Disclaimers: Angel belongs to the WB and Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt & co. As this story is based on the classic movie 'Casablanca', I'll write a disclaimer that it doesn't belong to me either, but to the WB.
Rating: PG-13 (for language, violence) and definitely A/C.
Spoilers: Takes place after the Angel Season 3 ending cliffhanger.
~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ @ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~
Part I
A.
It was a warm and rainy May day on the streets of Paris, France. The sky was muted grayish blue and the floral gardens were alight with reds and yellows, purples and pinks. The rain, which in most places would have been unwelcome, provided a lovely breeze from the general direction of these gardens. This added a gentle succulent smell, sweetly suggestive of bittersweet yesteryears. For this time of year, the paved streets were not too crowded, lightly speckled with lovers and artists alike dreaming of a better tomorrow.
No one was lonely here.
By contrast, a certain cobblestone street just around the corner of the Eiffel Tower and plethora of street-side cafés was empty on this day. And where did this street lead to? A nightclub called Casablanca.
Inside this nightclub, it was fairly bustling. The piano player, an old soul with a youthful appearance, was churning out wonderfully outdated classics while a beautiful lounge singer adorned in a silver cocktail dress provided the sopranic vocals. Most of the nightclub patrons who had already come in were either laughing jovially with one another, mingling and exchanging stories of various exploits or grumbling to their mates beside them about an uncertain future.
There was, however, one who had been fluttering about alone all day and likely for the rest of the night. It was a tall, green fellow with red horns and eyes, clad entirely in white. He was the bartender and owner of the place, as well as occasional host and singer. Yet, first and foremost, he was a self-professed psycho-analyst. After all, he had the gift of reading people's auras.
As well as demons.
"What's egging you on, Bertram?" the bartender asked a large, brown demon, not particularly pleasant looking, as he dried a crystal glass.
"Same as always, Lorne," the brown demon replied. "That war that's been brewing in America. It's moving to this side of the world too."
"Hate to break it to you, Bertie-boy," the Host, as the bartender liked to refer himself sometimes, shrugged. "Has been for some time now."
"Well, I don't like it." Bertram grumbled, shifting on his stool. "That damn Resistance building forces, moving in from both the East and West now."
"What's to like? At least we're safe for the time being."
The large demon shook his head dejectedly. "It's a mistake thinking that. Just the other day, they found Willy."
The green bartender paused. "Geez, I heard about them finding his remains," he said, putting the glass he was drying down. "What happened?
The brown demon leaned forward. "Word is it that he was selling information to the Destroyer. Only, he asked for too much or something." Bertram stopped, glanced around nervously and then whispered, "They tortured him to get what he knew and then threw him into one of those demon camps."
Lorne clucked his tongue. "These are tough times. We're going to get cleaned out pretty soon." Leaning against the counter, he sighed resignedly. "Just when I was getting fond of the place."
Bertram shook his head again. "Well, we can't run, they've got their spies everywhere just waiting for us to make a move. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves again, like last time."
Lorne regarded him thoughtfully. "A mass demon exodus is bound to raise some eyebrows in the human community. But that was an ambush, if I ever heard of one. That's why we've got courtesy bodyguards now." He nodded towards two human guards flanked close to the exits.
Bertram snarled, the first sign of violence from him that night. "They're all over my favorite spots. What are they there for?"
"Supposedly, our protection." Lorne answered with a hint of irony in his tone. "My theory is that they want to keep us in check. At least they don't like the Resistance anymore than we do."
"It doesn't make me any less nervous." Bertram pounded his fist on the bar counter. "That Destroyer is real persuasive, though. Reckon those humans will be joining them sooner or later. Then, it's all up for our kind."
Lorne squinted his eyes at Bertram. "How do you figure?"
"Look at all those young 'uns joining up." Bertram pointed out. "All of those human children, brainwashed into thinking that getting rid of us demons will make their world a better place. That's what you get when you let humans run the world." the grumpy demon declared.
At that last sentence, Lorne glanced at a lone figure in black, sitting just five stools away, staring morosely at the glass of Scotch in his hands. The green Host watched silently for a minute as the demon - a vampire - shook the glass, letting the ice and brown liquid in it swirl, and then took another swig.
Lorne leaned back towards the now angry brown demon. "Look, maybe we better not discuss this too loudly," he told him, nodding towards the bodyguards. Bertram nodded his assent, slid off his stool and headed towards a table close to the stage.
"You don't have to tiptoe around me." a low, quiet voice broke in. "Not about the Resistance."
Lorne turned back to look at the solemn form, clad entirely in black leather, whose face was that of a tormented angel. "I just don't want you to keep getting reminded of all this, of your past. And all the hurt and torment that you used to brood over."
The vampire looked up with hard eyes. "There's no way around that. You know me," he said grimly. "I'm always haunted by my past."
~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ @ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~
B.
In a place not so far away, the sky was clear and bright and bonny blue even though the sun was starting to set behind a set of wonderfully green mountains. Nestled in a little knot on one of these mountains was a luxurious spa that catered only to the very rich and famous, or very important people.
On this day, the spa was not very busy. In fact, there was only one customer, and it was a young woman with a large, but not overly so, mouth, and a knack for getting people to do things for her just by sending a brilliant smile in their direction. She was lying on her front, her face framed by a donut-shaped pillow, her hair and body wrapped in warm, plush white towels. Humming a little off-tune, she happily breathed in the luxuriant scent of rosebuds and steamy mist.
This break had been a long time coming.
At that moment, a large bluish-gray demon who looked imposing, except for a little ponch above his belt-line, appeared in one of the rooms. Looking around in bemused disapproval, he waved away the tendrils of steam all around him and made his way until he was directly in front of the lone woman.
"I'd know those feet anywhere," she quipped.
"Hello, Cordelia." the demon replied.
"I should have known this was too good to be true." she greeted him in dismay, not moving an inch. The large demon immediately looked apologetic even though she couldn't see him. "Skip, you promised! That last case was so dreadful on my pores."
"I'm truly sorry to have to drag you out of your beauty time," he told the back of her head, genuinely sounding it. "But this is PTB high priority."
Cordelia pursed her lips in frustration, knowing that Skip, and more importantly, the Powers, couldn't see it. "It's always high priority with them."
"It has to do with the Resistance. And a potentially pivotal murder."
"Isn't murder always pivotal?" she asked rhetorically. "At least for the victim." With a tone of disinterest, she pushed on, "Well, what else? Who's the murderer? The murderee? Aren't they going to send me a vision or something, so I can help the victim?"
Skip started to pace, which struck Cordelia as being very odd. Acting nervous was very unlike him. "No."
"No?" she repeated.
"We don't know."
"The almighty Powers That Be don't know?" Her incredulous voice came out muffled as she reluctantly sat up. "This is a first. You expect me to believe that?"
"The Destroyer is obviously behind the hit." Skip explained, observing Cordelia jump off her comfortable bench onto the hard tile floor. "As usual, we're still trying to determine his identity."
"Same old story," she commented. "So, what am I supposed to do? Start knocking on doors asking everyone who answers if they're planning to murder someone? Or better yet, ask if they're harbouring the Destroyer."
"Your mission is to look for an informant. He'll lead you to the murderer."
Her shoulders drooped in frustration. "Why can't someone else take this one?" she demanded. "When do I get a break? A real one?"
Skip answered her earnestly. "There's nobody else the Powers trust enough. Look, this is the one that could start the war, destroy the world."
Cordelia chortled. "Oh, I see," she said glibly. "One of those." She sighed and rubbed her forehead wearily. She wasn't being given any options, was she? "When do I start?"
"Right away." He waited patiently for her reaction.
However, she only remarked sarcastically. "Just when I was getting comfortable here."
~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ @ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~
C.
Back in Casablanca, the atmosphere was still one of lively joviality, at least for the most part. Amidst the chatter and drinking, a man was fleeing for his life.
A thin, haggard and very nervous looking demon shuffled up to the bar. Noticing the guards conversing with a man - a human - in a dark gray uniform, he scurried over to the solitary vampire hunched over another glass of Scotch.
"Please, you must help me." The demon pleaded with the vampire.
The vampire looked a little startled, but otherwise had no reaction. The guards were heading over towards them.
The nervous demon licked his lips. "I've heard of you. Of your work in Los Angeles. You're the one they call Angel."
The vampire's eyes darkened but were quickly lowered to his drink. "You heard wrong."
"But I have information you'll be interested to know." When the vampire didn't respond, the thin, wrinkled demon said a little more earnestly, "Knowledge pertaining to your work. To you."
The vampire swiveled away from the demon in annoyance.
"Please, you're our last hope."
"Alright now, you're coming with us," a voice broke in. One of the guards was standing beside them, his hand pointing a gun at the anxious demon.
"No," the demon cried out desperately, his eyes darting from side-to-side as the guard came up to grab him. "Help me please!" he called back to Angel as a small scuffle ensued and the other guard came up to knock the demon out.
As the guards dragged their prisoner away, Lorne sidled up to the vampire who hadn't blinked an eye during the whole incident.
"When they come to get me, Angel-cakes, I hope you'll be of more help." Angel responded by downing his glass and then tipping it towards the bartender.
"What do you think of this Savior they keep talking about?" Lorne asked casually as he filled another glass for him. "Heard he single-handedly saved that train-load of demons fleeing to Germany and at the same time took down a third of the Destroyer's army. Was a real blow to the Resistance."
Angel smiled faintly, a look that seemed like admiration flashing across his face.
"This is the first time I have ever seen you so impressed," Lorne remarked.
"Well, he's succeeded in impressing half the demon population," Angel replied.
"Wouldn't it be something? Knowing who this mystery good Samaritan is? Maybe even fighting against the dark forces again?" Lorne said excitedly, punching Angel's arm.
Angel glanced at the arm, then looked away. "Those days are over."
"Come on," Lorne chided, "Aren't you curious to find out who he is?"
He shrugged to himself when Angel didn't respond again and started to wipe the counter in front of him. A smile spread wide across the Host's face as a beautiful exotic-looking gold demon sauntered up.
"Hello there, sweetheart." Lorne called out to her appreciatively.
Ignoring the Host, the golden vixen made her way to Angel and lightly brushed his shoulder. "How are you, sugar?"
The vampire appeared to be lost in his thoughts, as he didn't even glance her way. She tried a different approach. "Night in and night out, you come in here. How long has it been since you first arrived in France? A week? A month? No, it seems much longer." She leaned towards the vampire seductively, "No one should be alone in Paris for too long. Being the most romantic city and all. How about I see you tonight?"
Angel turned to her then. She licked her lips lasviciously in anticipation. "I never plan that far ahead," he told her.
"Why not set a new precedent?" she tempted him. "With me?"
Angel checked her over in his customarily discreet manner, noticing the barely-there strips of material strategically covering tiny areas of her body and her thick blonde mane. "I'm not interested," he said simply and focused on his drink again. No, his days of taking women who threw themselves at him were long gone.
The demon stared at the vampire for a minute, her eyes wide and furious. "So, it's true," she said bitterly. "I should have believed all that talk. Nothing good comes out of falling for you." With a huff, she wheeled around and left.
Angel smirked into his glass, "Is that why I'm here."
Lorne shook his head in dismay at him. Across the room, the auburn-haired lounge singer in the cocktail dress started to croon a favorite Parisien love song, 'La Vie En Rose.'
"How extravagent you are, throwing away she-demons like that." Lorne smirked at Angel. "You think I should call her? Get her on the rebound, eh?"
"When it comes to women, you are a true democrat." Angel shot back, his eyes slightly glazed.
"Share and share alike." Lorne cackled. "How about you put in a good word to her for me, on my behalf?" Lorne prodded. "If she'll still listen to you, that is."
"I don't stick my neck out for anybody." Angel answered quietly.
Lorne watched him with sharp red eyes. "As our unfortunate jailbird friend found out tonight." The green bartender cocked his head to one side as he observed him more carefully. "You used to. Under that cynical shell, you're at heart a sentimentalist."
"And look where it got me." Angel said with a short laugh.
"Alone with your alcohol and broody thoughts," Lorne remarked mildly. "That is a lethal combination... for the demon in you."
"At least I'm still going on."
Lorne seemed to consider this. "Perhaps you're right. A wise decision then, for whatever is left in here." He tapped his chest. "But in these times, solitude is no longer practical policy."
Angel snorted before taking another drink from his glass. "I no longer care for practical."
The Host stared at the vampire with something like pity, as the singer's voice floated from the stage, "Give your heart and soul to me and life will always be la vie en rose."
"Life through rose-coloured glasses," Angel mumbled. "What's so great about that?"
"Give me a gin." a strong, but sweet female voice suddenly said to a waiter at the far end. "Or maybe a long island iced tea." It paused, then continued, sounding a little confused. "It's been so long, I don't even know what I want."
He knew that voice. He'd know it anywhere.
Angel froze, his mind grasping for clarity, as if just waken from a fog. In the background, he heard the singer croon, "I thought that love was just a word they sang about in songs I heard."
"It can't be," he whispered, not daring to look towards the source of the voice.
"Of all the joints in all the towns in this world, she picks mine." Lorne said in a hushed voice.
Angel turned his head towards the far end, and in that very instant, the woman with the sweet voice looked up at him. Across the shiny counter, their eyes met. Utter shock immediately registered on both faces.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything as they just stared at each other. Angel took in everything about her in that instant, from the silky hair that was now chestnut brown and shoulder-length again, to the eyes that looked a little more weary than the last time he'd seen her, as if she'd seen a few more horrific things, maybe too many. He also noticed that she was gowned entirely in white.
But that wonderful mouth of hers was still exactly the same.
And regardless, she was as beautiful as ever.
She recovered first and slid off her seat to approach him.
"Hello, Angel." she said, offering a tiny smile.
"Hello, Cordelia." he replied back, but his mouth was still set in a grim line. Truth be known, he was suddenly feeling numb and extremely warm at the same time. A million thoughts and questions whirled in his head.
Lorne watched them, recognizing an awkward pause as they just stared at each other again. Realizing that this was as far as their conversation would go, at least without any help, he decided to take action. "Princess, you're still the most gorgeous babe in this dimension and beyond."
A wide smile graced Cordelia's lips. It lit up her face, making her look like a radiant teenager again. "Hello, Lorne. How've you been?"
"Oh, good, good. Just peachy." the Host responded enthusiastically. "Look at my new place."
She smiled fondly. "It's great, Lorne. Right up there with Caritas. Speaking of which, I noticed the name change."
"Yes, well, figured I'd use a new name for the place." the green demon shrugged. "Picked it out myself. I've always been a sucker for a good romance," he said meaningfully.
Cordelia didn't let on that she had noticed. "I guess the change was inevitable. But there were a lot of memories." She paused then, and turned back to the vampire, whose eyes had been on her during the entire conversation. "How are you, Angel?" she asked tentatively.
"Getting on," he replied tightly. The numbness was starting to fade away. Only now, he was becoming aware of a feeling more unpleasant.
Lorne nodded his head in approval at his work and signalled towards the waiter at the far end. When the waiter came up, he whispered something into his ear. After the waiter shuffled away towards the piano player, he shifted down a bit to prepare a special drink, pretending not to be paying attention to the ongoing conversation.
"Of all places, seeing you here." Cordelia was saying.
"Fate certainly works in mysterious ways." Angel responded cryptically.
They fell silent again.
Lorne jumped in again. "How's this for fate." He gracefully placed a martini glass filled with a pink mixture in front of the former Seer. "On the house for old times sake. You know, to remind you of all those magazines you used to like flipping through."
"And still do. Nothing beats Cosmo." She shone him a grateful smile.
Suddenly, the piano player changed tune and a dreamy melody filled Casablanca. Lorne's eyes lit up as he picked up a microphone hidden underneath the bar counter and began to croon.
"You must remember this. A kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh. The fundamental things apply," the green demon's voice deepened. "... as time goes by..."
"Lorne..." Angel growled warningly.
"Just relax, Angel-pie. It'll be good for you." Lorne quickly said to quiet him while winking at Cordelia. She glanced at the vampire with uneasiness. "And when two lovers woo, they still say I love you. On that you can rely..."
"LORNE!" Angel snarled, putting on his vampire face. Any minute, he would leap over the chrome countertop and rip him apart.
Seeing the vampire glare at him menacingly, the Host stopped singing.
"No need to get all bothered about it," he sniffed, but he slinked away without another word.
Cordelia's eyes became worried as she took in the vampire's continual glowering.
"So, what have you been up to, Angel?" she asked quietly. Soothingly.
Angel aimed his glare at her for a second before he shrugged nonchalently. "Nothing much, just waiting for people who didn't want to be found."
Cordelia's face stilled, her brows raised. Breathing out a bit, she casually continued. "How's the old Fang Gang? Fred, Gunn?" When he didn't answer immediately, she pushed on. "How's Wesley? You know, I haven't seen him since before I went away with Gr--, I mean, on vacation."
His jaw visibly clenched. "He's in bed with Lilah."
She blinked, as if wondering if she had heard correctly. "What? I don't underst--"
"He's gone to the enemy."
"Wesley's working for Wolfram and Hart now?" she said faintly. Her voice went up a half octave as she asked tentatively, "What about Fred and Gunn?"
"I don't talk to them much anymore. Haven't for months." His eyes was on her again, hawk-like, piercing.
"I'm sorry to hear that." She really did sound sorrowful. She shuffled nervously, as if getting up the nerve to ask something else.
Out of the blue, he became congenial, tossing the question back at her. "Let's not talk about me. How about you? Where were you, say, eight months ago?"
She hesitated, before replying, "Oh, I don't know. Getting trained by the Powers that Be to become a better hero." She let out a shaky laugh. "Learning the ways of the Force."
"Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"
"What do you mean?"
Angel leaned forward, his eyes intense and scorching. "I've been wondering who you left me for? Did you find someone better, less broody to latch on to? Another warrior from a demon dimension, perhaps?"
She stood there, looking confused. He barreled forward.
"One with no kids who get kidnapped and come back as homicidal, demon-hating teenagers over the course of a few weeks? Or maybe just a vampire with a bigger hotel?"
Cordelia reeled back. "Angel... I don't know what you're talking about."
He didn't stop. "And are you going to promise to stay with him forever or until he sees redemption, whichever comes first?"
She finally smelled his breath. "I can't believe this." she said, stunned. "You're drunk."
Angel laughed a little maniacally, stumbling off his stool. "This is my new profession, see. I've been investigating the benefits of drowning oneself in liquor. Today, it's Scotch on the rocks. Tomorrow, who knows?" He stuck his face into hers. "Maybe a 'Fuck Me Up'."
"Stop it." Cordelia ordered coldly. "I can't speak to you like this." A chill froze the air between them.
"Then don't," Angel sneered, just as coldly. "Go back to your better life. Stay the hell out of mine."
Cordelia's eyes darkened while her skin started becoming more luminous. She closed her fists and eyes tightly under his watchful scrutiny. When she finally opened them, they had become gentle again, but her skin was still tinged with a tiny glow. "What happened to you? The hate that I see in your eyes... You've never been this way before. What turned you like this?" she asked softly.
Angel gazed straight into her eyes, to the very core of her soul. Harshly. "You did."
Snapping back, she just stood there in stunned silence, as if she'd been slapped. Her eyes became large and bright, so much so that he saw the whites around her hazel orbs, and when he saw the shiny glint appearing on her bottom lashes, he wavered. But the next instant, she had turned around and swiftly made her way towards the exit, where Lorne was joking with a group of happy patrons.
"You're not staying, Princess?" Lorne called out as she neared him.
"No," she said, her voice slightly unsteady and disoriented, as if in a trance. "I'm on an urgent mission. I have to look for a demon named Quincy. I've been told he's a thin, wrinkly-looking fellow."
The Host gave her a mournful look. "He was taken earlier, doll. My guess is he's with the Resistance now." He saw the look on her face. "You're not going to go looking for him, are you? Those Resistance folks can be real nasty."
She didn't answer his question. "Thanks, Lorne. For the drink. For everything." Without a backwards glance, she headed out the door.
At the bar, the hole in Angel's chest cried out as he watched her leave. When the door closed behind her, he let out a sound barely perceptible in the din of the crowded nightclub. Only the drinks and emptiness surrounding him heard it, the wail of a fatally wounded animal desperately wishing to be put out of its misery.
~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ @ CONTINUED IN PART II @ ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~
Last update: June 29, 2002
Rating: PG-13 (for language, violence) and definitely A/C.
Spoilers: Takes place after the Angel Season 3 ending cliffhanger.
~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ @ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~
Part I
A.
It was a warm and rainy May day on the streets of Paris, France. The sky was muted grayish blue and the floral gardens were alight with reds and yellows, purples and pinks. The rain, which in most places would have been unwelcome, provided a lovely breeze from the general direction of these gardens. This added a gentle succulent smell, sweetly suggestive of bittersweet yesteryears. For this time of year, the paved streets were not too crowded, lightly speckled with lovers and artists alike dreaming of a better tomorrow.
No one was lonely here.
By contrast, a certain cobblestone street just around the corner of the Eiffel Tower and plethora of street-side cafés was empty on this day. And where did this street lead to? A nightclub called Casablanca.
Inside this nightclub, it was fairly bustling. The piano player, an old soul with a youthful appearance, was churning out wonderfully outdated classics while a beautiful lounge singer adorned in a silver cocktail dress provided the sopranic vocals. Most of the nightclub patrons who had already come in were either laughing jovially with one another, mingling and exchanging stories of various exploits or grumbling to their mates beside them about an uncertain future.
There was, however, one who had been fluttering about alone all day and likely for the rest of the night. It was a tall, green fellow with red horns and eyes, clad entirely in white. He was the bartender and owner of the place, as well as occasional host and singer. Yet, first and foremost, he was a self-professed psycho-analyst. After all, he had the gift of reading people's auras.
As well as demons.
"What's egging you on, Bertram?" the bartender asked a large, brown demon, not particularly pleasant looking, as he dried a crystal glass.
"Same as always, Lorne," the brown demon replied. "That war that's been brewing in America. It's moving to this side of the world too."
"Hate to break it to you, Bertie-boy," the Host, as the bartender liked to refer himself sometimes, shrugged. "Has been for some time now."
"Well, I don't like it." Bertram grumbled, shifting on his stool. "That damn Resistance building forces, moving in from both the East and West now."
"What's to like? At least we're safe for the time being."
The large demon shook his head dejectedly. "It's a mistake thinking that. Just the other day, they found Willy."
The green bartender paused. "Geez, I heard about them finding his remains," he said, putting the glass he was drying down. "What happened?
The brown demon leaned forward. "Word is it that he was selling information to the Destroyer. Only, he asked for too much or something." Bertram stopped, glanced around nervously and then whispered, "They tortured him to get what he knew and then threw him into one of those demon camps."
Lorne clucked his tongue. "These are tough times. We're going to get cleaned out pretty soon." Leaning against the counter, he sighed resignedly. "Just when I was getting fond of the place."
Bertram shook his head again. "Well, we can't run, they've got their spies everywhere just waiting for us to make a move. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves again, like last time."
Lorne regarded him thoughtfully. "A mass demon exodus is bound to raise some eyebrows in the human community. But that was an ambush, if I ever heard of one. That's why we've got courtesy bodyguards now." He nodded towards two human guards flanked close to the exits.
Bertram snarled, the first sign of violence from him that night. "They're all over my favorite spots. What are they there for?"
"Supposedly, our protection." Lorne answered with a hint of irony in his tone. "My theory is that they want to keep us in check. At least they don't like the Resistance anymore than we do."
"It doesn't make me any less nervous." Bertram pounded his fist on the bar counter. "That Destroyer is real persuasive, though. Reckon those humans will be joining them sooner or later. Then, it's all up for our kind."
Lorne squinted his eyes at Bertram. "How do you figure?"
"Look at all those young 'uns joining up." Bertram pointed out. "All of those human children, brainwashed into thinking that getting rid of us demons will make their world a better place. That's what you get when you let humans run the world." the grumpy demon declared.
At that last sentence, Lorne glanced at a lone figure in black, sitting just five stools away, staring morosely at the glass of Scotch in his hands. The green Host watched silently for a minute as the demon - a vampire - shook the glass, letting the ice and brown liquid in it swirl, and then took another swig.
Lorne leaned back towards the now angry brown demon. "Look, maybe we better not discuss this too loudly," he told him, nodding towards the bodyguards. Bertram nodded his assent, slid off his stool and headed towards a table close to the stage.
"You don't have to tiptoe around me." a low, quiet voice broke in. "Not about the Resistance."
Lorne turned back to look at the solemn form, clad entirely in black leather, whose face was that of a tormented angel. "I just don't want you to keep getting reminded of all this, of your past. And all the hurt and torment that you used to brood over."
The vampire looked up with hard eyes. "There's no way around that. You know me," he said grimly. "I'm always haunted by my past."
~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ @ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~
B.
In a place not so far away, the sky was clear and bright and bonny blue even though the sun was starting to set behind a set of wonderfully green mountains. Nestled in a little knot on one of these mountains was a luxurious spa that catered only to the very rich and famous, or very important people.
On this day, the spa was not very busy. In fact, there was only one customer, and it was a young woman with a large, but not overly so, mouth, and a knack for getting people to do things for her just by sending a brilliant smile in their direction. She was lying on her front, her face framed by a donut-shaped pillow, her hair and body wrapped in warm, plush white towels. Humming a little off-tune, she happily breathed in the luxuriant scent of rosebuds and steamy mist.
This break had been a long time coming.
At that moment, a large bluish-gray demon who looked imposing, except for a little ponch above his belt-line, appeared in one of the rooms. Looking around in bemused disapproval, he waved away the tendrils of steam all around him and made his way until he was directly in front of the lone woman.
"I'd know those feet anywhere," she quipped.
"Hello, Cordelia." the demon replied.
"I should have known this was too good to be true." she greeted him in dismay, not moving an inch. The large demon immediately looked apologetic even though she couldn't see him. "Skip, you promised! That last case was so dreadful on my pores."
"I'm truly sorry to have to drag you out of your beauty time," he told the back of her head, genuinely sounding it. "But this is PTB high priority."
Cordelia pursed her lips in frustration, knowing that Skip, and more importantly, the Powers, couldn't see it. "It's always high priority with them."
"It has to do with the Resistance. And a potentially pivotal murder."
"Isn't murder always pivotal?" she asked rhetorically. "At least for the victim." With a tone of disinterest, she pushed on, "Well, what else? Who's the murderer? The murderee? Aren't they going to send me a vision or something, so I can help the victim?"
Skip started to pace, which struck Cordelia as being very odd. Acting nervous was very unlike him. "No."
"No?" she repeated.
"We don't know."
"The almighty Powers That Be don't know?" Her incredulous voice came out muffled as she reluctantly sat up. "This is a first. You expect me to believe that?"
"The Destroyer is obviously behind the hit." Skip explained, observing Cordelia jump off her comfortable bench onto the hard tile floor. "As usual, we're still trying to determine his identity."
"Same old story," she commented. "So, what am I supposed to do? Start knocking on doors asking everyone who answers if they're planning to murder someone? Or better yet, ask if they're harbouring the Destroyer."
"Your mission is to look for an informant. He'll lead you to the murderer."
Her shoulders drooped in frustration. "Why can't someone else take this one?" she demanded. "When do I get a break? A real one?"
Skip answered her earnestly. "There's nobody else the Powers trust enough. Look, this is the one that could start the war, destroy the world."
Cordelia chortled. "Oh, I see," she said glibly. "One of those." She sighed and rubbed her forehead wearily. She wasn't being given any options, was she? "When do I start?"
"Right away." He waited patiently for her reaction.
However, she only remarked sarcastically. "Just when I was getting comfortable here."
~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ @ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~ ~~ * ~~
C.
Back in Casablanca, the atmosphere was still one of lively joviality, at least for the most part. Amidst the chatter and drinking, a man was fleeing for his life.
A thin, haggard and very nervous looking demon shuffled up to the bar. Noticing the guards conversing with a man - a human - in a dark gray uniform, he scurried over to the solitary vampire hunched over another glass of Scotch.
"Please, you must help me." The demon pleaded with the vampire.
The vampire looked a little startled, but otherwise had no reaction. The guards were heading over towards them.
The nervous demon licked his lips. "I've heard of you. Of your work in Los Angeles. You're the one they call Angel."
The vampire's eyes darkened but were quickly lowered to his drink. "You heard wrong."
"But I have information you'll be interested to know." When the vampire didn't respond, the thin, wrinkled demon said a little more earnestly, "Knowledge pertaining to your work. To you."
The vampire swiveled away from the demon in annoyance.
"Please, you're our last hope."
"Alright now, you're coming with us," a voice broke in. One of the guards was standing beside them, his hand pointing a gun at the anxious demon.
"No," the demon cried out desperately, his eyes darting from side-to-side as the guard came up to grab him. "Help me please!" he called back to Angel as a small scuffle ensued and the other guard came up to knock the demon out.
As the guards dragged their prisoner away, Lorne sidled up to the vampire who hadn't blinked an eye during the whole incident.
"When they come to get me, Angel-cakes, I hope you'll be of more help." Angel responded by downing his glass and then tipping it towards the bartender.
"What do you think of this Savior they keep talking about?" Lorne asked casually as he filled another glass for him. "Heard he single-handedly saved that train-load of demons fleeing to Germany and at the same time took down a third of the Destroyer's army. Was a real blow to the Resistance."
Angel smiled faintly, a look that seemed like admiration flashing across his face.
"This is the first time I have ever seen you so impressed," Lorne remarked.
"Well, he's succeeded in impressing half the demon population," Angel replied.
"Wouldn't it be something? Knowing who this mystery good Samaritan is? Maybe even fighting against the dark forces again?" Lorne said excitedly, punching Angel's arm.
Angel glanced at the arm, then looked away. "Those days are over."
"Come on," Lorne chided, "Aren't you curious to find out who he is?"
He shrugged to himself when Angel didn't respond again and started to wipe the counter in front of him. A smile spread wide across the Host's face as a beautiful exotic-looking gold demon sauntered up.
"Hello there, sweetheart." Lorne called out to her appreciatively.
Ignoring the Host, the golden vixen made her way to Angel and lightly brushed his shoulder. "How are you, sugar?"
The vampire appeared to be lost in his thoughts, as he didn't even glance her way. She tried a different approach. "Night in and night out, you come in here. How long has it been since you first arrived in France? A week? A month? No, it seems much longer." She leaned towards the vampire seductively, "No one should be alone in Paris for too long. Being the most romantic city and all. How about I see you tonight?"
Angel turned to her then. She licked her lips lasviciously in anticipation. "I never plan that far ahead," he told her.
"Why not set a new precedent?" she tempted him. "With me?"
Angel checked her over in his customarily discreet manner, noticing the barely-there strips of material strategically covering tiny areas of her body and her thick blonde mane. "I'm not interested," he said simply and focused on his drink again. No, his days of taking women who threw themselves at him were long gone.
The demon stared at the vampire for a minute, her eyes wide and furious. "So, it's true," she said bitterly. "I should have believed all that talk. Nothing good comes out of falling for you." With a huff, she wheeled around and left.
Angel smirked into his glass, "Is that why I'm here."
Lorne shook his head in dismay at him. Across the room, the auburn-haired lounge singer in the cocktail dress started to croon a favorite Parisien love song, 'La Vie En Rose.'
"How extravagent you are, throwing away she-demons like that." Lorne smirked at Angel. "You think I should call her? Get her on the rebound, eh?"
"When it comes to women, you are a true democrat." Angel shot back, his eyes slightly glazed.
"Share and share alike." Lorne cackled. "How about you put in a good word to her for me, on my behalf?" Lorne prodded. "If she'll still listen to you, that is."
"I don't stick my neck out for anybody." Angel answered quietly.
Lorne watched him with sharp red eyes. "As our unfortunate jailbird friend found out tonight." The green bartender cocked his head to one side as he observed him more carefully. "You used to. Under that cynical shell, you're at heart a sentimentalist."
"And look where it got me." Angel said with a short laugh.
"Alone with your alcohol and broody thoughts," Lorne remarked mildly. "That is a lethal combination... for the demon in you."
"At least I'm still going on."
Lorne seemed to consider this. "Perhaps you're right. A wise decision then, for whatever is left in here." He tapped his chest. "But in these times, solitude is no longer practical policy."
Angel snorted before taking another drink from his glass. "I no longer care for practical."
The Host stared at the vampire with something like pity, as the singer's voice floated from the stage, "Give your heart and soul to me and life will always be la vie en rose."
"Life through rose-coloured glasses," Angel mumbled. "What's so great about that?"
"Give me a gin." a strong, but sweet female voice suddenly said to a waiter at the far end. "Or maybe a long island iced tea." It paused, then continued, sounding a little confused. "It's been so long, I don't even know what I want."
He knew that voice. He'd know it anywhere.
Angel froze, his mind grasping for clarity, as if just waken from a fog. In the background, he heard the singer croon, "I thought that love was just a word they sang about in songs I heard."
"It can't be," he whispered, not daring to look towards the source of the voice.
"Of all the joints in all the towns in this world, she picks mine." Lorne said in a hushed voice.
Angel turned his head towards the far end, and in that very instant, the woman with the sweet voice looked up at him. Across the shiny counter, their eyes met. Utter shock immediately registered on both faces.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything as they just stared at each other. Angel took in everything about her in that instant, from the silky hair that was now chestnut brown and shoulder-length again, to the eyes that looked a little more weary than the last time he'd seen her, as if she'd seen a few more horrific things, maybe too many. He also noticed that she was gowned entirely in white.
But that wonderful mouth of hers was still exactly the same.
And regardless, she was as beautiful as ever.
She recovered first and slid off her seat to approach him.
"Hello, Angel." she said, offering a tiny smile.
"Hello, Cordelia." he replied back, but his mouth was still set in a grim line. Truth be known, he was suddenly feeling numb and extremely warm at the same time. A million thoughts and questions whirled in his head.
Lorne watched them, recognizing an awkward pause as they just stared at each other again. Realizing that this was as far as their conversation would go, at least without any help, he decided to take action. "Princess, you're still the most gorgeous babe in this dimension and beyond."
A wide smile graced Cordelia's lips. It lit up her face, making her look like a radiant teenager again. "Hello, Lorne. How've you been?"
"Oh, good, good. Just peachy." the Host responded enthusiastically. "Look at my new place."
She smiled fondly. "It's great, Lorne. Right up there with Caritas. Speaking of which, I noticed the name change."
"Yes, well, figured I'd use a new name for the place." the green demon shrugged. "Picked it out myself. I've always been a sucker for a good romance," he said meaningfully.
Cordelia didn't let on that she had noticed. "I guess the change was inevitable. But there were a lot of memories." She paused then, and turned back to the vampire, whose eyes had been on her during the entire conversation. "How are you, Angel?" she asked tentatively.
"Getting on," he replied tightly. The numbness was starting to fade away. Only now, he was becoming aware of a feeling more unpleasant.
Lorne nodded his head in approval at his work and signalled towards the waiter at the far end. When the waiter came up, he whispered something into his ear. After the waiter shuffled away towards the piano player, he shifted down a bit to prepare a special drink, pretending not to be paying attention to the ongoing conversation.
"Of all places, seeing you here." Cordelia was saying.
"Fate certainly works in mysterious ways." Angel responded cryptically.
They fell silent again.
Lorne jumped in again. "How's this for fate." He gracefully placed a martini glass filled with a pink mixture in front of the former Seer. "On the house for old times sake. You know, to remind you of all those magazines you used to like flipping through."
"And still do. Nothing beats Cosmo." She shone him a grateful smile.
Suddenly, the piano player changed tune and a dreamy melody filled Casablanca. Lorne's eyes lit up as he picked up a microphone hidden underneath the bar counter and began to croon.
"You must remember this. A kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh. The fundamental things apply," the green demon's voice deepened. "... as time goes by..."
"Lorne..." Angel growled warningly.
"Just relax, Angel-pie. It'll be good for you." Lorne quickly said to quiet him while winking at Cordelia. She glanced at the vampire with uneasiness. "And when two lovers woo, they still say I love you. On that you can rely..."
"LORNE!" Angel snarled, putting on his vampire face. Any minute, he would leap over the chrome countertop and rip him apart.
Seeing the vampire glare at him menacingly, the Host stopped singing.
"No need to get all bothered about it," he sniffed, but he slinked away without another word.
Cordelia's eyes became worried as she took in the vampire's continual glowering.
"So, what have you been up to, Angel?" she asked quietly. Soothingly.
Angel aimed his glare at her for a second before he shrugged nonchalently. "Nothing much, just waiting for people who didn't want to be found."
Cordelia's face stilled, her brows raised. Breathing out a bit, she casually continued. "How's the old Fang Gang? Fred, Gunn?" When he didn't answer immediately, she pushed on. "How's Wesley? You know, I haven't seen him since before I went away with Gr--, I mean, on vacation."
His jaw visibly clenched. "He's in bed with Lilah."
She blinked, as if wondering if she had heard correctly. "What? I don't underst--"
"He's gone to the enemy."
"Wesley's working for Wolfram and Hart now?" she said faintly. Her voice went up a half octave as she asked tentatively, "What about Fred and Gunn?"
"I don't talk to them much anymore. Haven't for months." His eyes was on her again, hawk-like, piercing.
"I'm sorry to hear that." She really did sound sorrowful. She shuffled nervously, as if getting up the nerve to ask something else.
Out of the blue, he became congenial, tossing the question back at her. "Let's not talk about me. How about you? Where were you, say, eight months ago?"
She hesitated, before replying, "Oh, I don't know. Getting trained by the Powers that Be to become a better hero." She let out a shaky laugh. "Learning the ways of the Force."
"Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"
"What do you mean?"
Angel leaned forward, his eyes intense and scorching. "I've been wondering who you left me for? Did you find someone better, less broody to latch on to? Another warrior from a demon dimension, perhaps?"
She stood there, looking confused. He barreled forward.
"One with no kids who get kidnapped and come back as homicidal, demon-hating teenagers over the course of a few weeks? Or maybe just a vampire with a bigger hotel?"
Cordelia reeled back. "Angel... I don't know what you're talking about."
He didn't stop. "And are you going to promise to stay with him forever or until he sees redemption, whichever comes first?"
She finally smelled his breath. "I can't believe this." she said, stunned. "You're drunk."
Angel laughed a little maniacally, stumbling off his stool. "This is my new profession, see. I've been investigating the benefits of drowning oneself in liquor. Today, it's Scotch on the rocks. Tomorrow, who knows?" He stuck his face into hers. "Maybe a 'Fuck Me Up'."
"Stop it." Cordelia ordered coldly. "I can't speak to you like this." A chill froze the air between them.
"Then don't," Angel sneered, just as coldly. "Go back to your better life. Stay the hell out of mine."
Cordelia's eyes darkened while her skin started becoming more luminous. She closed her fists and eyes tightly under his watchful scrutiny. When she finally opened them, they had become gentle again, but her skin was still tinged with a tiny glow. "What happened to you? The hate that I see in your eyes... You've never been this way before. What turned you like this?" she asked softly.
Angel gazed straight into her eyes, to the very core of her soul. Harshly. "You did."
Snapping back, she just stood there in stunned silence, as if she'd been slapped. Her eyes became large and bright, so much so that he saw the whites around her hazel orbs, and when he saw the shiny glint appearing on her bottom lashes, he wavered. But the next instant, she had turned around and swiftly made her way towards the exit, where Lorne was joking with a group of happy patrons.
"You're not staying, Princess?" Lorne called out as she neared him.
"No," she said, her voice slightly unsteady and disoriented, as if in a trance. "I'm on an urgent mission. I have to look for a demon named Quincy. I've been told he's a thin, wrinkly-looking fellow."
The Host gave her a mournful look. "He was taken earlier, doll. My guess is he's with the Resistance now." He saw the look on her face. "You're not going to go looking for him, are you? Those Resistance folks can be real nasty."
She didn't answer his question. "Thanks, Lorne. For the drink. For everything." Without a backwards glance, she headed out the door.
At the bar, the hole in Angel's chest cried out as he watched her leave. When the door closed behind her, he let out a sound barely perceptible in the din of the crowded nightclub. Only the drinks and emptiness surrounding him heard it, the wail of a fatally wounded animal desperately wishing to be put out of its misery.
~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ @ CONTINUED IN PART II @ ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~
Last update: June 29, 2002