Title: Perfectly Happy, Part 5 - - What the Seer Saw
Author: Anna - - niannah@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Warning: Rape scene, though not explicit.
Pairing: Angelus/Cordelia
Disclaimer: Not mine, et cetera.
Distribution: Shippers United, The Crypt, Sinner and Seer. Others, just let me know.
Feedback: Yes please. Thanks to all who have already reviewed and mailed me - support is greatly appreciated.
A/N: Set sometime after the end of Season 3. Vague spoilers only.
_____________________________________________________________________
Sheets like milk. She kicked and turned in her sleep, sweat-soaked cotton.
Skin like honey. He stalked and fed, concrete spattered with hurried blood.
She dreamt his name, he drank her. She flowed through atrophied veins, vibrant red. Bubbles of oxygen. He pumped through thick arteries, tingling her fingertips.
Fred was dead. Laid beside Connor, cold in the ground. Cordelia screamed when she dreamed those innocent faces crumpled in dark earth. The Hyperion echoed with grief.
Angelus heard her as he melted into its shadows. The courtyard, still pretty, night-blooming jasmine. Moon gaping down, bright as ill-remembered day. Colour. He remembered colour. Bleached night.
Catlike leaps and he was on her balcony. Her breathing, that heartbeat. Softly whispering flesh-wrapped soul. Three syllables; his name. Fingertips to windowpane, head tilted, he felt her.
She dreamt him there. Skin white as the rugged moon. Face like an angel.
He closed the door on the lethal colour spreading like infection over his star-speckled sky. Slammed it behind him. Walked to the fireplace, placed his hands on the mantelpiece, and stared into the ashes.
He loved fires.
He flung his coat into the corner. Paced about the room. Her smell had pervaded every fabric, every texture. He could not wash her taste out of his mouth. Did not really want to. And he had not even tasted her blood. All this time and never a drop. Never a proffered wrist, never a bared jugular, not even as she lay under him that night.
He refused to force her. Refused to take it unless she held it out to him. And she would.
He threw himself on the couch, reclining lazily, running a paw over his face.
She would.
She flung the doors open wide, sunlight finally warming her clammy skin. The balcony basked in light. Not a haunt for creatures of the night. And yet not even the blazing sun could burn every trace of him away.
Somewhere Gunn cowered in guilt. Wesley shuffled through the morning, sipping tea and fumbling hot toast. Paper spread on the reception desk, scanning obituaries.
Cordelia breathed. Shook her head. Dreams and visions, they were all one now.
Wesley replaced the receiver as she entered the lobby.
"Anything?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Giles and Anya have tried every source and connection. A few possibilities, perhaps, but…" His voice faded to a sigh. "Have you seen Gunn?"
"He won't come out."
"Has he eaten?"
"No."
She watched Wesley watch her. She drew her arms around her body.
"Are you alright?" The tenderness in his eyes warmed her.
She shrugged.
"I'm fine, given everything," she said. "I just want… I want this over."
Wesley nodded.
"We all do," he said. "We'll find an orb, Cordelia. We will."
Angelus held the receiver to his ear, listening. His eyes scanned over the documents scattered across the table.
"Bring any you find to Vienna. Keep them there.
"Yes, there may be other interest. Be sure they find nothing.
"I have faith in you. Take care I have no reason to question that faith. If there is an orb left in Europe, it will be mine."
He smiled in satisfaction as the line went dead.
"What about you? Are you okay?" she asked, walking around the desk and closing her arms around him.
Wesley took a deep breath. She heard it catch in his lungs.
"We could have done more to stop them," he said.
Cordelia sighed.
"No we couldn't, Wes. You know Gunn. Not the patient type."
"But Fred… He didn't have to bring Fred."
Cordelia held him more tightly.
"Poor Fred," she murmured. "But she chose to go, Wes. It's not your fault."
"She's right, English," came a cracked voice from the staircase. "It's mine."
Gunn looked broken. His eyes were dull as lead.
"Guess you were right," he continued. "Didn't know what I was doing. Got her killed. Like I got Rondell and Alonna killed."
Cordelia came towards him. He backed away.
"Gunn…" she said.
"It's fine, Cordy. I know what I've got to do."
He looked at them both, a whisper of a smile on his mouth. Then he turned towards the door.
"No, wait, Gunn," began Cordelia.
He turned.
"I've gotta go, Cordelia! Before I get everyone killed. And I need some time. I'll be back. In a while."
"Let him go, Cordelia."
Gunn looked at Wesley.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Wesley merely nodded a fraction in reply.
Cordelia stood staring from one to the other, her face pained.
"I'll see y'all."
And again he was gone.
He lay back on her bed, her sheets caressing his naked body.
The boy next, maybe. He'd put up some fight. Then the Watcher, nice and slow. Till there was no one left for her but a memory. A memory with his face. With his dead heart.
She stood still, waiting.
His office was empty. New dust had settled on shiny surfaces. Everything compulsively neat; pens, letter opener, files. Dark, rich colours, his natural backdrop. Subtle opulence. His very surroundings a contradiction.
He was not there.
Wesley's voice drifted in from the lobby, that defensive yet deferential tone he used when forced to deal with the Council. Absolutely essential, Orb of Thesulah, a good vampire.
They found the idea absurd. They were right.
Angelus laughed softly. Of course it was absurd. She was beginning to learn. He purred and stretched, pulling sheets closely around him. His smile flickered as his breathing faded. His chest ceased its automatic rise and fall. Slept the sleep of the dead.
She shook her head again. He would not get out. Like flicking channels too late at night.
She took her jacket and wrapped it around her. It was warm, but she felt cold.
"Going out?" asked Wesley.
"I'll be back before dark," she said, heading out into the sunshine.
Familiar sun-baked plaster and palm trees. Trailed fingertips over rough walls, heat seeping into her blood. No sound from within. The silence of the tomb.
A chink in north-facing curtains. He lay spread across her sheets, creamy pale. Not a stir nor a breath. His mouth a dark gash between bled lips. She shut her eyes on him, opened them again. Killer. Remembered the scent of blood on useless breath. Borrowed life.
He moved in his sleep, startling her; an animated corpse. Saw his lips move, but could not hear what he was saying. His eyes still closed, translucent lids hiding the blackness within.
Nothing was his. Borrowed blood, borrowed soul. What was left?
A hungry corpse on a bed.
His eyes snapped open, but she was gone. Twilight softening the harsh light of day. A shadow where she had been. He had called her but she had not heard him. She would not have come anyway. Not yet.
He flicked back the sheets and stretched. Nearly time to hunt again, to stalk the streets to find some unwitting girl, flattered to be noticed by such handsome eyes.
It was so hard to be patient. He would have to be cruel.
"Anything?" she asked as she walked in the door.
"Not yet." He shook his head. "I should think this will take some time."
"So I should stop asking, huh?" she said with a gentle smile.
He smiled in reply.
"Cordelia," he said, standing and coming around the desk. "I may have to go to England. Should the Council have an orb, and – even less likely – allow us to use it, they can't FedEx it."
"But you don't know that they have one, right?" She took of her jacket and laid it on the arm of the couch.
"No. You know the Council. Yards of red tape only to be refused at the end of it all."
"Gotta love that stuffy Britishness."
"Quite," laughed Wesley quietly. "Where did you go this afternoon?"
"Just for a walk," she said breezily. "Needed some air. Are you hungry? Should we order pizza?"
Wesley looked at her for a moment.
"Yes, pizza would be good," he replied.
Cordelia went to the phone.
The west still glowed when he left the apartment. It stung his eyes slightly, but he did not care. He hugged the walls as he walked and avoided the light. Somewhere glittering tonight, with fresh-faced young starlets. There was no shortage of parties in this town.
He wanted a limousine. With dark windows. He would call someone in the morning.
The pizza box lay empty on the table. Cordelia licked her fingers as Wesley popped the last pepperoni into his mouth.
They heard a knock at the door.
"Am I interrupting? You two look so cosy."
Cordelia and Wesley froze.
"Should I be jealous, Wesley? You don't call, you don't write, now I find you here with another woman?"
"Lilah."
If words could kill, he would have killed her with her name.
"Don't get up, I won't stay long."
"Well, that's good news," he said, his voice harsh with sarcasm.
"I heard a rumour. Can you guess what it is?"
Cordelia crossed her arms, her eyes glittering with antipathy.
"I heard that Angelus was back."
She watched them intently. They registered not a flicker of reaction.
She casually took a seat across from them.
"I see the rumour was right." She smiled. "And so it's also true that he killed his brat son, and then your sweet little scientist?"
Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
"Again, accurate," continued Lilah. "Our sources are working overtime."
"Just get out," said Cordelia.
"Not quite yet. There's one thing we don't know. What is he preparing in Europe?"
Wesley and Cordelia merely stared.
"Old law firms in Europe tend to be aggravatingly discreet. You can't even buy information. Do you know what he's planning?"
Wesley's eyes narrowed.
"No," he replied curtly. "Will you leave now?" He stood, a threatening figure.
Lilah laughed, standing also.
"Okay, I'll leave! Knowing that you don't know is at least something." She tucked her handbag under her arm. "Wesley, you are getting more handsome every year," she said, scraping a red nail over his stubble.
She turned and walked away, the click of her heels echoing in the lobby.
"Cordelia," said Wesley, still looking at the doorway.
"Mmm?" she replied, distracted.
"Where are those documents you found? I think now would be a good time to go through them more thoroughly."
Why was it, he wondered, that he could barely taste champagne from a glass, but could thoroughly enjoy its spine-tingling effects when drunk straight from the bloodstream? He felt it fizzle in his belly and laughed. Two dewy-eyed, petite blondes lay beside him, one on each side. Well, one was dewy-eyed. The other was glassy-eyed, and dead.
"Where are you going?" he said to the first. "We're just getting started!"
He clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Aw, sweetheart," he said. "It's not you. It's me." He forced her under him. "Don't worry. I'm gonna take a lot more time with you. You know, you remind me of an old girlfriend." He sounded almost wistful.
Music blared downstairs. It was quite the party. Even if they had heard her screams, they would not have cared. Sometimes it sounded like pleasure.
Cordelia quietly thanked anyone listening that she had thought to make photocopies.
"You're probably right," said Wesley. "Best keep the originals secure."
They cleared a space on the floor of the lobby. The door was now locked.
"Okay," said Cordelia. "A different pile for each place, and order the letters by date."
"Right," replied Wesley. He looked at the huge pile of papers and sighed. "Let's get to it."
Cordelia glanced at him.
"Filing," she said. "Even at the worst of times we can't get away from filing."
They smiled wryly at each other, and began to sort through the documents.
Angelus shrugged on his shirt. His face was spattered with blood. As was the room. But a frown marred his face.
Slaughter. It was supposed to make him happy.
She was beautiful, and small, and blond, and there had been a very satisfying crack when he had finally snapped her neck. She had screamed exquisitely as he ripped up inside her, violating her in the vilest ways he could imagine, forcing her into soul-destroying submission. She had begged him to kill her in the end. Not because of the pain, but from sheer humiliation. To be so bestially abused, and to feel pleasure. It was artful.
Why, then, was he not skipping gleefully out of this room, four more walls witness to his cruelty?
Angelus looked around, donning his coat.
He was bored.
Wesley sat back against the side of a pouf, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Tomorrow we'll read these."
Cordelia yawned.
"Okay," she said, her voice muffled behind her hand. "So we can go to bed now."
"Oh please God yes," replied Wesley in a rush.
They laughed.
Wesley stood, and held out a hand to help Cordelia up. She took it.
"Everything locked?" she asked.
"Yes," he nodded.
They walked upstairs, turning out lights as they went.
"Night, Cordelia," he said.
"Goodnight Wesley."
She opened the door to her suite and closed it softly behind her. She went to the bathroom and washed her face in cold water. She went through the rituals of night time. Brushed her teeth, cleansed her face, rubbed night cream in slow circles into her skin. She brushed her hair.
Returning to the room, she put on her pyjamas, comfortable and soft.
Then she went to the balcony, and opened the doors.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," she replied.
"You knew I'd come," he said.
"You've been here every night." She sat on the carpet, just a few feet from him. The barrier loomed invisible between them.
He sat opposite her. They remained quiet for a moment.
She cleared her throat.
"I'm not going to do the 'You-evil-bastard-you-killed-Connor-and-Fred' thing, if you're looking for that satisfaction." She looked him straight in the eyes.
"I'm not here for satisfaction," he purred.
She rolled her eyes. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, and she drew her knees up under her chin, resting her head on her arms.
Angelus laughed quietly.
"Why did you open the door?"
"Bizarrely, conversation is less creepy than knowing you would stare in the window all night."
"Not all night, give me some credit."
"You've got blood on your face." She gestured to the splashes on his cheek and across his eye.
"Oh, huh, no reflection." Angelus rubbed off the dried blood. He licked his fingers clean.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"Why do you want to know?"
Cordelia shrugged.
"Respect for the dead?"
"She was just some girl. You know, blond, petite…" He chuckled.
Cordelia shook her head.
"What is it with you?"
"What, are you jealous?" Angelus's eyes twinkled. "Want me to kill some dark-haired, big-smiled beauty?"
"You are sick."
"That is true. But I'm not the one jealous of a dead blond."
"I am so not jealous." She sighed. "What's the point? Forget it. I'm going to bed." She stood up wearily.
"Can I come?" He stood too, leaning against the barrier.
"Never," she said. "Now go away."
Angelus laughed again.
"Okay," he said. "See you tomorrow?"
Cordelia looked at him, puzzled.
"What do you think this is? A burgeoning relationship?" She placed a hand on each door, ready to close them against the night.
Angelus shrugged, a lop-sided smile creeping across his mouth.
"It's so not." she said adamantly. "Get over it."
"Then why'd you come to my window today?" he said, voice like raw chocolate.
She shook her head, exasperated.
"Angelus, I lied. You evil bastard you killed Connor and Fred and whoever that poor girl was tonight. Now go away." Her face was blank. "Why did I open this damn door?"
"Because you don't have to lie to me."
She stared at him, giving nothing away. Then she shut the doors. He heard the lock click home.
Angelus sighed, and leaned back against the balcony.
She was exactly what he needed to alleviate the boredom.
Author: Anna - - niannah@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Warning: Rape scene, though not explicit.
Pairing: Angelus/Cordelia
Disclaimer: Not mine, et cetera.
Distribution: Shippers United, The Crypt, Sinner and Seer. Others, just let me know.
Feedback: Yes please. Thanks to all who have already reviewed and mailed me - support is greatly appreciated.
A/N: Set sometime after the end of Season 3. Vague spoilers only.
_____________________________________________________________________
Sheets like milk. She kicked and turned in her sleep, sweat-soaked cotton.
Skin like honey. He stalked and fed, concrete spattered with hurried blood.
She dreamt his name, he drank her. She flowed through atrophied veins, vibrant red. Bubbles of oxygen. He pumped through thick arteries, tingling her fingertips.
Fred was dead. Laid beside Connor, cold in the ground. Cordelia screamed when she dreamed those innocent faces crumpled in dark earth. The Hyperion echoed with grief.
Angelus heard her as he melted into its shadows. The courtyard, still pretty, night-blooming jasmine. Moon gaping down, bright as ill-remembered day. Colour. He remembered colour. Bleached night.
Catlike leaps and he was on her balcony. Her breathing, that heartbeat. Softly whispering flesh-wrapped soul. Three syllables; his name. Fingertips to windowpane, head tilted, he felt her.
She dreamt him there. Skin white as the rugged moon. Face like an angel.
He closed the door on the lethal colour spreading like infection over his star-speckled sky. Slammed it behind him. Walked to the fireplace, placed his hands on the mantelpiece, and stared into the ashes.
He loved fires.
He flung his coat into the corner. Paced about the room. Her smell had pervaded every fabric, every texture. He could not wash her taste out of his mouth. Did not really want to. And he had not even tasted her blood. All this time and never a drop. Never a proffered wrist, never a bared jugular, not even as she lay under him that night.
He refused to force her. Refused to take it unless she held it out to him. And she would.
He threw himself on the couch, reclining lazily, running a paw over his face.
She would.
She flung the doors open wide, sunlight finally warming her clammy skin. The balcony basked in light. Not a haunt for creatures of the night. And yet not even the blazing sun could burn every trace of him away.
Somewhere Gunn cowered in guilt. Wesley shuffled through the morning, sipping tea and fumbling hot toast. Paper spread on the reception desk, scanning obituaries.
Cordelia breathed. Shook her head. Dreams and visions, they were all one now.
Wesley replaced the receiver as she entered the lobby.
"Anything?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Giles and Anya have tried every source and connection. A few possibilities, perhaps, but…" His voice faded to a sigh. "Have you seen Gunn?"
"He won't come out."
"Has he eaten?"
"No."
She watched Wesley watch her. She drew her arms around her body.
"Are you alright?" The tenderness in his eyes warmed her.
She shrugged.
"I'm fine, given everything," she said. "I just want… I want this over."
Wesley nodded.
"We all do," he said. "We'll find an orb, Cordelia. We will."
Angelus held the receiver to his ear, listening. His eyes scanned over the documents scattered across the table.
"Bring any you find to Vienna. Keep them there.
"Yes, there may be other interest. Be sure they find nothing.
"I have faith in you. Take care I have no reason to question that faith. If there is an orb left in Europe, it will be mine."
He smiled in satisfaction as the line went dead.
"What about you? Are you okay?" she asked, walking around the desk and closing her arms around him.
Wesley took a deep breath. She heard it catch in his lungs.
"We could have done more to stop them," he said.
Cordelia sighed.
"No we couldn't, Wes. You know Gunn. Not the patient type."
"But Fred… He didn't have to bring Fred."
Cordelia held him more tightly.
"Poor Fred," she murmured. "But she chose to go, Wes. It's not your fault."
"She's right, English," came a cracked voice from the staircase. "It's mine."
Gunn looked broken. His eyes were dull as lead.
"Guess you were right," he continued. "Didn't know what I was doing. Got her killed. Like I got Rondell and Alonna killed."
Cordelia came towards him. He backed away.
"Gunn…" she said.
"It's fine, Cordy. I know what I've got to do."
He looked at them both, a whisper of a smile on his mouth. Then he turned towards the door.
"No, wait, Gunn," began Cordelia.
He turned.
"I've gotta go, Cordelia! Before I get everyone killed. And I need some time. I'll be back. In a while."
"Let him go, Cordelia."
Gunn looked at Wesley.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Wesley merely nodded a fraction in reply.
Cordelia stood staring from one to the other, her face pained.
"I'll see y'all."
And again he was gone.
He lay back on her bed, her sheets caressing his naked body.
The boy next, maybe. He'd put up some fight. Then the Watcher, nice and slow. Till there was no one left for her but a memory. A memory with his face. With his dead heart.
She stood still, waiting.
His office was empty. New dust had settled on shiny surfaces. Everything compulsively neat; pens, letter opener, files. Dark, rich colours, his natural backdrop. Subtle opulence. His very surroundings a contradiction.
He was not there.
Wesley's voice drifted in from the lobby, that defensive yet deferential tone he used when forced to deal with the Council. Absolutely essential, Orb of Thesulah, a good vampire.
They found the idea absurd. They were right.
Angelus laughed softly. Of course it was absurd. She was beginning to learn. He purred and stretched, pulling sheets closely around him. His smile flickered as his breathing faded. His chest ceased its automatic rise and fall. Slept the sleep of the dead.
She shook her head again. He would not get out. Like flicking channels too late at night.
She took her jacket and wrapped it around her. It was warm, but she felt cold.
"Going out?" asked Wesley.
"I'll be back before dark," she said, heading out into the sunshine.
Familiar sun-baked plaster and palm trees. Trailed fingertips over rough walls, heat seeping into her blood. No sound from within. The silence of the tomb.
A chink in north-facing curtains. He lay spread across her sheets, creamy pale. Not a stir nor a breath. His mouth a dark gash between bled lips. She shut her eyes on him, opened them again. Killer. Remembered the scent of blood on useless breath. Borrowed life.
He moved in his sleep, startling her; an animated corpse. Saw his lips move, but could not hear what he was saying. His eyes still closed, translucent lids hiding the blackness within.
Nothing was his. Borrowed blood, borrowed soul. What was left?
A hungry corpse on a bed.
His eyes snapped open, but she was gone. Twilight softening the harsh light of day. A shadow where she had been. He had called her but she had not heard him. She would not have come anyway. Not yet.
He flicked back the sheets and stretched. Nearly time to hunt again, to stalk the streets to find some unwitting girl, flattered to be noticed by such handsome eyes.
It was so hard to be patient. He would have to be cruel.
"Anything?" she asked as she walked in the door.
"Not yet." He shook his head. "I should think this will take some time."
"So I should stop asking, huh?" she said with a gentle smile.
He smiled in reply.
"Cordelia," he said, standing and coming around the desk. "I may have to go to England. Should the Council have an orb, and – even less likely – allow us to use it, they can't FedEx it."
"But you don't know that they have one, right?" She took of her jacket and laid it on the arm of the couch.
"No. You know the Council. Yards of red tape only to be refused at the end of it all."
"Gotta love that stuffy Britishness."
"Quite," laughed Wesley quietly. "Where did you go this afternoon?"
"Just for a walk," she said breezily. "Needed some air. Are you hungry? Should we order pizza?"
Wesley looked at her for a moment.
"Yes, pizza would be good," he replied.
Cordelia went to the phone.
The west still glowed when he left the apartment. It stung his eyes slightly, but he did not care. He hugged the walls as he walked and avoided the light. Somewhere glittering tonight, with fresh-faced young starlets. There was no shortage of parties in this town.
He wanted a limousine. With dark windows. He would call someone in the morning.
The pizza box lay empty on the table. Cordelia licked her fingers as Wesley popped the last pepperoni into his mouth.
They heard a knock at the door.
"Am I interrupting? You two look so cosy."
Cordelia and Wesley froze.
"Should I be jealous, Wesley? You don't call, you don't write, now I find you here with another woman?"
"Lilah."
If words could kill, he would have killed her with her name.
"Don't get up, I won't stay long."
"Well, that's good news," he said, his voice harsh with sarcasm.
"I heard a rumour. Can you guess what it is?"
Cordelia crossed her arms, her eyes glittering with antipathy.
"I heard that Angelus was back."
She watched them intently. They registered not a flicker of reaction.
She casually took a seat across from them.
"I see the rumour was right." She smiled. "And so it's also true that he killed his brat son, and then your sweet little scientist?"
Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
"Again, accurate," continued Lilah. "Our sources are working overtime."
"Just get out," said Cordelia.
"Not quite yet. There's one thing we don't know. What is he preparing in Europe?"
Wesley and Cordelia merely stared.
"Old law firms in Europe tend to be aggravatingly discreet. You can't even buy information. Do you know what he's planning?"
Wesley's eyes narrowed.
"No," he replied curtly. "Will you leave now?" He stood, a threatening figure.
Lilah laughed, standing also.
"Okay, I'll leave! Knowing that you don't know is at least something." She tucked her handbag under her arm. "Wesley, you are getting more handsome every year," she said, scraping a red nail over his stubble.
She turned and walked away, the click of her heels echoing in the lobby.
"Cordelia," said Wesley, still looking at the doorway.
"Mmm?" she replied, distracted.
"Where are those documents you found? I think now would be a good time to go through them more thoroughly."
Why was it, he wondered, that he could barely taste champagne from a glass, but could thoroughly enjoy its spine-tingling effects when drunk straight from the bloodstream? He felt it fizzle in his belly and laughed. Two dewy-eyed, petite blondes lay beside him, one on each side. Well, one was dewy-eyed. The other was glassy-eyed, and dead.
"Where are you going?" he said to the first. "We're just getting started!"
He clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Aw, sweetheart," he said. "It's not you. It's me." He forced her under him. "Don't worry. I'm gonna take a lot more time with you. You know, you remind me of an old girlfriend." He sounded almost wistful.
Music blared downstairs. It was quite the party. Even if they had heard her screams, they would not have cared. Sometimes it sounded like pleasure.
Cordelia quietly thanked anyone listening that she had thought to make photocopies.
"You're probably right," said Wesley. "Best keep the originals secure."
They cleared a space on the floor of the lobby. The door was now locked.
"Okay," said Cordelia. "A different pile for each place, and order the letters by date."
"Right," replied Wesley. He looked at the huge pile of papers and sighed. "Let's get to it."
Cordelia glanced at him.
"Filing," she said. "Even at the worst of times we can't get away from filing."
They smiled wryly at each other, and began to sort through the documents.
Angelus shrugged on his shirt. His face was spattered with blood. As was the room. But a frown marred his face.
Slaughter. It was supposed to make him happy.
She was beautiful, and small, and blond, and there had been a very satisfying crack when he had finally snapped her neck. She had screamed exquisitely as he ripped up inside her, violating her in the vilest ways he could imagine, forcing her into soul-destroying submission. She had begged him to kill her in the end. Not because of the pain, but from sheer humiliation. To be so bestially abused, and to feel pleasure. It was artful.
Why, then, was he not skipping gleefully out of this room, four more walls witness to his cruelty?
Angelus looked around, donning his coat.
He was bored.
Wesley sat back against the side of a pouf, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Tomorrow we'll read these."
Cordelia yawned.
"Okay," she said, her voice muffled behind her hand. "So we can go to bed now."
"Oh please God yes," replied Wesley in a rush.
They laughed.
Wesley stood, and held out a hand to help Cordelia up. She took it.
"Everything locked?" she asked.
"Yes," he nodded.
They walked upstairs, turning out lights as they went.
"Night, Cordelia," he said.
"Goodnight Wesley."
She opened the door to her suite and closed it softly behind her. She went to the bathroom and washed her face in cold water. She went through the rituals of night time. Brushed her teeth, cleansed her face, rubbed night cream in slow circles into her skin. She brushed her hair.
Returning to the room, she put on her pyjamas, comfortable and soft.
Then she went to the balcony, and opened the doors.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," she replied.
"You knew I'd come," he said.
"You've been here every night." She sat on the carpet, just a few feet from him. The barrier loomed invisible between them.
He sat opposite her. They remained quiet for a moment.
She cleared her throat.
"I'm not going to do the 'You-evil-bastard-you-killed-Connor-and-Fred' thing, if you're looking for that satisfaction." She looked him straight in the eyes.
"I'm not here for satisfaction," he purred.
She rolled her eyes. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, and she drew her knees up under her chin, resting her head on her arms.
Angelus laughed quietly.
"Why did you open the door?"
"Bizarrely, conversation is less creepy than knowing you would stare in the window all night."
"Not all night, give me some credit."
"You've got blood on your face." She gestured to the splashes on his cheek and across his eye.
"Oh, huh, no reflection." Angelus rubbed off the dried blood. He licked his fingers clean.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"Why do you want to know?"
Cordelia shrugged.
"Respect for the dead?"
"She was just some girl. You know, blond, petite…" He chuckled.
Cordelia shook her head.
"What is it with you?"
"What, are you jealous?" Angelus's eyes twinkled. "Want me to kill some dark-haired, big-smiled beauty?"
"You are sick."
"That is true. But I'm not the one jealous of a dead blond."
"I am so not jealous." She sighed. "What's the point? Forget it. I'm going to bed." She stood up wearily.
"Can I come?" He stood too, leaning against the barrier.
"Never," she said. "Now go away."
Angelus laughed again.
"Okay," he said. "See you tomorrow?"
Cordelia looked at him, puzzled.
"What do you think this is? A burgeoning relationship?" She placed a hand on each door, ready to close them against the night.
Angelus shrugged, a lop-sided smile creeping across his mouth.
"It's so not." she said adamantly. "Get over it."
"Then why'd you come to my window today?" he said, voice like raw chocolate.
She shook her head, exasperated.
"Angelus, I lied. You evil bastard you killed Connor and Fred and whoever that poor girl was tonight. Now go away." Her face was blank. "Why did I open this damn door?"
"Because you don't have to lie to me."
She stared at him, giving nothing away. Then she shut the doors. He heard the lock click home.
Angelus sighed, and leaned back against the balcony.
She was exactly what he needed to alleviate the boredom.