Title: Perfectly Happy Part 2 - The Gift
Author: Anna - - niannah@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, et cetera.
Distribution: Just let me know.
Feedback: Yes please.
A/N: Set sometime after the end of Season 3.
____________________________________________________________________________
The curtains were carefully closed, not a chink allowing the lethal rays to enter, though indirect light suffused the room with a warm glow.
She lay on her side, facing away from him, her breathing soft and regular. He trailed a fingertip from her neck, over her shoulder, down her side and into the dip of her waist. She was truly beautiful. Her skin was the colour of honey, and her hair a rich mahogany. So full and vibrant, like the sound of her name. Cordelia. He relished the challenge he knew she would be. His triumphant return.
He moved closer to her until he could feel her warmth along the length of his body. He brushed the hair back from her ear.
"Cordelia," he whispered. "Cordy."
"Mmmm," she said, stretching. He watched her wake slowly, climbing into consciousness. Before her eyes opened she smiled. He ran his palms in circles on her skin, bringing tingling life back into her aching muscles.
She sighed and turned over into the cradle of his body. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his unbeating heart.
"You're warm," she murmured.
"I've got you," he replied.
"You do," she said. She looked up into his eyes. "You really do, you know that, right?"
"Yeah," he whispered. He kissed her forehead. "And now, since I'm the boss, I say you can be late for work this morning." He kissed her again, this time her mouth, slow and deep.
Cordelia purred.
Angelus smiled. She did not see him. Only the thought of the gift he had left her stopped him from sinking his fangs into her throbbing jugular.
The day was beautiful. Cordelia's body sang with post-coital joy as she made her way through to the garden entrance to the Hyperion. The door was locked. Fred and Gunn still at home.
She turned the lock and walked into the cool, airy lobby. She looked around. Empty. Her footsteps echoed hollowly as she crossed the marble floor to the reception desk. She left her bag on the desk, and turned. Time to make coffee.
She gasped, startled, then laughed. Connor lay on a couch.
"Connor! You scared me! Lurk much?" she said brightly. "Hey" – she noticed the single red rose in his hands – "who's the rose for? And the card?"
He lay still.
"Connor?"
He was very pale.
"Connor? You okay?"
She stood beside him. He did not move. She tipped his head to one side.
"Oh, my God."
Vampire.
Her head spun.
Connor was dead.
Who? Who had a standing invitation? Harmony? No. Not her style, she'd never dare.
Spike? No. He'd never been invited. Connor was not naïve – he would recognize a vampire, soul or no. He would never invite Spike in.
Which left… Obviously not Angel.
Unless – No, Angelus was not back. She had woken up in Angel's arms, and he was still in her apartment.
Angel! He would be devastated.
She cast her burning eyes along the unnaturally still body. The envelope. It was addressed to her. She ripped it open. The card was tastefully thick, off-white, golden roses embossed on the border.
"My dearest, loveliest Cordelia," it read, in flowing black script. "If you find this, last night went as I dared to hope. I long for you, Cordelia. I hope you accept this token of my undying love. Rest assured, my darling, that it will not be the last.
"Yours, till death do us part,
"Angelus."
The card fluttered to the ground. Cordelia watched it. It took an age, tumbling earthwards, flickering, catching the light, landing soundlessly on the floor. She looked again at Connor. His neck was now bent at an awkward angle.
He could not have left her apartment to do this. It was dawn by the time they had stopped making love.
Which left only one possibility.
Cordelia retched. She crumpled to the floor, staring at the card below her. Its golden roses glinted at her as her stomach heaved. She gasped, forcing herself to retain control. Her face felt cold and clammy. Sweat trickled from her temples.
She took a few shuddering breaths.
Breathe.
She stumbled once more to her feet, supporting herself on the couch with her hand as she stood. Connor was still dead.
There were voices outside the door. Fred and Gunn. Cheerfully chatting, she could not hear the words. She watched them come in, laughing, gesticulating. It made no sense. She saw heir faces as they turned to her. Bright smiles fading to puzzlement. To confusion. Eyes dropping to the couch. Horror.
Something snapped inside Cordelia's head. She bent down and picked up the card.
"Angelus," she said hoarsely. She cleared her throat. "Angelus."
Fred and Gunn stared.
"You need to get Connor to the morgue. Please," she said.
"Cordelia –" Gunn stepped forward.
She held up a hand.
"Get him to the morgue." She closed her eyes. Opened them. "Before dark."
Gunn nodded. He glanced at Fred. Fred still stared at the body.
"I'll call… someone," he said.
Cordelia nodded.
"I'll be upstairs." She looked down at Connor. Laid a hand on his forehead. He was cold. Gone. She turned and walked up the stairs, step by robotic step.
She walked to Angel's suite. It looked the same. Compulsively neat. A picture of Angel, Connor and Cordelia on the bedside, in a frame she had bought him on the day she had decided was his birthday. The anniversary of the night they first met in Sunnydale. They had worked the date out together. Another picture, this time just the two of them, smiling at each other, oblivious to the camera.
Why did she wait to tell him? She wanted to. Ever since that night they dragged the monstrous metal box from the sea. She thought she had eternity. Or as good as.
She left the suite, and went to the room she had been coming to think of as her own. She took all the clothes from the closet and carried them back to his room. She put them carefully away in the space in his closet. She took some books she had left and placed them beside his bed. Next she carried in her shoes, boots she wore to chase demons, and a pair of tiny Manolo Blahniks. Angel had remained silent for hours after she told him how much they had cost. Cosmetics, toiletries, all the little things that had accumulated there over the past months.
She looked around the suite. She could not go back to her apartment. There was no where else she would rather sleep than here. This was Angel's room, her Angel, not the monster in her apartment. This was her new home.
She took off her clothes, the clothes he had watched her don that morning with a lascivious smile lop-sided on his mouth. She threw them in the corner to burn later.
The shower scoured her skin. She turned it up hot, until she was red and raw. She scrubbed and scrubbed, washing every inch, her breasts, between her legs, even her tongue. She could still taste him in the back of her throat. She laid her cheek against the tile. It felt cold. Sobs wracked her body. Her tears fell, disguised in the water.
Angelus laid his cheek against the tile. It felt warm. He liked her apartment, once the curtains were closed. He was hungry, but he could wait. For now he stood in the shower, water spilling down his body. He lathered slowly, considering his next move. Not too carefully, though. He was enjoying this spontaneity.
Screw destroying the world. Boring. But destroying one perfect life – now that was fun.
They needed everyone, she told herself. Right now she needed him. She raised her hand and knocked on the door. There was a sudden pregnant silence, the sound of someone making no noise. Then she heard his footsteps come towards the door. He opened it only partially, his body blocking the path into the apartment. His hair was uncharacteristically tousled and his shirt was open to the navel. He must have left his glasses down somewhere.
"Cordelia," he said. His voice was strained.
"Wesley. I have to talk to you."
"Now really isn't the best time. Perhaps you could call back – "
"Now, Wesley. It's important."
A voice came from inside. Female.
"Wesley?" it said. "Who is it?"
Cordelia knew that voice. She pushed past Wesley.
"Cordelia –" he began, but trailed off. There was nothing to say.
Lilah had obviously just come from the office. Her shoes lay by the couch, one on its side. Her jacket hung neatly over a chair.
Cordelia simply stared. Lilah smiled the smile of a reptile.
"Cordelia, right? Nice outfit."
Cordelia looked down at the baggy shirt and jeans she had put on when she burned her clothes. She raised a supercilious eyebrow.
"Thanks. Nice boyfriend."
"Please! He's not my boyfriend." Lilah laughed, a fake laugh. "We just have sex."
Wesley seethed.
"Perhaps you had better leave." His voice was tight.
"Wesley!" said Lilah, a false hurt tone in her voice. "You usually say that after we make love!"
"Lilah." He held the door open.
She stood, slipping her feet into her shoes.
"Alright, lover," she said, taking her jacket from the chair. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Can't wait." Wesley watched her leave with stony eyes. She trailed her fingertips across his mouth.
"Miss you already," she whispered.
Wesley closed the door behind her and turned towards Cordelia. He could not look her in the eye. His shoulders hunched as he buttoned his shirt back up to his collarbone.
"Cordelia, I can explain," he began.
"You don't have to, Wesley."
"But I want to, it's just that I felt so alone, and I know –"
"Wesley, Angelus is back."
He froze.
"What?"
"Angelus is back. Connor is dead."
"What can I do?"
"I need a disinvitation for the Hyperion."
"Immediately, I take it?"
"Yeah. I've moved in, I'd like to sleep. Not that I will." Cordelia sighed.
"You've moved in?" Wesley moved towards a bookshelf.
"Yeah. Today. Angelus… came to my apartment. I can't go back there." She bit her lip.
"Does… Does Fred still live at the Hyperion?" Wesley opened a book and examined its contents carefully.
"No, she moved in with Gunn a month ago."
"And you moved in today?"
"Uh-huh. Why, is that important for the disinvitation spell?"
Wesley looked at her intently.
"You live there. Since you moved in, he hasn't been invited. You don't need me." He exhaled, and closed the book.
"Really? That's, like, enough? I've only been there a few hours."
"Do you feel at home?"
Cordelia's eyes flicked to the window, the walls, and back.
"Yes," she replied, certainty in her voice.
"Then he can't come in."
Her eyes closed, relief etched on her features.
"Cordelia, is he fixating on you?"
She opened her eyes again, and held out the card.
"I found this with Connor's body."
Wesley took his glasses from the coffee table and placed them on his eyes.
"My God," he said, reading. "In that case, you are safe, for a time at least."
"Safe?"
"He won't touch you until everyone else is dead. Fred, Gunn, and me."
Cordelia leaned back against the wall, her eyes closed again. Her face was blank. It was too much.
"Cordelia," said Wesley, moving towards her holding out a hand. "Sit down, please."
Cordelia took his arm and sat down on the couch. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and held her face in her hands. Wesley placed a comforting hand on her back.
"What happened, Cordy?" he said. "How did Angelus get free?"
"I don't know." Her voice was muffled through her hands.
"Tell me what happened. How did you find Connor?"
Cordelia took a deep breath, lowering her hands.
"I walked into the lobby this morning, and there he was, on the couch, with a rose, and the card."
"I see." Wesley paused, and glanced again at the card. "What does he mean by 'last night went as I dared hope'?"
Cordelia's face crumpled. Stifled sobs wracked her body.
"Oh God, Wesley," she whispered, looking away from him.
"Cordelia, whatever it is, I need to know, if we're going to face him together." He took her into a half-embrace. "Tell me."
She looked at him, her eyes wet, tears rolling silently down her cheeks.
"Don't tell Fred and Gunn. I'm so… oh Wesley, I'm so ashamed."
"Cordelia! What is it?"
"He came over to my apartment last night. I thought it was Angel. He – we – Wesley, I thought it was Angel!"
Realization dawned on Wesley's face.
"Oh my God. Cordelia. I'm so sorry."
"How could I not know, Wesley? How could I not?"
"Was it… like with Buffy?"
"No. He must have killed Connor before, which meant he was Angelus all the time." Cordelia again covered her face.
"Then, what set him free?"
Cordelia shook her head, her voice too close to tears.
"Perhaps it was something to do with Connor, since he was the only one there."
"Maybe," said Cordelia, regaining control. "Wesley, pack. You have to come back to the Hyperion. If what you say is true, then it's the only safe place for you right now."
"You're right." He stood.
"And Wesley," she said, her voice soft. "We need you."
Wesley looked at her, a small but heartfelt smile on his face.
"I'll be ready straight away." He left the room quickly.
"One more thing," called Cordelia.
"What's that?" came his voice from the next room.
"You dump that bitch pronto!"
His face appeared in the doorway.
"Consider it done," he said.
Gunn and Fred had gone home, as safe in Gunn's place as they would be in the Hyperion. They would meet again at Connor's funeral the next day. For now, Wesley and Cordelia sat in the Hyperion lobby telling each other that they would be better off getting some rest.
Neither could sleep.
It was during this circular conversation that they saw him at the garden door, silhouetted against the moonlight outside.
Cordelia glanced at Wesley.
"Time to test that theory of yours," she said grimly.
"Are you sure you should speak to him?" he replied, placing a warning hand on her arm.
"Do you think he'll leave till I do?"
Wesley sighed, acquiescing.
She walked slowly to the door, and heard Wesley get to his feet behind her. She saw Angelus's eyes glowing a dull amber in the dark.
She opened the door. Angelus ran his eyes over her appraisingly. Even under the shapeless clothes she wore, he could see her body, newly loved. He raised his hand, gingerly testing the barrier.
"Cordelia," he said. "I'm touched. My home is your home." He smiled.
"It's not your home. It's Angel's home."
"Angel, right." Angelus took a slow breath. "It's fine. I like your apartment. It reminds me of you, and our night together."
Cordelia winced.
"What, you don't like thinking about it?" Angelus laughed. "I still smell us on the sheets. Do you know how much he used to love the smell of your sheets?"
Cordelia's face turned to stone.
"Leave him out of this."
"I can't do that. I am him. But he's not me." Angelus rubbed his chin. "I guess that's his one flaw."
"Flaw? His one grace." He saw a softening in her eyes.
"Really? You think so?" He leaned a shoulder nonchalantly against the barrier, studying his fingernails. They were perfect, as usual.
"You disgust me," she said, her voice low and emotionless.
"Now, Cordelia. That hurts." Angelus looked at her, turning again to face her. He placed the palms of his hands against the barrier. His shirt rose a little and he knew she could see his skin. She liked his skin. She had told him so.
"Good," she said. He saw her eyes. They could not help flicking to his bared hip.
"I know you," he said, his voice lazy. "I know what you crave. And I know that you secretly love it, in places you never knew existed till last night." His hands trailed over the barrier as if it were her skin. He saw her suppress a shudder. It was not a shudder of fear.
"There is nothing, absolutely nothing to do with you that I could ever love." Cordelia's eyes were steel.
"Look in his closet. Where did I find this silk shirt? Leather pants?" Her eyes travelled down his body. "Look in his hidden places. You'll find me there. And you love it. You love that I am the Scourge, I am the great Angelus, and that I made love to you."
"You're sick!" she whispered hoarsely, raising her hand to slam the door.
"I am," he said. "But I'm not wrong."
He did not flinch as the door slammed in his face. He watched her walk away through the glass, knew she was waiting until she was out of sight to collapse, shaking, into the comforting arms of the Watcher.
Then he turned and walked away. The smell of her made him hungry.
TBC
Author: Anna - - niannah@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, et cetera.
Distribution: Just let me know.
Feedback: Yes please.
A/N: Set sometime after the end of Season 3.
____________________________________________________________________________
The curtains were carefully closed, not a chink allowing the lethal rays to enter, though indirect light suffused the room with a warm glow.
She lay on her side, facing away from him, her breathing soft and regular. He trailed a fingertip from her neck, over her shoulder, down her side and into the dip of her waist. She was truly beautiful. Her skin was the colour of honey, and her hair a rich mahogany. So full and vibrant, like the sound of her name. Cordelia. He relished the challenge he knew she would be. His triumphant return.
He moved closer to her until he could feel her warmth along the length of his body. He brushed the hair back from her ear.
"Cordelia," he whispered. "Cordy."
"Mmmm," she said, stretching. He watched her wake slowly, climbing into consciousness. Before her eyes opened she smiled. He ran his palms in circles on her skin, bringing tingling life back into her aching muscles.
She sighed and turned over into the cradle of his body. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his unbeating heart.
"You're warm," she murmured.
"I've got you," he replied.
"You do," she said. She looked up into his eyes. "You really do, you know that, right?"
"Yeah," he whispered. He kissed her forehead. "And now, since I'm the boss, I say you can be late for work this morning." He kissed her again, this time her mouth, slow and deep.
Cordelia purred.
Angelus smiled. She did not see him. Only the thought of the gift he had left her stopped him from sinking his fangs into her throbbing jugular.
The day was beautiful. Cordelia's body sang with post-coital joy as she made her way through to the garden entrance to the Hyperion. The door was locked. Fred and Gunn still at home.
She turned the lock and walked into the cool, airy lobby. She looked around. Empty. Her footsteps echoed hollowly as she crossed the marble floor to the reception desk. She left her bag on the desk, and turned. Time to make coffee.
She gasped, startled, then laughed. Connor lay on a couch.
"Connor! You scared me! Lurk much?" she said brightly. "Hey" – she noticed the single red rose in his hands – "who's the rose for? And the card?"
He lay still.
"Connor?"
He was very pale.
"Connor? You okay?"
She stood beside him. He did not move. She tipped his head to one side.
"Oh, my God."
Vampire.
Her head spun.
Connor was dead.
Who? Who had a standing invitation? Harmony? No. Not her style, she'd never dare.
Spike? No. He'd never been invited. Connor was not naïve – he would recognize a vampire, soul or no. He would never invite Spike in.
Which left… Obviously not Angel.
Unless – No, Angelus was not back. She had woken up in Angel's arms, and he was still in her apartment.
Angel! He would be devastated.
She cast her burning eyes along the unnaturally still body. The envelope. It was addressed to her. She ripped it open. The card was tastefully thick, off-white, golden roses embossed on the border.
"My dearest, loveliest Cordelia," it read, in flowing black script. "If you find this, last night went as I dared to hope. I long for you, Cordelia. I hope you accept this token of my undying love. Rest assured, my darling, that it will not be the last.
"Yours, till death do us part,
"Angelus."
The card fluttered to the ground. Cordelia watched it. It took an age, tumbling earthwards, flickering, catching the light, landing soundlessly on the floor. She looked again at Connor. His neck was now bent at an awkward angle.
He could not have left her apartment to do this. It was dawn by the time they had stopped making love.
Which left only one possibility.
Cordelia retched. She crumpled to the floor, staring at the card below her. Its golden roses glinted at her as her stomach heaved. She gasped, forcing herself to retain control. Her face felt cold and clammy. Sweat trickled from her temples.
She took a few shuddering breaths.
Breathe.
She stumbled once more to her feet, supporting herself on the couch with her hand as she stood. Connor was still dead.
There were voices outside the door. Fred and Gunn. Cheerfully chatting, she could not hear the words. She watched them come in, laughing, gesticulating. It made no sense. She saw heir faces as they turned to her. Bright smiles fading to puzzlement. To confusion. Eyes dropping to the couch. Horror.
Something snapped inside Cordelia's head. She bent down and picked up the card.
"Angelus," she said hoarsely. She cleared her throat. "Angelus."
Fred and Gunn stared.
"You need to get Connor to the morgue. Please," she said.
"Cordelia –" Gunn stepped forward.
She held up a hand.
"Get him to the morgue." She closed her eyes. Opened them. "Before dark."
Gunn nodded. He glanced at Fred. Fred still stared at the body.
"I'll call… someone," he said.
Cordelia nodded.
"I'll be upstairs." She looked down at Connor. Laid a hand on his forehead. He was cold. Gone. She turned and walked up the stairs, step by robotic step.
She walked to Angel's suite. It looked the same. Compulsively neat. A picture of Angel, Connor and Cordelia on the bedside, in a frame she had bought him on the day she had decided was his birthday. The anniversary of the night they first met in Sunnydale. They had worked the date out together. Another picture, this time just the two of them, smiling at each other, oblivious to the camera.
Why did she wait to tell him? She wanted to. Ever since that night they dragged the monstrous metal box from the sea. She thought she had eternity. Or as good as.
She left the suite, and went to the room she had been coming to think of as her own. She took all the clothes from the closet and carried them back to his room. She put them carefully away in the space in his closet. She took some books she had left and placed them beside his bed. Next she carried in her shoes, boots she wore to chase demons, and a pair of tiny Manolo Blahniks. Angel had remained silent for hours after she told him how much they had cost. Cosmetics, toiletries, all the little things that had accumulated there over the past months.
She looked around the suite. She could not go back to her apartment. There was no where else she would rather sleep than here. This was Angel's room, her Angel, not the monster in her apartment. This was her new home.
She took off her clothes, the clothes he had watched her don that morning with a lascivious smile lop-sided on his mouth. She threw them in the corner to burn later.
The shower scoured her skin. She turned it up hot, until she was red and raw. She scrubbed and scrubbed, washing every inch, her breasts, between her legs, even her tongue. She could still taste him in the back of her throat. She laid her cheek against the tile. It felt cold. Sobs wracked her body. Her tears fell, disguised in the water.
Angelus laid his cheek against the tile. It felt warm. He liked her apartment, once the curtains were closed. He was hungry, but he could wait. For now he stood in the shower, water spilling down his body. He lathered slowly, considering his next move. Not too carefully, though. He was enjoying this spontaneity.
Screw destroying the world. Boring. But destroying one perfect life – now that was fun.
They needed everyone, she told herself. Right now she needed him. She raised her hand and knocked on the door. There was a sudden pregnant silence, the sound of someone making no noise. Then she heard his footsteps come towards the door. He opened it only partially, his body blocking the path into the apartment. His hair was uncharacteristically tousled and his shirt was open to the navel. He must have left his glasses down somewhere.
"Cordelia," he said. His voice was strained.
"Wesley. I have to talk to you."
"Now really isn't the best time. Perhaps you could call back – "
"Now, Wesley. It's important."
A voice came from inside. Female.
"Wesley?" it said. "Who is it?"
Cordelia knew that voice. She pushed past Wesley.
"Cordelia –" he began, but trailed off. There was nothing to say.
Lilah had obviously just come from the office. Her shoes lay by the couch, one on its side. Her jacket hung neatly over a chair.
Cordelia simply stared. Lilah smiled the smile of a reptile.
"Cordelia, right? Nice outfit."
Cordelia looked down at the baggy shirt and jeans she had put on when she burned her clothes. She raised a supercilious eyebrow.
"Thanks. Nice boyfriend."
"Please! He's not my boyfriend." Lilah laughed, a fake laugh. "We just have sex."
Wesley seethed.
"Perhaps you had better leave." His voice was tight.
"Wesley!" said Lilah, a false hurt tone in her voice. "You usually say that after we make love!"
"Lilah." He held the door open.
She stood, slipping her feet into her shoes.
"Alright, lover," she said, taking her jacket from the chair. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Can't wait." Wesley watched her leave with stony eyes. She trailed her fingertips across his mouth.
"Miss you already," she whispered.
Wesley closed the door behind her and turned towards Cordelia. He could not look her in the eye. His shoulders hunched as he buttoned his shirt back up to his collarbone.
"Cordelia, I can explain," he began.
"You don't have to, Wesley."
"But I want to, it's just that I felt so alone, and I know –"
"Wesley, Angelus is back."
He froze.
"What?"
"Angelus is back. Connor is dead."
"What can I do?"
"I need a disinvitation for the Hyperion."
"Immediately, I take it?"
"Yeah. I've moved in, I'd like to sleep. Not that I will." Cordelia sighed.
"You've moved in?" Wesley moved towards a bookshelf.
"Yeah. Today. Angelus… came to my apartment. I can't go back there." She bit her lip.
"Does… Does Fred still live at the Hyperion?" Wesley opened a book and examined its contents carefully.
"No, she moved in with Gunn a month ago."
"And you moved in today?"
"Uh-huh. Why, is that important for the disinvitation spell?"
Wesley looked at her intently.
"You live there. Since you moved in, he hasn't been invited. You don't need me." He exhaled, and closed the book.
"Really? That's, like, enough? I've only been there a few hours."
"Do you feel at home?"
Cordelia's eyes flicked to the window, the walls, and back.
"Yes," she replied, certainty in her voice.
"Then he can't come in."
Her eyes closed, relief etched on her features.
"Cordelia, is he fixating on you?"
She opened her eyes again, and held out the card.
"I found this with Connor's body."
Wesley took his glasses from the coffee table and placed them on his eyes.
"My God," he said, reading. "In that case, you are safe, for a time at least."
"Safe?"
"He won't touch you until everyone else is dead. Fred, Gunn, and me."
Cordelia leaned back against the wall, her eyes closed again. Her face was blank. It was too much.
"Cordelia," said Wesley, moving towards her holding out a hand. "Sit down, please."
Cordelia took his arm and sat down on the couch. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and held her face in her hands. Wesley placed a comforting hand on her back.
"What happened, Cordy?" he said. "How did Angelus get free?"
"I don't know." Her voice was muffled through her hands.
"Tell me what happened. How did you find Connor?"
Cordelia took a deep breath, lowering her hands.
"I walked into the lobby this morning, and there he was, on the couch, with a rose, and the card."
"I see." Wesley paused, and glanced again at the card. "What does he mean by 'last night went as I dared hope'?"
Cordelia's face crumpled. Stifled sobs wracked her body.
"Oh God, Wesley," she whispered, looking away from him.
"Cordelia, whatever it is, I need to know, if we're going to face him together." He took her into a half-embrace. "Tell me."
She looked at him, her eyes wet, tears rolling silently down her cheeks.
"Don't tell Fred and Gunn. I'm so… oh Wesley, I'm so ashamed."
"Cordelia! What is it?"
"He came over to my apartment last night. I thought it was Angel. He – we – Wesley, I thought it was Angel!"
Realization dawned on Wesley's face.
"Oh my God. Cordelia. I'm so sorry."
"How could I not know, Wesley? How could I not?"
"Was it… like with Buffy?"
"No. He must have killed Connor before, which meant he was Angelus all the time." Cordelia again covered her face.
"Then, what set him free?"
Cordelia shook her head, her voice too close to tears.
"Perhaps it was something to do with Connor, since he was the only one there."
"Maybe," said Cordelia, regaining control. "Wesley, pack. You have to come back to the Hyperion. If what you say is true, then it's the only safe place for you right now."
"You're right." He stood.
"And Wesley," she said, her voice soft. "We need you."
Wesley looked at her, a small but heartfelt smile on his face.
"I'll be ready straight away." He left the room quickly.
"One more thing," called Cordelia.
"What's that?" came his voice from the next room.
"You dump that bitch pronto!"
His face appeared in the doorway.
"Consider it done," he said.
Gunn and Fred had gone home, as safe in Gunn's place as they would be in the Hyperion. They would meet again at Connor's funeral the next day. For now, Wesley and Cordelia sat in the Hyperion lobby telling each other that they would be better off getting some rest.
Neither could sleep.
It was during this circular conversation that they saw him at the garden door, silhouetted against the moonlight outside.
Cordelia glanced at Wesley.
"Time to test that theory of yours," she said grimly.
"Are you sure you should speak to him?" he replied, placing a warning hand on her arm.
"Do you think he'll leave till I do?"
Wesley sighed, acquiescing.
She walked slowly to the door, and heard Wesley get to his feet behind her. She saw Angelus's eyes glowing a dull amber in the dark.
She opened the door. Angelus ran his eyes over her appraisingly. Even under the shapeless clothes she wore, he could see her body, newly loved. He raised his hand, gingerly testing the barrier.
"Cordelia," he said. "I'm touched. My home is your home." He smiled.
"It's not your home. It's Angel's home."
"Angel, right." Angelus took a slow breath. "It's fine. I like your apartment. It reminds me of you, and our night together."
Cordelia winced.
"What, you don't like thinking about it?" Angelus laughed. "I still smell us on the sheets. Do you know how much he used to love the smell of your sheets?"
Cordelia's face turned to stone.
"Leave him out of this."
"I can't do that. I am him. But he's not me." Angelus rubbed his chin. "I guess that's his one flaw."
"Flaw? His one grace." He saw a softening in her eyes.
"Really? You think so?" He leaned a shoulder nonchalantly against the barrier, studying his fingernails. They were perfect, as usual.
"You disgust me," she said, her voice low and emotionless.
"Now, Cordelia. That hurts." Angelus looked at her, turning again to face her. He placed the palms of his hands against the barrier. His shirt rose a little and he knew she could see his skin. She liked his skin. She had told him so.
"Good," she said. He saw her eyes. They could not help flicking to his bared hip.
"I know you," he said, his voice lazy. "I know what you crave. And I know that you secretly love it, in places you never knew existed till last night." His hands trailed over the barrier as if it were her skin. He saw her suppress a shudder. It was not a shudder of fear.
"There is nothing, absolutely nothing to do with you that I could ever love." Cordelia's eyes were steel.
"Look in his closet. Where did I find this silk shirt? Leather pants?" Her eyes travelled down his body. "Look in his hidden places. You'll find me there. And you love it. You love that I am the Scourge, I am the great Angelus, and that I made love to you."
"You're sick!" she whispered hoarsely, raising her hand to slam the door.
"I am," he said. "But I'm not wrong."
He did not flinch as the door slammed in his face. He watched her walk away through the glass, knew she was waiting until she was out of sight to collapse, shaking, into the comforting arms of the Watcher.
Then he turned and walked away. The smell of her made him hungry.
TBC