Disclaimer: Me: *waves* Hi. Second installment. Hoping it goes over well.
Oh, and thanks for the singular review I got. It really meant a lot to me.
*sniff* JMJ, you deserve a medal of some kind for sitting through this
story and actually being brave enough to request more. This is for you!
Angel: Don't forget Queen C and all the other Dusted people who say they're going to visit.
Me: *smacks forehead* Of course, right. Love y'all for encouraging my twisted little mind. *evil grin* Yeah, so, I still own nothing. How sad.
Chapter 2
The next day, Angel sat on the stone wall outside Sunnydale High. He stared down at the sketchpad on his lap and let his mind go blank as his pencil smoothly swept across the textured page.
"Hi!" a bright voice said in his ear.
He jumped, dropping the drawing utensil. Cordelia grinned, flicking long brown bangs out of her laughing eyes.
"Wow, jumpy much? How much coffee did you inhale this morning?"
"A bit," he replied defensivly. "Not enough to keep me awake through Mrs. Beakman's class."
"Ah, contemporary literature." The young woman made a face. "Does she, like, make you write poetry?"
Angel smiled. "Poetry's not bad. In fact, I like the class in general. Just not the teacher."
"Oh." She shrugged her designer backpack from one shoulder to the other.
His grin widened. "Is that incredably lame?"
"No. Why?" Her 'I'm so innocent' expression took full control of her face.
Collecting his books, Angel shook his head. "Because you're Cordelia Chase, ruler of all things social."
"Your point being?" She was confused. Most boys drooled all over themselves when she gave them anything even resembling attention. This guy seemed almost indifferent.
"My point being you never do anything unless it helps you. Boosts your popularity levels, gains you favors, stuff like that. You're not being nice to me because you care anything about me, Cordelia, you want something."
Now she wasn't just surprised, she was shell-shocked. "You saved my *life*, what more would I want from you?"
"You tell me." His chocolate eyes seemed to capture her, dragging her down.
She couldn't believe him. "Why are you acting like such a jerk?"
He seemed to shake himself. "Sorry."
Dropping off the wall, Angel slung his backpack over his shoulders and headed for the school. She followed and he explained, "When I draw, I tend to get lost in my drawing. Sometimes, when someone jerks me out of my little world, I tend to get a little disoriented and all moody for no reason. It's nothing personal."
"Nothing personal?"
He looked amused. "Are you a parrot?"
"No, I—"She eyed him. "You're a weird guy, Angel."
"As the truth unfolds." He laughed softly.
"Are you always this weird?" she pushed.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I don't exactly have a lot of people who care enough to tell me."
"You don't have friends?" She was stunned. "How do you survive?"
He chuckled. "I get by."
"How?"
He stopped walking. "Cordelia, look at it this way. If I did have friends, would I have been there to help you last night?" When she didn't answer, he sighed. "This isn't a bad way to live. I'm not judged, there are no standard, and I have lots of time for myself. It's probably a lot less stressful than your life."
For the first time in her life, Cordelia had nothing to say. She just watched him as he gave a tiny wave and disappeared into a classroom.
Harmony caught her arm and burst into non-stop chatter as Cordelia was dragged into biology. The young woman frowned, all but ignoring her friend.
It's probably a lot less stressful than your life...
At lunch, Cordelia didn't go to her usual table, opting instead for the more outdoorsy approach. She told herself she was looking for fresh air.
In all honesty, she was looking for Angel.
And find him she did. He was curled up beneath a sprawling tree, reading a small black book.
She sat quietly beside him, careful not to disturb his concentration.
He looked up. "Hey."
"Hi." Craning her neck, she looked over his shoulder at his reading material. Oddly enough, she couldn't read a word of it.
"It's in French," he told her with a faint smile. "My...dad thought I should learn the language of romance." He made a mocking face, shaking his head.
She laughed. "Sounds like a great guy."
"Oh, yeah. Terrific," he grumbled sarcastically. "I've never been good enough for him."
'Maybe now's not the best time to tell him I'm Daddy's little princess...'
Whatever his family situation made him feel, Angel shook it off fairly quickly. Closing his book, he smiled.
"What brings you to my tree?"
Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "Your tree? I don't see your name on it."
He shifted, poking a thumb over his shoulder at the crude angel and name carved into the bark. She grinned.
"Vandalism. I knew you were an interesting guy."
He looked wounded. "That's not vandalism. It's art. It's expression. It's—"
"Going to get you in trouble if Nazi Snyder eyes finds out," she finished. He grinned goofily.
"Damn straight." He leaned back so he was staring up at the sky. "Nice weather."
"Like it would ever rain here." She smoothed her skirt and looked into her lunchbag. "Nothing good in here."
"That's just as well, seeing as lunch is over." To punctuate Angel's words, the bell rang. He smiled. "Art time."
"Goody." Standing, she tossed her uneaten lunch into a trash can. "How's the sketch coming?"
He lifted and dropped his shoulders. "Slowly. The motivation's there, it's just hiding."
"Can I see it?"
Another shrug. "Why not?"
She waited patiently as he tried to fumble in his bag and walk at the same time. When it became clear that he was unable to dig the sketchbook in question out, she lightly brushed a hand against his arm. "Forget it. You can show me in class."
He nodded, looking a little embarrassed, as they entered the classroom and chose seats at the same table. Instantly, a group of both genders uprooted themselves and flocked to their desk.
Angel sank down on his stool, clearly trying to fade into the steel and plastic, but Cordelia was used to this. She gave them all her best death glare (and it was a good one) and the mob dispersed, looking rejected.
She smiled as her male counterpart straightened a bit. "Not comfy with large groups, are we?"
He frowned seriously. "I like my space."
"Right, of course. Mr. Silent Broody Guy."
"I am not broody! Or silent, for that matter." He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Because making random cynical comments is considered the most talkative way of life." She was purposely finding his buttons and pushing them and they both knew it.
He heaved a dramatic sigh. "Do you want to see that drawing or not?"
"Ooh, yes!" She did that happy-peppy bouncing thing that usually made him want to smack somebody. Instead, he dug the drawing out and offered it to her.
Her sigh was interesting. Did she like it?
"Angel, this is amazing," she breathed. "You drew this?"
"No, I photo-copied it," he joked, pleased.
"When? Where did you..."
"In the Bronze, before school. In this class. I do what I can when I can."
She smoothed a finger across the paper. "It looks just like me."
"Good." He directed his happy gaze away from the Cordelia-replica to the real thing. She seemed breathless, and he grinned.
She glanced up. "You've got the cutest smile."
He stiffened slightly. She could switch moods and expressions so quickly and it threw him off. Angel himself owned very few facial expressions: serious frown, quirky grin, sarcastic smirk. That was pretty much it.
This girl, crazy as she was, could look adoring one moment, pissed off the next, and then unexpectedly switch to tranquil. It was kind of scary.
Her eyes searched his for a minute, then jumped to the presence behind him.
"Cordelia!" Mr. Malcolm exclaimed delightedly. "This is fantastic!"
"Oh, it's not mine. Angel was just showing me some of his work." She beamed proudly.
The teacher glanced at the quiet young man. "Angel...you did this?"
He nodded guardedly. Mr. Malcolm's grin widened.
"Fabulous work, just superb! I knew you had talent, but this is...wow." The man wandered off, muttering to himself.
Cordelia shook her head. "He is one scary, scary man."
"Yeah," Angel agreed faintly.
She regarded him for a bit, then added, "He's right, though. You do have talent."
"Thanks." Heat crept up his face and he grunted, trying unsucessfully to force it away.
"Sure. Now do me a favor and use that talent to help me pass this class." She shoved her half-finished still-life toward him. "Something's really off about this chair."
Angel: Don't forget Queen C and all the other Dusted people who say they're going to visit.
Me: *smacks forehead* Of course, right. Love y'all for encouraging my twisted little mind. *evil grin* Yeah, so, I still own nothing. How sad.
Chapter 2
The next day, Angel sat on the stone wall outside Sunnydale High. He stared down at the sketchpad on his lap and let his mind go blank as his pencil smoothly swept across the textured page.
"Hi!" a bright voice said in his ear.
He jumped, dropping the drawing utensil. Cordelia grinned, flicking long brown bangs out of her laughing eyes.
"Wow, jumpy much? How much coffee did you inhale this morning?"
"A bit," he replied defensivly. "Not enough to keep me awake through Mrs. Beakman's class."
"Ah, contemporary literature." The young woman made a face. "Does she, like, make you write poetry?"
Angel smiled. "Poetry's not bad. In fact, I like the class in general. Just not the teacher."
"Oh." She shrugged her designer backpack from one shoulder to the other.
His grin widened. "Is that incredably lame?"
"No. Why?" Her 'I'm so innocent' expression took full control of her face.
Collecting his books, Angel shook his head. "Because you're Cordelia Chase, ruler of all things social."
"Your point being?" She was confused. Most boys drooled all over themselves when she gave them anything even resembling attention. This guy seemed almost indifferent.
"My point being you never do anything unless it helps you. Boosts your popularity levels, gains you favors, stuff like that. You're not being nice to me because you care anything about me, Cordelia, you want something."
Now she wasn't just surprised, she was shell-shocked. "You saved my *life*, what more would I want from you?"
"You tell me." His chocolate eyes seemed to capture her, dragging her down.
She couldn't believe him. "Why are you acting like such a jerk?"
He seemed to shake himself. "Sorry."
Dropping off the wall, Angel slung his backpack over his shoulders and headed for the school. She followed and he explained, "When I draw, I tend to get lost in my drawing. Sometimes, when someone jerks me out of my little world, I tend to get a little disoriented and all moody for no reason. It's nothing personal."
"Nothing personal?"
He looked amused. "Are you a parrot?"
"No, I—"She eyed him. "You're a weird guy, Angel."
"As the truth unfolds." He laughed softly.
"Are you always this weird?" she pushed.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I don't exactly have a lot of people who care enough to tell me."
"You don't have friends?" She was stunned. "How do you survive?"
He chuckled. "I get by."
"How?"
He stopped walking. "Cordelia, look at it this way. If I did have friends, would I have been there to help you last night?" When she didn't answer, he sighed. "This isn't a bad way to live. I'm not judged, there are no standard, and I have lots of time for myself. It's probably a lot less stressful than your life."
For the first time in her life, Cordelia had nothing to say. She just watched him as he gave a tiny wave and disappeared into a classroom.
Harmony caught her arm and burst into non-stop chatter as Cordelia was dragged into biology. The young woman frowned, all but ignoring her friend.
It's probably a lot less stressful than your life...
At lunch, Cordelia didn't go to her usual table, opting instead for the more outdoorsy approach. She told herself she was looking for fresh air.
In all honesty, she was looking for Angel.
And find him she did. He was curled up beneath a sprawling tree, reading a small black book.
She sat quietly beside him, careful not to disturb his concentration.
He looked up. "Hey."
"Hi." Craning her neck, she looked over his shoulder at his reading material. Oddly enough, she couldn't read a word of it.
"It's in French," he told her with a faint smile. "My...dad thought I should learn the language of romance." He made a mocking face, shaking his head.
She laughed. "Sounds like a great guy."
"Oh, yeah. Terrific," he grumbled sarcastically. "I've never been good enough for him."
'Maybe now's not the best time to tell him I'm Daddy's little princess...'
Whatever his family situation made him feel, Angel shook it off fairly quickly. Closing his book, he smiled.
"What brings you to my tree?"
Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "Your tree? I don't see your name on it."
He shifted, poking a thumb over his shoulder at the crude angel and name carved into the bark. She grinned.
"Vandalism. I knew you were an interesting guy."
He looked wounded. "That's not vandalism. It's art. It's expression. It's—"
"Going to get you in trouble if Nazi Snyder eyes finds out," she finished. He grinned goofily.
"Damn straight." He leaned back so he was staring up at the sky. "Nice weather."
"Like it would ever rain here." She smoothed her skirt and looked into her lunchbag. "Nothing good in here."
"That's just as well, seeing as lunch is over." To punctuate Angel's words, the bell rang. He smiled. "Art time."
"Goody." Standing, she tossed her uneaten lunch into a trash can. "How's the sketch coming?"
He lifted and dropped his shoulders. "Slowly. The motivation's there, it's just hiding."
"Can I see it?"
Another shrug. "Why not?"
She waited patiently as he tried to fumble in his bag and walk at the same time. When it became clear that he was unable to dig the sketchbook in question out, she lightly brushed a hand against his arm. "Forget it. You can show me in class."
He nodded, looking a little embarrassed, as they entered the classroom and chose seats at the same table. Instantly, a group of both genders uprooted themselves and flocked to their desk.
Angel sank down on his stool, clearly trying to fade into the steel and plastic, but Cordelia was used to this. She gave them all her best death glare (and it was a good one) and the mob dispersed, looking rejected.
She smiled as her male counterpart straightened a bit. "Not comfy with large groups, are we?"
He frowned seriously. "I like my space."
"Right, of course. Mr. Silent Broody Guy."
"I am not broody! Or silent, for that matter." He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Because making random cynical comments is considered the most talkative way of life." She was purposely finding his buttons and pushing them and they both knew it.
He heaved a dramatic sigh. "Do you want to see that drawing or not?"
"Ooh, yes!" She did that happy-peppy bouncing thing that usually made him want to smack somebody. Instead, he dug the drawing out and offered it to her.
Her sigh was interesting. Did she like it?
"Angel, this is amazing," she breathed. "You drew this?"
"No, I photo-copied it," he joked, pleased.
"When? Where did you..."
"In the Bronze, before school. In this class. I do what I can when I can."
She smoothed a finger across the paper. "It looks just like me."
"Good." He directed his happy gaze away from the Cordelia-replica to the real thing. She seemed breathless, and he grinned.
She glanced up. "You've got the cutest smile."
He stiffened slightly. She could switch moods and expressions so quickly and it threw him off. Angel himself owned very few facial expressions: serious frown, quirky grin, sarcastic smirk. That was pretty much it.
This girl, crazy as she was, could look adoring one moment, pissed off the next, and then unexpectedly switch to tranquil. It was kind of scary.
Her eyes searched his for a minute, then jumped to the presence behind him.
"Cordelia!" Mr. Malcolm exclaimed delightedly. "This is fantastic!"
"Oh, it's not mine. Angel was just showing me some of his work." She beamed proudly.
The teacher glanced at the quiet young man. "Angel...you did this?"
He nodded guardedly. Mr. Malcolm's grin widened.
"Fabulous work, just superb! I knew you had talent, but this is...wow." The man wandered off, muttering to himself.
Cordelia shook her head. "He is one scary, scary man."
"Yeah," Angel agreed faintly.
She regarded him for a bit, then added, "He's right, though. You do have talent."
"Thanks." Heat crept up his face and he grunted, trying unsucessfully to force it away.
"Sure. Now do me a favor and use that talent to help me pass this class." She shoved her half-finished still-life toward him. "Something's really off about this chair."