil demon brewing underneath his soul' crutch. Like a testament to what he had become, he was resorting to wimpy tactics that even Valentino couldn't have made work. As it was, he was seriously questioning his manhood.
Then again, he reasoned, he was doing fairly well in every other aspect of his life. Pretty well, by a lot of people's standards.
On the bright side, I have a miracle child, he thought.
Right, whose mother was a vampire that committed suicide to give birth to him, he scoffed to himself.
Well, I have a decently successful business named after me.
Of which you're not the boss of anymore, he reminded himself.
At least I have friends, he boasted in his mind.
That pestering voice in his head laughed. They're either demons, demon-hunters, or just spent the better part of their lives around them. Don't you ever get the sneaky suspicion that they prefer the comfort of the demon-riddled world over living amongst normal humans?
Angel sighed for what he believed to be the last time and reverted back to his normal face. His world no longer revolved around just him. It was unbelievable, but he was raising a son. And lately, his most pressing past-times were saving the world and discovering new ways to direct his Seer's splendidly beautiful smile his way. He had no control over changing his situation or the journey he was on. When he regarded his life from that perspective, it was easy to see how he had ended up the way he had.
Sure. That's what he would keep telling himself. Is that a lie I can believe? he sighed again.
So, was he back with the same frustrations? The moping? Hopelessly and helplessly spinning towards self-assassination?
Damn full circle thinking got him smack dab back at square one. After 248 years of practice existing with the same issues, one would expect he would move even the tiniest bit of progress forward.
Forward thinking. That was never his specialty. It was always Cordy's. His mind started spiraling down that path where all he saw was a Cordy-less existence. He felt a pang in the region between his neck and stomach.
I would miss her too much.
A smile crept on his face. Maybe this is finally progress. I admit that I miss her. He drew himself out of his customary slouch a little.
He definitely had to get her back. Not just back to L.A. and the Hyperion, or with the Fang Gang. He might not have a plan, as usual, but he definitely needed her wholly his again.
Back in my atmosphere.
The shrill ring of a phone startled him. Things had been catching him off guard a lot lately. He glared at the phone for a moment, expecting it to coil up suddenly and attack him. Second ring... Third ring...
No such luck for him today. Nonchalently, he picked up the receiver. "Hello," he spoke in what he considered his cool persona. Talk about a dialed-in performance.
"Angel?" the voice on the other end asked. His mind perked up at the sound of the voice and his body became more alive, more alert. "Angel... it's Cordelia."
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey...