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Kisses!
Thank you for Going Through the Worst Time of your Life
Perhaps her parents had died in a tragic plane accident. Not in a commercial one because Cordelia did not want the guilt of hundreds of deaths (as if her Father would ever fly commercial) but one of those private jets that only fit four people.
Fred and Cordelia sat by the large window of a cafe, enjoying the mid-morning sun. Wesley was paying for their order while Gunn chatted to the lone waitress. Cordelia would have accused him of flirting with a passing skirt if she did not know that this was one of his ways of getting a feel for the area. Gunn felt safest when he knew the talk of the town; where it was okay to walk alone at night and where it wasn't. He always ended up going to where it wasn't.
It was a small cafe yet held more couches than chairs. That might have been why there were a few students from UC Sunnydale chattering away nearby. Cordelia half listened to them as they alternated between studying and complaining about Professor so-and-so who was apparently a little heavy handed with the grading. If Cordelia could go to college, she would not have been caught dead studying in the morning. She would have been sleeping off another all night party at her sorority. In the arms of the hottest guy there. He'd be older. Wouldn't even be attending college. All soft touches and cool lips.
"Drinks all round", Wesley proclaimed as he plopped a tray of beverages onto their table, "Coffee for Gunn, Tea for Fred and I, and an iced sugar monstrosity for you Cordelia".
Cordelia murmured her thanks as he passed her her order. Containing more syrup than coffee, Cordelia could not fault Wesley for his dig. Her diet had not been the healthiest since her latest prescription of painkillers. They often left her mouth feeling dry with a taste of perpetual illness and overly sweet drinks were the only way to alleviate the sensation of sucking on diseased cotton balls.
"I was starting to think all small towners were weird", Gunn said as he too joined the table and lifted his coffee in thanks at Wesley "Turns out it's just your old friends".
"I didn't wanna say nothin', but they weren't the most welcomin' of folk", Fred remarked as she dribbled honey into her tea.
"They always like that?" asked Gunn.
"In my experience, yes", replied Cordelia.
Wesley, ever the voice of reason, added, "It is a trying time for them. I cannot imagine what it must be like for them to not only lose a friend, but to live on a hellmouth with no Slayer. Patrols must be especially stressful".
"Don't know about that", Gunn commented.
"What do you mean?"
"Our lovely waitress over there didn't know the Slayer was dead".
Wesley removed his glasses to rub the dust off of them with the bottom of his shirt. "That's understandable, I doubt they would have broadcasted it on the local news".
"No, I mean, when I asked her about the high mortality rate, kidding on that I was actually planning on moving here, she told me that the town's got a great neighbourhood watch. Only last week she saw a girl pull kung-fu moves on a grabby drunk even though 'the blonde was like half his size'. That sounds a lot like how you guys described the Slayer".
"Surely they must have been referring to someone else".
"Yeah", Cordelia said, "short, blonde, kung-fu masters that wander around Sunnydale fighting bad guys are a dime a dozen".
"What else could it be?" Wesley asked, "If it really was Buffy, why would they make us come all the way here?".
"I don't know and I don't care", Cordelia declared, "the less we get ensnared by their freaky Scoobie crap, the better".
"Speakin' a which, have you decided what you're gonna do?" asked Fred.
Before Cordelia could answer, Gunn said, "I say you don't do it".
This was a surprise, "Really? Why?" Cordelia asked.
"Ya mean why don't I wanna see you get torn apart by visions again? Cause that was so fun the first time round".
Popping her hand up in the air, Fred exclaimed, "I second that. I mean, the not wantin' to see you get hurt, not the thinkin' it was a fun watch. Because it wasn't. I'm real sad they lost Biffy-"
"Buffy", Wesley corrected.
"-but I don't think it's right to risk your safety to get her back".
"It wouldn't be like last time. It sounds like they only need me to have one vision", why Cordelia was arguing in the Scoobie's favour was beyond her.
"One false vision is one too many," Wesley said, looking like he was just barely able to stop himself from slipping into one of his lectures. "And even if the spell is successful with no adverse repercussions on your person, who is to say what state Buffy will be resurrected in. She may return as a decomposed zombie for all we know. Doomed to forever crave brain matter".
Gunn scowled at Wesley, not appreciating the mental image while he was trying to enjoy his coffee.
Cordelia had to make sure, "You don't think it's worth the risk? That the Slayer is too important not to bring back? It's not like we've heard much news on there being a replacement"
"Why would we?" asked Fred, "If we had to choose between two champions, of course we'd choose the one we care about".
Fred could drive anyone crazy with her need to ramble about everything and nothing. But she also had the uncanny ability to say the most logical of things. Things Cordelia did not even know she needed to hear.
Needing a change of subject, Cordelia said, "We should pick some stuff up on the way back to the mansion. We can't eat out every time and I only brought a day's worth of blood for Angel. Who knows how long we're gonna be stuck in Sunnyhell"
"We really need to talk to him about his taste in homes, man", Gunn quipped.
It was certainly a blast from the past when they entered Angel's old mansion the night before. Cordelia had forgotten how much Angel used to feed into the Vampire stereotype. It was as if he read one of Anne Rice's novels, picked a character at random and modelled his entire life around them. Apart from there being nothing for human needs such as food or toilet paper -which was understandable- there was also no landline and very little lighting. He had claimed he preferred using candles because artificial lights bothered his eyes; an affliction that never came up in LA. Instead of going straight to bed like she wanted, they had had to spend an odious amount of time lighting candles while listening to Fred calculate the width and breadth of each large cement cube before estimating how many would have been needed to construct such a bizarre structure.
At some point, Gunn had wondered aloud how the mansion showed no signs of break ins. The lack of windows and solitary location should have made it prime real estate for squatters and wayward teens. It was then that Angel showed them the two statues on either side of the front door. They were less than a foot high and appeared to be African in origin (not that Cordelia was an expert on the matter). Made of dark, varnished wood, they depicted striking women, one holding a spear and the other holding a large, narrow shield. The pieces were about the only pleasing thing to look at in the entire mansion.
At Wesley's questioning of their purpose, Angel had said, "They ward off intruders. Not enough to stop anyone who really wants to get in, but enough to deter any passers-by".
Angel had left a security system in the mansion before leaving for LA. Made it so that the place was ready and waiting for him. As if he had always meant to come back to Sunnydale. Cordelia ignored the unpleasant press that caused in her chest.
Wanting to begin planning their course of action sooner rather than later, the quartet finished their drinks and errands before making their way back to the 'Cube Palace' as Fred liked to call it. If Cordelia had known what was waiting for them, she would have taken her second painkiller of the day in the car rather than have waited for the privacy of a locked bathroom.
"Dawn?!" Cordelia exclaimed at the sight of the teen in Angel's livingroom standing between two glowering vampires. She could not believe she had completely forgotten about Buffy's sister, but for some reason, her mind had completely wiped the girl from existence. "What are you doing here?"
Dawn ran towards Cordelia. For one mad moment, she thought the teen was about to tackle her like Angel had done to Spike the night previously. Dawn gripped Cordelia's arms, making her almost drop her bag of groceries "You're finally back, we've been waiting forever. Have you decided? Are you going to help bring Buffy back?"
Rather than answering, Cordelia repeated her own question, "Dawn, what are you doing here? How did you get here?" It was a tad bit too sunny for Spike to be walking around town.
"Sewer tunnel, of course", said Spike, "How else would a lad get about this delightful town unscathed?"
"You got a tunnel under this place too?" asked Gunn. At Angel's shrug, he muttered, "We really need to talk about your choice in homes, man".
Dawn pulled back their focus with, "Spike told me what's been going on. I can't believe they've been hiding this from me. Maybe Anya and Xander, but Tara and Willow? They've been living with me this entire time for fuck sake, how could they not tell me?".
Spike raised his arms in mock surrender, "I swear, I've got no idea where she picked up her potty mouth".
"Please tell me you're going to do it", Dawn pleaded, not seeming to have heard Spike, "You have to help bring her back".
One look at Angel, his arms crossed in quintessential brooding showed that he was not going to be much help. It was too early to start another course of sighing so Cordelia held back the one that was building within her. She had truly hoped that she could come to a decision without any added pressure but it was evident that both sides of the aisle were determined to pull her into their way of thinking. She could already feel the tug of their ropes on her wrists. All she could hope for was that she would not be torn into two by the end of all their opposing pulling.
"Come on" Cordelia said, "We need to put this stuff away and I think you could use something to drink".
They adjourned to the mansion's bare kitchen. After dropping off all that they had bought, Cordelia shooed Gunn, Wesley and Fred out of the room, stating she could put everything away herself. She had let them say their piece without the rival team's input. It was only fair that she did Team Bring-Back-Buffy the same courtesy.
While putting the perishables into the fridge, Cordelia said, "I was just about to make myself some hot chocolate", she wasn't, "Take a seat and I'll make one for you too, Dawn". After rinsing off two pots she had managed to scavenge from the cupboards' depths, Cordelia filled one with water and the other with milk.
"We didn't come here for a cuppa' hot choccy, Cheer Queen". Somehow Spike was even worse than Gunn when it came to aggravating nicknames.
"Sure you're not", Cordelia retorted, placing the pots on the warming stove, "You and Angel will be having pig's blood". Her remark must have stupefied him as she did not hear an asinine reply. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Angel was leaning against the opposite end of the counter, his arms still crossed. Ever since the book incident when Angel was going through his period of self-destruction, he had been making sure not to crowd her during tense conversations.
Don't make me move you.
"Will you help bring her back?" Dawn asked.
"I haven't decided yet". From the cooler they bought from the butcher, Cordelia pulled out two bags of blood, glad they had opted to buy more than they usually did. Making the smallest opening in the zip lock bags, Cordelia added her secret ingredients; cinnamon because Angel loved the smell, and smoked paprika because it covered the animal taste without being overpowering. Then she quickly resealed the bag before the blood could oxidise any more and placed them in the simmering water. When she had first started preparing Angel's blood, she hadn't realised how quickly it could coagulate, especially after it was microwaved. The appliance was fine when Angel needed blood for a quick heal, but not for actual meals. Not even Angel could stomach the meat-like monstrosities some of her mugs had become.
"Well- why not?!" asked Dawn, very much sounding the teenager she was, "Don't you want Buffy to come back?"
Cordelia gave her hands a quick wash before adding chocolate powder into the simmering milk (gotta remember that cross contamination). And since it was already out, added some cinnamon too, "For one, visions are kinda a big 'ouch' even at the best of times. And Wesley wasn't wrong when he said that it breaks the life and death rule"
"Oh don't give me that shite", said Spike, "Who gives a fuck about that? Did you forget your chattin' to a couple of dead guys that are over two centuries old?"
"True", she conceded, "But you never spent months rotting in a grave. I doubt decomposition is good for the skin. And let's not forget that you spent most of that time on a murder-bender". Cordelia picked up one of the blood bags and tested if they were ready. She had done this enough that she could gauge whether or not they were the correct temperature from touch alone. Deciding that they were, she took out the other one and re-opened the bags to fit a large straw in each, "I'm still not entirely convinced that you've finished yours. Here", she said as she shoved the first bag into Spike's hands. She was gentler when she passed Angel his.
Pouring out the two hot chocolates was far less hassle, even with the addition of marshmallows. Joining Dawn at the table, Cordelia passed one of the mugs and asked, "Are you sure this is what Buffy would want?"
"Bloody hell, this isn't all that bad" Spike exclaimed before taking another strong pull of his straw. And people said Crodelia was easily distracted.
"Thanks, just call me Chef Cordy".
"It's my fault she's gone" Dawn muttered, holding the hot mug between her palms, watching the marshmallows bob in and out of its dark contents. "She died to save me".
"She died to save everyone", Angel said, speaking up for the first time. He looked about as interested in his drink as Dawn did. Which was not at all.
"But I'm the reason she had to" Dawn insisted. There was a level of defeat in her voice that was far too high for someone so young. The weight of it made her look tiny in the sparse kitchen. Didn't she still have a father? Where was he? He should be here looking after his daughter, not a group of magic-hyped vigilantes who had barely finished puberty. The older Cordelia became, the more the world seemed to be full to the brim with pretend parents abandoning their children.
Dawn curled into herself even more, her thumb absentmindedly swiping at the handle of her mug. She didn't seem to notice or care about the thick layer of dust that blanketed the table she leaned heavily onto. Glancing at Angel's downcast face supplied little help and Spike gave the impression that this was not the first time he had experienced this conversation. Ancient, emotionally immature men were not exactly the best at handling weepy teenage girls. Then again, Cordelia did not think she was much better. Usually, she was the one upsetting people, not the one making them feel better. Cordelia Chase preparing herself to give a pep talk was laughable.
Taking the hand that swiped relentlessly at Dawn's mug, Cordelia squeezed some of her strength into it and said what she wished someone would have once said to her, "I know it's tempting to blame yourself for what happened. I get it, I do. You're not the only one who has had the watch someone die protecting you. That's why I won't patronise you by telling you that you shouldn't feel guilty because our emotions don't really give a damn about what it should be doing. So I'll just say this. Whenever that bitchy little voice in your head tells you that you're the reason Buffy had to make that jump, remember that you are the reason she could make that jump. So go ahead and feel guilty as much as you need to as long as you feel pride too, because you deserve it. Because of you Buffy was able to save the world. So thank you. Thank you for going through the worst time of your life so that my family gets to keep theirs".
It started with a single tear, but it quickly became a torrential rain as she listened to Cordelia speak. In the past months, Dawn had grown used to holding back her need to cry, pretended that she was getting better so she would not be any more of a burden on the people she had left. Now she was paying back her dues in a crypt of a home in front of people she barely knew. She should have stopped herself, gained back control. But she just couldn't.
Cordelia silently fished out a pack of tissues from her purse and handed them to Dawn. She wanted the girl to feel as comfortable as possible as released what she should have long since let go of.
"It's just not fair", Dawn said in between deep sobs.
"No it isn't", Cordelia agreed, not letting go of Dawn's hand. "It's not fair that your big sister had to leave. And it's not fair that you had to watch her go".
Perhaps she should not have said that because Dawn only cried harder. Then again, the world also did not care about what should and should not be. If it did, it would have been Buffy comforting Dawn in the cold, dark kitchen, not Cordelia.
2."I wish we had something to make my hot", Cordelia took a sip, "or should I say 'luke-warm' coco a little more Irish".
Angel smiled at that. Not a big one. A barely there one. But still a smile all the same. He went to the cupboard beneath the sink, shifted a few cleaning products (the man owned a startling amount of bleach) and unearthed a bottle of whisky. He shook it in the air, showing that it was still half full of liquid amber, "There's a lot of things to admire the Scots for, one of them being that they make some fine good whisky".
"Is an Irishman allowed to say that?"
"It's the English we hate, not the Scots".
They were alone now. Breaking free all her locked up grief took most, if not all of Dawn's energy. Energy she could not spare as she had not slept much the night before. Spike had taken her to the room Cordelia was staying in so she could rest for a bit. Before they had quit the room, he had made sure to tell Cordelia that their conversation was not over, his ridiculous coat/cape swishing behind him. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but Spike makes for a great babysitter".
The humour on Angel's face quickly fled in fear of his scowl, "I don't like it"
"You don't say".
"They should have told me he's been sniffing around".
"By 'they' I'm guessing you mean 'she'"
Angel yanked the straw out of his blood bag, "He's dangerous, Cordy", then drank straight from the source. It was probably cold by now. All that effort she put into making his meal, wasted. "I don't care how many chips he's got rattling around his head, he'll find a way to betray her".
Which 'her' were they talking about?
Cordelia took a sip of her far-too-spiked-for-someone-who-regularly-took-painkillers drink, "I don't know, he seemed genuinely worried about Dawn".
"What are you saying? Have you forgotten everything he's done?"
"No Angel, I haven't forgotten what anyone has done", she ignored his flinch, "I've just decided what's more important".
"More important?"
Cordelia nodded, "Yeah, between my grudge for all the crap he's pulled and his help looking after Dawn, his help wins by a mile".
It was the same the night Angel bought her her new wardrobe. When he had come back to them. For a fleeting moment, Cordelia had considered rejecting the olive branch, screaming in indignation that, despite popular opinion, her affections could not in fact be bought. After all, the feeling of being thrown away by someone she cared about yet again had eaten up something inside of her that hurt too much to acknowledge, despite knowing one day she would have to. But then she looked at what he bought her. Really looked. It was more than the fact that he had picked the right sizes or got her the expensive brands she could no longer afford. He had picked the right colours and styles too. Bought her outfits she told him about when she thought he wasn't listening. He even bought her clothes that she would never have bought herself but ended up loving (one of which was the maroon blouse she was currently wearing). Angel must have spent an entire night going from shop to shop thinking about her. She could imagine him awkwardly asking the shop assistants for help, shuffling on his feet like the big dork he was. Trying to make her happy because he cared about what she felt. Cared about making her stay. People had showered her with gifts before but never like that. Never with so much warmth.
So at that moment she decided to choose what was more important to her: staying mad, or keeping that warmth.
"I still say he's dangerous".
"Well, before we go back to LA, you should have a talk with the others and see what they say because I don't believe the Scoobies would trust Spike anywhere near Dawn if she saw him as a possible threat".
Angel bowed his head slightly, a sign that he would agree for now, and finished his breakfast. If he was not enjoying it, he gave no indication. It's a funny thing, this family business.
"You haven't said yet, what your opinion is", Cordelia stated.
Angel lifted one shoulder in a shrug, "I didn't want to pressure you. Besides, you already know what I think".
She did, "Tell me anyway".
"I don't want to see you hurt again".
Cordelia smiled at him, "Great, we have something in common". She waited for the 'but'.
"But, this is Buffy we're talking about".
Cordelia could not help the humourless laugh, "Oh, so it's fine if I get hurt as long as it's for Buffy".
Angel took a step closer, "That's not what I mean, you're putting words in my mouth, Cordelia. I hate it when you do that".
Not wanting to continue this conversation with such a drastic height difference, Cordelia stood to even the disparity some. She took her drink and dumped it into the sink. Angel was right about the quality of the whisky, but she couldn't stomach it anymore, "Then what did you mean, Angel? Because that's exactly what it sounded like to me".
Going for a different tactic, Angel pointed out that, "This is what we do, we help the helpless. You were the one who said that".
"And you said you didn't need me for my visions, that you'd take them away before ever letting them hurt me like that again. Or was that not the truth?"
"Jesus, Cordelia, of course it was the truth. This isn't the same thing, Willow isn't Wolfram and Hart. Don't you trust her?"
Cordelia turned the tap on so its cascading water was at its highest temperature. She wanted to feel the burn of it on her hands to help distract her from the thump, thump, thump of her migraine. "I trust Wesley".
"You know Wesley's paranoia has gone through the roof since he took over Angel Investigations. You were complaining about it just last week".
"Doesn't mean he's wrong. Look", she continued, "Buffy is your one true love, your soulmate, the reason you're working so hard for that Shanshu. I completely understand that" Cordelia furiously scrubbed at all the nearby dishes, feeling the metal wool bite into the pads of her fingers, "but you need to understand that just because she's your reason for existing, doesn't mean that she's mine".
Angel put one of his hands on the counter next to the sink and leaned into her, evidently no longer worried about crowding her, "Is that what this is about? Was Xander right?"
"What?"
"Are you just stalling because you and Buffy didn't get on in Highschool? God, Cordy, I thought you had grown out of your petty jealousies".
Cordelia wanted to shove the dripping scrubber down Angels mouth. 'Petty jealousies'? Cordelia was well aware that everyone believed their conflict was due entirely to her being jealous of Buffy. For the most part, Cordelia was fine with perpetuating that assumption. It did her no favours for others to know what had really planted the seed of aggression between them. Jealous of Buffy? No. Jealousy implied that she wanted to keep her possessions away from Buffy. Cordelia used to be a jealous girlfriend when she dated Xander because she did not want Buffy to take him away from her. Only for her to realise, like a piece of rebar through the stomach, that he was never hers to begin with. That nothing was.
Buffy, the Great Attractor, could pull people in without the slightest effort. Where Cordelia had spent years cultivating a persona that only resulted in superficial adoration, Buffy was all but worshipped by simply being in a room. If it had been Buffy who had moved to LA, there would not have been space in the car for all the people clamouring to go with her. Not one of them would have cut off all communications, moved on with their lives as if she had never existed. They would have been with her as she curled up each night on a chewed up bed, hoping that odd sound behind her head wasn't a rat scratch, scratch, scratching away at the peeling wall. Terrified that she would drown in the ocean her life had thrown her into.
"You think I'm jealous of Buffy?"
Buffy's mother would not have taken every cent they still possessed and jetted over to the nearest country without extradition laws. She would not have had her secretary placate Buffy with false promises of returning soon to fix a home that had already started to crumble. She would not have used her own daughter to distract creditors to make her escape easier.
"You really think that's why I'm not jumping at the chance for another vision to cut me up?"
And let us not forget the love of Buffy's life, Angel. Who even now, after two years of separation and being sent to literal hell by Buffy's own hand, was still willing to risk it all to bring her back. He looked like he was fit to break all over again at just the thought that she might not return to him. Cordelia had never known someone who was surrounded by as much love as Buffy.
"I'm not jealous of Buffy", because that word could not come close to what Cordelia felt about the Slayer
What Cordelia felt was irrevocable, maddening, envy.
There must have been something in Cordelia's eyes that told Angel he was going too far because his brow softened to one she was more familiar with. He leaned back, giving her enough space to breathe again and turned off the tap. Grabbing a nearby dishrag, Angel began to softly dry her hands, making sure not to apply too much pressure to her abused skin. The coolness of his touch soothed the pulsing sting. "Willow thinks Buffy might be in hell", Angel said softly, not moving his eyes from her hands. Not letting them go after they were dry. "If she's where I was- If she was there and I did nothing to get her out, I won't be able to forgive myself. I already owe her so much" his voice cracked as he finished.
It was cruel of him to do that, wear his heart and guilt so freely before her. Making her heart break for him. Making her willing to do anything to see him smile again. His chest-achingly beautiful smile.
Cordelia could hear the rest of Angel's Investigations moving around the mansion. Gunn's deep baritone followed by Fred laugh. She cared dearly for them, trusted their opinions more than she did her own. Even during their worst arguments, Cordelia knew that Wesley, Gunn and even Fred only had her best interests at heart. But for reasons she refused to linger on, there was one person whose opinion mattered more to her than any other, "Alright, Angel. You win. I'll do the ritual".
Shock gave way to adoration.
He hugged her then. Squeezed her to him just to the point of suffocation. Cordelia did not raise her arms to him in return but she did lean her head onto his shoulder. Felt the rough bristle of his cheek against her own. The maddening thumping in her head lowered to a repetitive knock. Angel breathed his thanks down her neck causing a ripple to course through her body.
Cordelia did not know why she ever bothered resisting. In the end, she always gave in to him.