Dead Man's Rope by Starlet2367
Summary: Cordy wakes from a long sleep to find the world isn't exactly as she remembered...and neither is she.
Spoilers: Early Season Five.
Notes: For AbbyCadabra. Part of the Halloween challenge at Stranger Things. ABBY'S CHALLENGE: Insanity, gross disfiguation, excessive vanity, unwavering pride, and Cacophobia--the fear of ugliness. Thanks to littleheaven70 for the quick turnaround on the beta. A trick-or-treat bag full of Lindseys to you, my dear. To Cordy'sBitch for the insider's look at comics and anime. Any time you want me to write you a CB/Kristin Kreuk fic, you just let me know. And to Wang Chung's "Points on the Curve" for providing the soundtrack.
All
this wandering has led me to this place
Inside the well of my
memory, sweet rain of forgiveness
I'm just hanging here
in space
Now I'm suspended
between my darkest fears and dearest hope
Yes, I've been
walking, now I'm hanging, from a dead man's rope
- Sting, "Dead
Man's Rope"
Prologue
"I'm here to
see Fred." David Nabbit adjusted the collar of his blue button-down
and eyed the receptionist, who was simultaneously talking into
her headpiece and typing something into the black Dell flat- screen
on her walnut desk. She gave him a "just a moment" wave.
He'd have to talk to
Angel about all these Dells. The little spin-off he'd
started could outfit all of Wolfram and Hart in better computers,
for less money. And his company actually gave their clients
customer service, he thought wryly, which was more than could be
said for—
"She'll be
right with you, Mr. Nabbit," the receptionist said, breaking
into his thoughts. "If you'd like to take a seat." She nodded
at the row of chairs next to the window.
"Thanks."
He settled in, pulled out his Trio, and hit the wi-fi connection.
Waiting wasn't really his thing. In fact, he couldn't remember
the last time he'd been asked to wait.
But whatever. He and
Fred were friends, sort of. And it wasn't like he
couldn't use the time to check the stock reports.
White-coated lab
workers bustled in and out of reception, some carrying
equipment, others carrying food or coffee from the cafeteria.
One guy walked by with a white paper bag that smelled like icing
and cinnamon. David's mouth watered. Say what you would about Wolfram
and Hart being evil, they had some outstanding cinnamon rolls.
Just as he was
getting deep into technologies quotes, the receptionist
said his name. He glanced up, and for a second it looked like
the streamer was scrolling right across her forehead. "Huh?" He shook
it off, snapping back to reality. "I'm sorry?"
"Mr. Nabbit,
Ms. Burkle will see you now."
"Thanks."
He rose, pocketed his PDA, picked up his satchel, and started
for the lab.
"Mr. Nabbit?"
Her voice rose over the ringing phone. "I'm sorry—she's not
in the lab. She's in with Ms. Chase."
A little jolt hit
him. "Cordelia Chase?" He hadn't thought about her since
the first time he met with Angel nearly six months ago, right after
AI had taken over Wolfram and Hart. But when no one mentioned her
name, he figured she'd moved on, and didn't bring it up.
Actually, he thought
she probably freaked at the idea of working with Big
Evil and went back into show business. Not that Hollywood wasn't evil—hell,
it was run by accountants, and everyone knew they were just
one rung below lawyers--but it was minor evil compared with what Wolfram
and Hart did every day.
Or did, before Angel
took over.
The receptionist
nodded. "That's right. If you'll just take the elevator
to the fourteenth floor, the receptionist there will direct you."
His forehead
wrinkled. Strange. He was supposed to be meeting with Fred
about software. Not that he was ever opposed to seeing Cordelia, but
the girl he remembered could barely turn on a computer. And if she
could have typed, she likely wouldn't. He could still hear her say,
"The only thing I'm typing is an invoice. And not till my nails are
dry."
"Uh, okay.
Thanks." He shrugged and turned toward the elevator.
The fourteenth floor
was a repeat of Fred's. Clean-lined furniture, pale
carpet, sleek receptionist. Like every company he spent time in these
days, including his own. Sometimes he wished for the early days,
when dotcommers skateboarded barefoot down the halls of their loft
offices.
When had he gotten
so damn boring?
"I'm David
Nabbit. Here for Fred."
This receptionist, a
black guy in a tan suit with geeky-cool glasses, looked
up from his computer. "Mr. Nabitt. Ms. Burkle is expecting you.
If you'll just follow the hall to the right, you'll come to a set
of double doors. She's in with Ms. Chase."
"Right.
Thanks." He followed the hall, tugging on the open collar of his
shirt again. Already he could feel the blush building. God, he was
such a loser. But then, Cordelia had always turned him into a social
idiot.
Oh, wait. He was a
gamer. He already was a social idiot. He was chuckling
to himself as he opened the double doors.
The laugh cut off as
he saw Fred, in a comfortable leather arm chair, pulled
up next to a twin-sized bed. Cordelia lay under pale blue sheets,
her dark hair pulled over her shoulder, eyes closed, perfectly
still.
He stopped mid-step.
"Uh…." The room was painted a soft white, with a big
window across from the bed.
Fred turned, smiling
at him, and put her folder down on Cordy's bedside
table. "David! How are ya?" Her voice sounded brittle. "I was just
catching up with Cordy." She jumped out of the chair and gave him
a one-armed hug, drawing him into the room. Around his shoulders her
arm was a tight band.
His brain stuttered
like a hard drive with a bad controller. "Uh…." Potted
palms flanked the window and in addition to the bed, bedside table
and chair Fred was in, there was a round table in the corner with
four ladder-back chairs.
A huge vase of
tropical flowers sat on the table. The curtains were rich
tapestry, burgundy and blue, the kind of thing you saw in better hotels.
David's gaze drifted
around the room and landed on Cordy. She was pale
and a little puffy, with an IV running from the back of her hand to
the stand by the bed. Her pajamas were a pretty floral print that, strangely,
coordinated with the curtains. Someone had put make-up on her
and painted her nails.
"Is she
asleep?" David couldn't see Fred's face through the fall of her
long, brown hair. "Fred?"
When she looked up,
he sucked in a breath. Anguish, fear, confusion, barely
banked. "She—she's in a coma. We've been researching, testing… it's
a huge part of my job, to try to find something to wake her up. But
I can't, David. I haven't been able to—" She broke off and turned away.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Angel just left and--" She took
a great
big breath, and when she let it out, her shoulders sagged.
He blinked at her in
surprise. Fred tended to wear her feelings for everyone
to see. It made her great fun on D&D nights, but you sure as hell
didn't want her on your poker team. "Fred, you're the best there is.
I'm sure, if anyone can find a cure for her, it's you."
She shook her head.
"But until then, what?" When she turned, her arms were
wrapped around her waist. "I come sit in here, not just because I
want to hang out with Cordy, but because I feel guilty."
"Fred, it's
okay. No one is blaming you." When he glanced down at Cordy,
he was struck with how still she was, how lifeless. Nothing like
the girl whose smile made even someone like him feel warm—until she
opened her mouth and said something tactless, cutting and absolutely
true. He'd never met anyone with exactly that ability and his
heart twisted. "How long has she been like this?"
"Since May. She
was in an…accident." Fred's hands twisted in front of her.
"Eleven
months?" He tried to imagine what it would be like to sleep for
that long and his mind fogged over. "Wow. That's just…. Wow."
Fred pulled her
chair around to face David, and ran over to the work table
on the other side of the room. He went to help her drag one of the
ladder-back chairs next to the bed, and they both sat, staring at Cordy.
"It's
eerie," Fred said. "Some days I come in and it's like I can almost
feel her, you know?" She glanced at him, like she was feeling him
out for his response.
He'd spent enough
time with creatures most people thought of as fairy tales
or legends to be thrown off by the idea that someone in a coma could
hear what you were saying. "Didn't I read that the latest coma research
says people can hear what's going on around them, and feel touch?"
Fred nodded,
reaching out to stroke Cordy's limp hand. "Yeah. Which is
why I—" She shook her head. "I usually don't break down like that, especially
in here. But mostly that's because I try to keep a good face
for Angel. He gets really upset when—" Her lips pressed together in
a thin line.
David thought back
to the time when Angel and Cordy had that little office
on Figueroa. They'd been best friends, family even. Anyone could
see it. "I can imagine it must be hard on all of you."
She sat quietly,
staring down at their linked hands. "Probably hardest
on Cordy." Then she took a breath and pulled her hand away.
"Well, we should probably get to work. I thought we might work in
here—give Cordy some company, you know?"
He felt twitchy
being in what was obviously a hospital room, despite the
bedroom-like feel. But he liked Fred. They had fun on game nights and
she was helping him develop the new software. It was the least he could
do. "Sure. That'd be great."
She opened her
laptop, booted up, and started right in on the programming
bugs they'd run into this week.
David listened, but
only halfway. The rest of his attention was on Cordelia.
The rise-and-fall of her chest. The way her eyelids twitched,
like she was dreaming. Was she? Her face was perfectly smooth,
but she didn't look sad or angry. Just…asleep.
Maybe she was living
a life far away from here. He hoped she was happy,
wherever she was.
***
David set his
cinnamon roll and latte down on the bedside table.
"Hey, Cordelia. How's it going?" He thought maybe her eyelids twitched
just a little more than usual. "Great! Glad to hear it. You won't
mind if I work here again, will ya? The lab's too noisy to concentrate
and if I leave the building I'll miss my ten o'clock with Fred."
He glanced at his
watch. Eight-thirty. Plenty of time to crunch the data.
Man, if he wasn't careful, he was gonna turn into a code grinder.
Someone, probably
from the janitorial service, had tidied the room, and
it felt lifeless, cold. Even with the vase of sunflowers on the table,
it felt like a hotel room or something out of FHM. Not the sort
of place anyone actually lived.
Cordy was the only
sign of life. He'd been in with her often enough in
the last month that he'd tuned into her vibe. How he'd ever thought
she'd lost her vivacity was beyond him. She made a great conversation
partner—the first non-geek girl he'd ever had a chance to
really chat with. Once, when he said something particularly funny, she'd
even raised her eyebrow.
Sure, it was a
little creepy sometimes to be in a room with someone who
wasn't much more than a living doll. And the way Angel kept the room
stocked with oversized vases of flowers, or, this week, little Christmas
trees, made it feel like a shrine. But if you ignored all that,
Cordy was, well, Cordy.
He popped open the
laptop and went to work.
"David?"
He looked up.
"Yeah? Oh, hey, Angel." He glanced at his watch. Ten till
ten. "Oh, wow." Hitting save, he jumped to his feet and started collecting
his stuff. "I'm about to be late. Fred will kill me."
Angel looked
confused. "Fred?"
"Yeah. We've
got a ten o'clock. I was just getting some work done and must
have lost track of time." He motioned toward his laptop. "You know
how it is."
Angel smiled, but it
didn't quite reach his eyes. "And you're here, because…?"
David may have spent
his share of time in demon brothels, but that didn't
make him the Demon-American's best friend. It became especially
apparent when one was staring at him the way Angel was.
"Uh,
yeah." He shouldered his computer bag and tossed his coffee cup in
the trash. Suddenly he felt sticky, like he hadn't quite gotten the
cinnamon roll's crumbs off his face. "Well, Fred and I met here one
day to keep Cordelia company, and I, uh, I kinda liked hanging with
her. She's cool." When Angel didn't respond David felt the urge to
babble well up. "And when Fred said you guys weren't around as much
any more, I thought maybe Cordy would like the company."
The smile
disappeared. "How often did you say you'd been here?"
He tugged at his
collar. "Uh—" His voice broke. "Uh, once or twice..."
he paused, "…a week for the last month," he said, looking down
at his shoes. "Maybe a little more." Or a lot more. The good thing
about his job was that you could do it from anywhere, given a laptop
and a cell phone.
But probably Angel,
who had looked more than a little pissed, didn't need
to know that. David wanted to smack himself. When would he ever learn
to shut up? When he looked up, though, Angel's face had shifted.
"That
often?" He looked queasy. Or maybe that was guilt. You could never
tell with the dead guys.
"Uh. Yeah? I
guess?"
Angel's hands found
the pockets of his suit pants and his gaze shifted
to Cordelia. "Well, thanks. Come back any time," he said, in a
tone of voice that clearly stated, come back any time, but get the hell
out right now.
David scurried to
the door, and realized, just as he got there, that he
hadn't told Cordy good-bye. But when he turned, Angel sat in the leather
chair, hands clasped with hers, head bowed.
For a second, he
couldn't do anything but stare. Angel, usually Mr. Large
and In Charge, looked bent under the weight of his grief. As David
stood there Angel raised his eyes. The mask was gone, and he glimpsed
something Angel had never let him see before. Helplessness.
They stood, staring
at each other, for a long beat. And then Angel nodded,
turned his head, and went back to his vigil.
David closed the
door softly behind him.
***
A couple of weeks
later, David walked out the doors of the lab and punched
the button for the elevator. "Not a bad way to make a million,"
he said, straightening his hair in the mirror over the hall table.
He had a Board meeting in an hour, and they liked him to look tidy.
Not that he usually did. Maybe tonight he'd surprise them.
The elevator dinged
and the doors swung open. He stepped in with a couple
of lawyers, on their way home, or wherever they went after a hard
day of slinging evil.
"So he says,
`Did he pick Mr. Bentley up by the ears?' My client says,
'No,' and the opposition goes, 'What was he doing with Mr. Bentley's
ears?'
"'Picking them
up in the air,' says my client.' And the opposition replies,
'Where was Mr. Bentley at this time?'"
The other lawyer
snickered. "Wait-wait, don't tell me. 'Attached to his
ears?'" They broke out laughing and the joke-teller slapped his leg.
David rolled his
eyes and hummed along with Fur Elise, which was playing
over the elevator's speakers. God, what happened to his cool, slacker
life? He was stuck in an elevator with Rob-Lowe wannabes whose
jokes were even less funny than his own. He should just go back to
designing games.
Glancing at his
watch, he realized he had just enough time to swing through
the drive-thru at Fatburger before his Board Meeting. Or he could
call and have Anise order something decent for him.
The elevator doors
opened and he hurried into the lobby, healthy sushi-thoughts
pushed aside by the mouth-watering memory of a King Burger
and a strawberry shake.
"—how long am
I supposed to wait, Angel?" The high-pitched voice echoed
around the grand lobby.
David glanced toward
the noise and saw Angel with his back to him, in one
of those snappy suits. Maybe he should find out who Angel's tailor
was. Wear a suit to the board meeting one night and really freak
those guys out.
As he walked by,
Angel visibly shushed the small, blond woman.
Her cheeks turned
bright red. "No, I won't be quiet!" She crossed her arms,
her face drawn to an angry point. "I thought we were trying this,
Angel. I thought we could finally be happy but—"
Angel put his hand
on her arm and glanced toward the guard, obviously embarrassed
by her blow-up. David put his head down and sped up, trying
to hurry by and help Angel save face.
"Just move her
some place she can be cared for, and let her go—"
David slowed, a few
paces behind them.
"Let's go
upstairs and talk about this in private," Angel said.
"Look, I know
you care about her," she said, lowering her voice. "But as
far as I can see, nothing's changing in this scenario except you. And
not for the good." She put her hand on his arm, and now the anger seemed
to fade to regret. "She's never going to wake up, Angel. You have
to get on with your life sometime. That's what she'd want, isn't it?"
Oh, God. They were
talking about Cordelia.
"Buffy,
please—"
Just then, David's
PDA went off, shrilling a loud, beeping alarm in the
near-empty lobby.
Angel whirled and
nailed him with his gaze.
He always set it to
go off an hour before important appointments, which
was good, because he usually lost track of time. Not so good this
time, because now he was busted.
"Angel?
Hey." He stepped up to Angel and shook his hand. "Good to see you."
He smiled at the woman, who just stared at him.
The silence
stretched thinner than cellophane.
Were they really
thinking about putting Cordy away like a couch they didn't
want anymore? "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but overhear—" He swallowed,
trying to soothe his dry throat. "Are you really thinking of
moving Cordy to a home?"
"What?"
Angel's voice was cold, flat.
Buffy tilted her
head, and looked at him suspiciously. "Who are you?"
"D-david Nabbit.
I own—"
Her eyes widened.
"Of course. Mr. Nabbit." She shook his hand. Hers was
tiny, like a child's, but very strong. "It's nice to meet you. Angel's
told me all about you." Her smile looked plastic, but at least
she wasn't glaring at him any more.
"Nice to meet
you, too," he said.
Her smile widened
and she became an ad for shampoo or toothpaste. Beautiful
California girl. Angel always had been lucky with the ladies.
"David,"
Angel interrupted, "this is Buffy." He looked at her like he was
considering something, then spoke again. "My girlfriend."
She glanced at him,
those summer-gold eyes going wide with shock. "I am?"
He half-smiled.
"You're not?"
Her brow wrinkled.
"I guess I am. I mean, we haven't really talked—" She
cut herself off, pressed her lips together, and turned back to David.
"I'm sorry, David. Angel and I were talking about Cordelia, which
you seem to have figured out already. It's a sucky situation for
him."
David thought about
Fred and Wes, struggling under the weight of unanswerable
questions. About Angel sitting quietly and helplessly by Cordelia's
bed. "For all of them, I think."
Angel looked at him,
seeming unsure how to take that, then did what Angel
always did in uncomfortable social situations. He stuck his hands
in his pockets and waited for someone else to talk first.
An idea struck.
"Look, I know this isn't any of my business, but—" He broke
off, wondering if he was really about to offer to do this. Then he
thought about Cordelia in some room, alone with nurses who didn't know
or care about her, and he rushed ahead. "I can take her. I'd like
to."
He could put her in
the second spare bedroom, the one with the antiques
from China. She'd like the bright red; it would suit her, all
that color, those silk tapestries. And that woman, what was her name?
Rita? Right, the Irish nurse he met at ComicCon, who made all that
cool silver jewelry on the side. She'd be perfect. Maybe he could
even move his office to the house. Go barefoot, skateboard down the
halls, look in on Cordy--
"No,"
Angel said, shutting David down mid-thought. "I'm not letting her
go." He shook his head, shooting Buffy an apologetic look. "I can't."
Buffy's eyes closed.
"Angel, please," she whispered.
David felt himself
start to speak, then bottled it up. The expression on
Angel's face— His PDA beeped again. "I've got a Board meeting," he said.
"I've got to go."
Angel blinked, still
looking agonized, agitated. "Thanks for the offer.
See you around?"
He nodded.
"Sure. We've got to get our people to finalize plans for the
charity dinner for the Sutter Fund."
"It was nice to
meet you, David," Buffy said. She twined her hand through
the crook of Angel's arm. "Come on," she said gently. "Let's go
get some dinner."
David watched them
go, the two of them, a couple, and thought about Cordelia
upstairs alone in that room as night set in. About his big house,
empty except for people who wanted a piece of his action.
There wasn't really
anyone in his life who just liked him for him, except
some of his gaming friends who'd known him before he got rich. Even
Fred and Knox were only with him because of work.
But Cordy had always
liked him, or at least tolerated him. Of all the people
that could have—should have—clung to him, it would be her. An aspiring
starlet, a former rich girl forced to shop at the Penny Saver.
But all she'd ever done was mock him, like a bratty sister, the
way she did Angel and Wesley. She'd made him feel part of something
bigger than himself.
Even asleep, she
still did.
He shook his head
and walked out the doors to the parking garage. She's
in a coma, you idiot, he scolded himself. And she's never going to
wake up. *And* she's Angel's.
But he still
couldn't stop thinking imagining what it would be like to
come home to her, instead of that big, empty house.
***
"So then,
Johnny Depp's character is standing there in the plaza, with
his eyes all gouged out and blood dripping down his face—it's so cool!
And—"
"Excuse
me."
David turned so fast
he almost gave himself whiplash. "Oh, hey, Angel.
I didn't hear you come in." He stood and stepped away from the chair.
"I was just telling Cordy about how I'd rented `Once Upon a Time
in Mexico.' If you and Buffy haven't seen it, you really should—"
"David,
wait."
Surprised, he
stopped. Usually, when Angel came in, David left. The stereo
was set on 95.5 and the Chili Peppers belted through the room. Their
raucous energy was a startling contrast to Angel's stillness.
"Please.
Sit." Angel gestured to the leather armchair, and pulled up a
chair from the table for himself.
David sat.
"What's up?"
When Angel glanced
at Cordy, his gaze stuck on her face. "I've been thinking
about your offer," he said.
David leaned
forward, sure he hadn't heard right. "I'm sorry, did you say
you'd been thinking about my offer?" He waited a beat, watching Angel's
face carefully, but Angel didn't look at him. "To take Cordy?"
he clarified.
The Chili Peppers
bled off into the commercial break, and the fast- talking
announcer's voice filled the air. David waited, holding his breath,
for Angel to answer.
"It was a
generous offer," Angel said, taking Cordy's hand in his.
"And I really think—" He shook his head.
Well, shit. Angel
was gonna turn him down. It had been over a week since
he offered to take her. Why bring it up again at all?
Then Angel took one
of those long, unnatural breaths. "That it'd be best
if she moved in with you."
"Def Leppard in
concert. Saturday, June the second. No one parties your
summer break like KLOS—"
Angel flicked the
remote and stopped the announcer mid-ad.
David sat there,
heart racing, hands breaking out in itchy sweat. "Wh- what?"
When Angel turned,
his face was completely composed, the mask firmly in
place. Perfectly coiffed hair, perfectly tailored suit, the handsome
looks David had always coveted.
But his eyes were
empty.
"She needs
someone who will spend time with her. Who will…." He turned
back to Cordy, stroked her face with his free hand, brushing her
hair's beautiful, smooth fall. "Who will take care of her. And I—"
He broke off and
stood up, pacing to the window. Hands on hips, jacket
flaring around him, he stared out at the LA skyline. "So if you're
still interested?"
David shook his
head. Of all the things he'd expected, this was not one
of them. He hadn't had time to prepare, to get the room ready, to call
Rita. Shit, did he even have her card, still?
Angel turned, his
brow furrowed. "David?"
"I—" He
cleared his throat and tried again. "I-- You just caught me by
surprise, is all. Of course, of course I'd love to have her. She's welcome
to stay with me as long as—" He trailed off, thinking that he might
be tying himself to her for…. Fifty years? Seventy-five? God, at
this rate, he could die before she did, and what then?
She sighed,
something she did on occasion. He always took those little
moves as signs, the quirk of an eyebrow, the extra wiggle of an
eyelid. He stared at her, wondering whether that sigh meant yes or no.
Forcing her into a
sterile health care facility would kill her light. It
seemed wasteful, criminal, to let someone go who'd brought so much life
to the people around her.
She sighed again and
David decided that meant she didn't want to flicker
out, any more than he wanted her to. "I'll be glad to. She can
stay with me as long as she wants."
Angel left the
window and stood on the opposite side of the bed, facing
David. He lay both hands on the mattress, one at Cordy's shoulder
and the other at her hip, and bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he
whispered. "I just can't do it any more."
David bit his lip,
uncomfortable with such an open display from a man who
rarely showed any emotion at all. Then Angel shook his head, breathed
deeply and looked up. "Let me know when you're ready. We'll make
arrangements to move her." He stuck out his hand.
David took it,
feeling the cool, dense flesh close around his. Angel held
on tight, nearly wringing his fingers off, and pain flared up David's
arm. But he didn't drop Angel's gaze. "I'll take care of her, Angel.
I'll always take care of her."
With one, last
squeeze, Angel dropped his hand. The blood rushed back in,
making David's skin tingle. He watched as Angel walked to the door,
looking like a man who'd made a hard decision and hated himself for
it.
Hand on the knob, he
turned. "Promise me you'll call if she wakes up?"
David held his
breath. Was this really happening? Should they sign some
papers, or— This wasn't a business deal. This was one man to another.
They both knew, if Cordy woke, who she would choose. Knowing Angel,
that's exactly why he asked.
"I will,"
David said. The words wanted to stick but he pushed them out.
"I promise."
Their gazes held,
one beat, two, and then Angel left the room, closing
the door softly behind him.
David swiveled
around to look at Cordy, almost expecting to see her eyes
open. "Wow," he said, collapsing into the chair. "That was-- Wow."
In the last two
months, he'd never touched her. Never felt like he should.
Now he reached out and stroked her hand with the tips of his fingers.
"I guess it's
you and me, kid." They sat there for a minute, Cordy still
and silent, David's heart racing at the commitment he'd just made.
At the gift he'd just been granted.
Freedom. Life. Joy.
Moving a sleeping woman into his house did the exact
opposite of making him feel shackled. It did what Cordy had always
done for him; it made him feel part of a family.
He pulled out his
cell phone and called Anise. "Do you still have those
cards I picked up at Comic-Con this year?"
Chapter
1
It was like floating
in white, fluffy clouds. She felt like she'd been
there forever, just floating. Not happy, not sad, just…there.
And then the clouds
parted.
The light, white
with sharp, gold edges, pierced her eyes so she closed
them and turned her face away.
There was a flurry
of movement—rustling fabric, a book hitting the floor,
and then a man's voice, high-pitched and nervous. "Hey! Oh, wow!
You're awake!"
She blinked up at
him, oddly soothed by the sound of his voice, as if it
were a radio left on all night for comfort. "I am now." The words felt
dry in her mouth. When she ran her tongue over her teeth it didn't
surprise her, as she seemed to have picked up the mother of all
teeth-sweaters.
He was patting her
hand, quick little taps, like a Chihuahua dancing on
parquet. "How do you feel? Can I get you something? Water?" And then
he darted off to the table next to a set of glass doors, where he
poured water from a silver carafe into a crystal tumbler.
She thought about
those sweaters on her teeth. "Water would be great. And
a toothbrush. Or maybe a dentist, if you have one around?" Then it
hit her, the thing that seemed off. "And why am I waking up in David
Nabbit's bedroom?" Not that it wasn't a nice bedroom, because it
was. As her eyes focused, she saw dove-gray walls and black-and- red
Chinese bedspread. Even through the cottony strangeness she could see
it was elegant, tasteful.
He whirled, bobbling
the water glass. "I—Uh—My bedroom?" he squeaked.
"This is my *guest* bedroom, actually. Well," he broke off, chuckling
breathlessly, "one of about thirty, but you know, it's my favorite,
and since I figured I'd be spending so much time--" He stopped,
eyes widening. "Oh, jeez. You must really be thirsty."
When he lifted her
shoulders and put the glass to her lips, he was incredibly
gentle. He smiled at her, and his eyes warmed, crinkling around
the edges. He'd aged since she saw him last, and it suited him.
He was still a geek,
though. Too short. Weak chin. Floppy hair. And that
sweater…. Jeez. The man was a gazillionaire and he dressed like Xander
did when the washing machine broke.
"Thanks."
He eased her back
down onto the pillows and set the tumbler on the carved,
glass-topped bedside table. "You're welcome."
Her forehead
wrinkled and it made her skin feel itchy. She started to scratch
then stopped because her shoulder twinged. The muscles felt weak,
rubbery, and just that one small move left her out of breath.
"Okay, that's
weird." She squinted at him. "What's going on? Where's Angel?"
Nabbit's eyes went
sharp, his voice flat. "Angel is out…doing whatever
Angel does."
She'd always
wondered how he negotiated those multi-billion dollar deals,
and now she knew. Of course, that could have just been his dungeon-master
voice, but whatever. The important thing right now was Angel.
"I don't understand. You mean he's out fighting evil?"
Nabbit snorted.
"Riiiight." He fluffed her pillows and absently
smoothed her hair, a
gesture felt intimate—and familiar.
An impatient heat
struck her. "Look, David, I appreciate whatever it is
you've done but-" She tried to scoot higher in the bed but her muscles
didn't agree with her decision and she went crashing back against
the pillows.
David was there,
soothing her, clucking over her, getting her settled again.
"Cordy— Can I call you that? I mean, I have been, it's just that
you weren't, you know, awake…."
She nodded. "Cordy's
fine." The impatience turned to suspicion.
"David, what aren't you telling me?"
The nervous energy
disappeared and left behind a supremely sad look.
"How much do you remember?"
She cast back,
beyond the light, beyond the clouds to…. "Oh." She couldn't
stop staring into those sad, sad eyes. "Oh, crap." It was like
someone was sitting on her chest or something. The breath wouldn't
stay in there.
David handed her a
Kleenex, face solemn. "It's all right. No one blames
you, you know."
The lavender-scented
gray sheets—300-count or better—were so soft on her
cheek when she turned her face away. "I didn't-- That's not-- Oh, for
crap's *sake*." She balled the Kleenex up in her hand and banged her
fist weakly against the mattress.
It was like lying in
that hospital bed after the Great Rebar Incident of
'99. All she could see then was Willow and Xander, macking like the
lovebirds they'd always pretended not to be.
Which was a hell of
a lot less gross than macking on your *son*. Not that
Connor was her son, but she'd been the closest thing to a mom he'd
had and everyone knew it, even when they didn't say it out loud.
David's hand settled
on her shoulder. "They found you in a mall. You'd
been tied up by some madman who was threatening to kill everyone
in the sporting goods store."
Her breath caught.
"I...what?"
"Yeah, some kid
named Connor Angel."
Her brow wrinkled.
"Connor Angel?"
David leaned
forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. "The story is,
you went shopping at the mall. The security guard said he saw this
kid go off his rocker, and then you were there, trying to stop him."
He smiled, and pride flared in his eyes. "I hear it was really cool
the way you whaled on him." The smile disappeared. "But then he hit
you or something, and he must have been really strong `cause when they
found you—"
"That's not—I
mean—What? What about Jasmine?" When he didn't answer, her
thoughts slid off the rails. "What about me becoming demon, only the
demon not really being *demon* but more a Power that Was who needed
a body to…." She trailed off when she saw him looking as befuddled
as she felt. "That…didn't happen?"
He shook his head.
"Not in this reality."
It was like a punch
in the gut. And it must have showed on her face.
"Hey,
hey," he said, soothing her with a stroke of his hand. "I was only
kidding. It's that whole sci-fi humor, you know?" He laughed a little
bit too loud. "No one really gets my humor."
She remembered once,
a long time ago, complaining that no one got her humor,
either. Except Angel did. This was just…. This was a nightmare.
"I've got to
see Angel. Now."
The nervous energy
was back. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" He
tugged at the collar of his shirt. "I mean, you've just woken up after
a really long, uh, time, and--"
"David!"
His teeth pinched
his lower lip. "Cordy, I--" At her look, his shoulders
sagged. "Sure. Sure thing." He fumbled with something at his
belt--she realized as he dropped it that it was his cell phone. He
fished it out from under the bed then stood, phone in hand, and stared
down at the keypad. "Just gotta give Wolfram and Hart a call and
track him down."
She stared at him.
"Oh, my God, they didn't— He's okay, right?"
He looked up, just
as he was getting ready to dial. "Yeah. I mean, sure,
he's okay." His brow wrinkled. "Oh, that's right! I totally forgot.
I mean, how would you know?"
She narrowed her
eyes. "Know what, David?"
"Angel. He runs
the company."
That breathless
feeling intensified. "Runs what company?"
"Wolfram and
Hart. He's, like, the CEO." He shrugged. "The only vampire
CEO in the nation, if you don't count Donald Trump, but everyone
knows he's not really a vampire. Just more like a—"
"David?"
"Yeah?"
Her heart was
rolling in her chest. "Get me Angel."
She heard a click
and the tinny echo of a voice on the other end, and then
David answered. "David Nabbit for Angel." His eyes stayed on her face
the whole time.
Something about his
tone of voice, the look in his eyes…. What was it,
defeat? Regret? "David, wait." She felt out of breath again, but this
time because she was afraid. And she didn't know why.
He pulled the phone
away from his ear. "What?" he asked her.
Going completely on
instinct, Cordy said, "Stop. Hang up. Now."
A furrow appeared
between his brows, but he only said, "No, that's okay.
Tell him it's about—"
She shook her head.
"No!"
He paused, obviously
shifting gears. "—that charity dinner for the Sutter
Fund. No biggie. I'll call him back later. Thanks." He stuck the
phone back on his belt with a trembling hand. "You okay?"
The panic stopped,
and so did her pounding heart. "Y-yeah. I mean, I think
so." Dammit, she couldn't explain what came over her. But suddenly,
something really deep did *not* want her talking to Angel. And
until she figured it out--
"Okay." He
smiled and squeezed her hand. It looked like he wanted to say
something, but then he glanced toward the door, as if a thought had
just occurred to him. "You know," he said, "I should go get Rita. Let
her check you out."
She pressed her
fingers to her eyes, trying to force herself to wake up
and start thinking. Maybe if she got some facts. "Wait. Please." She
cradled her hands on her stomach, feeling at loose ends, strangely
heavy in her body.
He turned.
"Yeah?"
"Before we do
that, could we-- Would you--" What was she asking? She was
so tired, and everything was so foggy.
She sucked in a
breath, let it out, and pulled in another. The fog cleared
a little, enough that she could force herself to talk.
"Angel's working for Wolfram and Hart?" The words slurred some, but
at least her thoughts were still connected to her mouth.
"Uh huh. He's
the head of the company." David sat back down in the plush,
silk-covered chair next to the bed and crossed his legs. His Chuck
Taylors—blue to match the stripe in his sweater—were worn down along
the heel.
"B-but—"
She shook her head. It was like she was falling over the edge
back into that fluffy white space. Only it wasn't nearly so soft a
landing as before. "That doesn't make any sense."
David shrugged.
"Well, it does, kinda. I mean, they practically backed
the money truck up to his door. And who doesn't love the money truck,
right?" He laughed, a dry, cynical sound, and strange coming from
him.
"Angel--"
She blinked hard against the encroaching darkness. "He wouldn't
sell his soul for it." She tried to get up again, but couldn't
even roll onto her side. "Dammit! What is *wrong* with me?"
He put his hand on
hers. There was that sad look again. "You've been in
a coma for over a year."
The air got stuck in
her throat. "Wh—What?"
She felt him squeeze
her hand, felt in stark relief his strong, callused
skin against her trembling, water-weak fingers. "I'm so sorry.
We tried everything we could."
Things started
falling into place. Jasmine's birth. Her weakness. The strange,
floating darkness that seemed like a hole opening up next to her
feet…. "Oh. Oh, God." She grabbed his hand as tightly as she could
and hung on.
There was this
niggling feeling, like she'd left the oven on. "David? Why
am I here instead of at the hotel?"
He took a deep
breath. "Fred— Oh, right. You don't know that, either. She
heads up the science lab—"
It was like that
time Keanu balked at the jump on the second turn in the
Pony Club event and threw her right into the rails. "Fred works there
too?"
He nodded. "And
Lorne, and Wes…the whole crew."
That oven thing grew
stronger. "Connor?"
"Who?"
"Angel's son?
The one who--?"
He laughed. "Cordy,
vampires can't have babies."
She tried another
track. "The boy? In the mall?"
There was a long
pause and David looked like he was trying to connect two
wires that wouldn't quite stretch to meet. "Angel killed him."
"Angel
killed—" She sucked in a breath. No, oh God. Angel. You can't have--
He nodded.
"Yup. Deader than a doornail. Whatever that means."
And there was that
weight on her chest again. She clung to David's hand,
waiting for the whirling blackness to pass. Connor. Dead. Just like
Wes's prophecy said.
Had she dreamed it?
She ran her free hand over her face and scrubbed it
through her hair. Which had grown out long enough to nearly cover her
breasts. "Over a year?"
David nodded.
"It's June 2003. Angel and his crew took over Wolfram and
Hart in September 2002, right after you went to sleep. I found out
from Fred--" he gestured toward the bed. "You know, about the coma?"
A surge of energy
burst through her, enough that she was able to grab his
forearm and tug him forward. Her fingers trembled but she held on,
strengthened by his warmth and the feel of real, human flesh in her
hand. "Why am I here?"
"I couldn't let
them put you in a home, Cordy."
"Angel was
going to send me to a *home*?" In the quiet room, her voice
sounded sharp, loud.
David jumped.
"They were taking really good care of you at Wolfram and
Hart. You had a really nice room, and we could visit you whenever we
wanted. But then Buffy wanted to send you away because it was draining
Angel, the guilt and worry, and I said I'd take you."
"And Angel let
you?" Her voice had gone from big to small in a single breath.
"Like I was a piece of furniture?"
The downward tilt of
his head, the way his eyes slid away, told her everything
she needed to know.
"Angel,"
he said, crumpling his khakis in his fingers. "He said-- Um. That
he was sorry, but he just couldn't do it any more." His voice faded
away.
"Thank you,
David," Cordy said. She cleared her throat. "Please, don't
bother calling Angel."
The promise of that
last night together, when she called him from the apartment
to tell him to meet her…. The feelings of heat, of warmth, of
love, of *possibility*—
She thought of
Willow and Xander, lying on that bed kissing. Of her body,
used by Jasmine to seduce Connor. Of Angel, going back to Buffy while
she was in a coma.
Thoughts of Angelus
flickered hazily through her memory. For a minute she
wondered, what if it's not Angel? What if it's Angelus, running Wolfram
and Hart? Angel would never go back to Buffy. They hadn't even
*talked* in over a year and—
But deep down, she
knew it was true.
She closed her eyes
and after awhile she heard the door close. For the
first time since she hooked up with Angel all those years ago she felt
completely alone.
***
"Hey,
girl." Rita dropped the tray on the bedside table with a clatter.
"You ready for some breakfast?" Poached eggs, tomatoes and avocado,
turkey bacon. The smells scented the room.
Rita's voice had a
way of grounding her. Maybe the accent reminded her
of Doyle; maybe it was the confident, no-nonsense lilt. "What I'm ready
for, is to get out of this bed." Cordy pushed herself up, frustrated
with her trembling arms and weak back.
"That's on
schedule for today, actually." Rita settled on the edge of the
mattress and put the tray across Cordy's knees. She hadn't opened the
shades yet and in the low light from the bedside lamp her short, red
hair looked almost brown. Long silver spirals spun at her ears when
she moved. "You get to walk to the door."
Cordy picked up a
piece of the bacon and chewed, still not used to the
explosion of salty flavor. "God, this is good."
Rita laughed, brown
eyes crinkling at the edges, and patted Cordy's knee.
"It's good to hear you say that."
"You're happy
I'm talking about bacon?" This whole thing was so surreal.
It was like she'd woken from one dream, only to find herself in
the middle of another.
"Honey, I'm
just happy you're talking." She adjusted the tray with her
short-nailed hands. "Now, finish breakfast and we'll get you moving."
Her smile was genuine, warm, affectionate. "You've been doing
so great the last couple of weeks with the muscle- strengthening,
I think you'll be surprised at how fast you start walking
again."
She bit off another
piece of bacon just as the phone at the bedside rang.
Rita picked it up, said hello whoever was on the other end, and passed
it to Cordy.
"Mornin'
sunshine!" It was David, sounding totally goofy, like talking
to her was the best part of his day.
But she couldn't
help but smile, and some of that loneliness dissipated
at his familiar voice. "Hey, back." She put the bacon down on
the tray. "What's up?"
She heard him
shuffle paper in the background. "Working. There's this cool
video game company I'm trying to buy. It takes D-and-D to totally
new levels."
"What, you
actually get to rent a room in a real demon brothel when you
play?"
He giggled.
"Don't I wish. Anyway, I think it'd be a hot seller."
Cordy forked up a
bite of egg, willing her muscles to steady and not splatter
yolk everywhere. "And how do you decide what a hot seller is?"
"Oh, it's very
scientific. I give a copy to my friends. If they like it,
it's a go. You wanna play?"
She snorted.
"As if."
"Don't say I
never asked. So what's on the agenda for the day?"
She glanced up at
Rita, who was rolling a portable double-barre into the
room. "Looks like Rita's gonna teach me to dance."
"Really? But I
thought you'd have to walk first—"
She rolled her eyes.
"David, it was a joke."
"Sorry. That
was me being geeky again, wasn't it?" He laughed self- consciously.
"Oh, hang on." His hand muffled the sound in the background,
and then he was back. "Hey, my nine o'clock is here. If I've
got time, you want me to come home for lunch?"
"Home for
lunch?" What was she, his wife? "Uh, yeah. Great."
She hung up and
caught Rita's eye. "What?"
"What,
what?" Rita asked, throwing a towel over the bar.
"Why are you
looking at me like that?"
Cordy felt like
she'd been dropped down into a family she'd never met.
She should know Rita—her nurse obviously knew her—but all she was
left with was a big hole where her memories of the last few months
should have been. And David? What was up with him?
"He's glad
you're awake. We all are."
She wasn't so sure
she was, but it seemed like she didn't have a choice.
Choice--the word
triggered something in her. A memory of a moment, over
a year ago, when she'd made a choice to stay with Angel, one she could
see now affected her entire life.
And yet, despite the
kiss that returned the visions to her, it was a choice
that hadn't seemed to affect anyone else--or, at least, not David
and Rita. "Rita, how did you first hear about me?"
Rita glanced up from
the barre. "David called and mentioned that he'd moved
someone to his house, and she needed a nurse. I was between clients,
so I came." She smiled. "I'm glad I did, too. I was prepared to
work with you for a long time without you ever waking up. You've been
a ray of hope in my life."
Cordy's mouth
twisted into what she hoped was a smile. A ray of hope-- there
was no way Rita would call her that if she remembered anything that
had happened before Connor died. "Did he tell you how I got into the
coma?"
"Just that some
crazy young man had hurt you. I'd heard about that, you
know." She came to the bed, hands full of clothes, and handed them
to Cordy. "It was all on the news, how the boy had taken hostages,
and was killed." She shook her head. "So sad."
"What about
Jasmine?"
Rita looked at her
strangely. "Jasmine? I think there's some blooming outside.
Why? Are you feeling okay?"
Cordy forced a
laugh. "I guess that came out sort of coma-girl crazy, didn't
it?" Or maybe she really was crazy. What in the hell was going on?
Did she dream it all?
A thought occurred
to her as she pushed her arm into her
shirtsleeve.
"Rita? Could you--and this is gonna sound strange too, so
just bear with me--could you look at my neck? Are there two marks on
it that look like bite marks?" She bared her throat.
"Lift up,"
Rita said, sliding the pajamas down her legs. "I don't need
to look, honey. I've been bathing you for months. The only scar you
have is on your belly." Her brow wrinkled. "Bite marks?"
Cordy thought fast
as she buttoned her shirt. "I've, uh, been having weird
dreams. It's hard to tell what's real sometimes after being asleep
for so long."
Rita pulled her to
the side of the bed and started shimmying a pair of
black sweat pants up her legs. "I'd say that's perfectly normal."
"That's good to
know," Cordy said, feeling like she was sliding back into
the clouds, getting lost in the fog. "Anyway, you said we were gonna
walk today?"
While Rita talked
excitedly about getting Cordy up on the barre, Cordy
tried to figure out what was going on.
She raised her hand
to her throat. Sure enough, the skin was perfectly
smooth.
Time for a major
wig, she thought. Because evidently she remembered an
entire life that no one else did.
Chapter 2
"I've got you
scheduled for an appointment with the dentist at eleven," Rita
said, in a relentlessly cheerful voice, that Cordy recognized already as
her "I-know-you're-not-going-to-like-this-but- do-it-anyway"
voice.
Cordy puffed hard,
lifting her leg and forcing it forward. Her arms shuddered and her back
muscles clenched. "Eleven...today?" She put her weight down
carefully so she wouldn't overbalance and crash, which she'd already
done twice and had the bruises to show for it. "Yeah, right.
Like I'm going outside looking like this."
Rita braced herself on
the open end of the bar and helped Cordy turn and start back the
other direction. This was the last five minutes of this torture, and
usually Rita wheeled her down to the gym and tortured her more with
the weight machines. Her big, brown eyes traveled Cordy's body
from tennis shoes to ponytail. "Looking like what?"
"There's no
fricking way I'm going outside in a wheelchair." Her body clenched, shuddered.
It wasn't just the wheelchair. It was being ejected from her safe
haven. What if someone remembered her out there? What if
everyone hated her?
"You have to go
out sometime, Cordelia. May as well be now. And I'm not canceling the
appointment, so get over it." She wrapped a towel around Cordy's neck.
"Come on. Let's get you changed, and then we'll go."
"I'm not your
baby, needing to be changed." She grabbed the barre and held on, refusing to
move.
"Could have
fooled me." Rita rolled the chair over next over next to her and locked the
wheels. "Get in." Her chin was set. "Come on, we don't have all
day."
Cordy stood still.
"Make me."
Rita's eyebrows
arched. "You really don't want me to do that, now do you?" She glanced
down at Cordy's legs. "It would be far, far too easy."
She huffed. Rita put
her hand on Cordy shoulder and pushed. Cordy fell into the chair.
"See, now that
wasn't so hard, was it?" Rita asked.
She felt exposed, like
the whole world was watching her and laughing. Her hands clenched in
her lap. "Rita--"
"You'll be fine,
I promise."
This sucked. She was
freaking out, and no one cared.
Rita rolled her down
the hall to the elevator, and they glided to the garage. Mercedes,
Rolls, Rolls, MGB--okay, that was cute--VW bus. They stopped by a Mini
Cooper and Rita opened the passenger door.
"You have to be
joking. This is a clown car."
Rita wedged her into
the seat. "Buckle your seat belt."
Cordy sat still,
trying to adjust to being out of her bedroom. She'd just been starting to
feel safe and now--
Rita slammed the trunk
and opened the driver's door. "I just bought it. It's wicked cute,
eh?" The engine caught and the radio blasted Jimmy Buffet.
Cordy flinched and
went for the volume knob. Now the pirate looking at 40 was singing a
lot quieter.
Rita hit a button on
the visor and the garage door slid up. She glanced at Cordy.
"Ready?"
"No."
The little car buzzed
through the open garage door. "We'll go slow."
Cordy held on as she
swung out of the driveway. The car cornered like a motorcycle, hunching
over the curves and blasting out on the straight-aways. Cordy
held on to the Oh-Jesus bar and closed her eyes.
Rita turned the music
up and sang, "And I have been drunk now for over two weeks. I
passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks."
She thought of Doyle,
sitting on the sofa in the office on Figueroa, smelling like bad
scotch and funky demon. How he'd raised drunkenness to high art. How he's
sprung a few leaks, but never lived to patch them up.
And now she was the
one springing leaks. She ran a hand over her face, covered her eyes
to block out the world flashing by. It was all so big, so fast.
Moving on without her like the ocean passing through a broken boat.
Tears stung the back
of her throat. I wanna go home, to Dennis, to my own bed. I want to
stand at the sink and eat Cheerios and listen to Britney Spears.
And instead, I'm stuck
in this car, getting shoved into a world that doesn't want me, that
doesn't have any use for me, that might even hate me.
The car shuddered to a
halt and Cordy lowered her hand. They were parked in front of a
building somewhere downtown, a high rise, all steel and glass, with
a sculpture on the raised terrace that looked like an exploding
star.
Rita cut the engine,
and Cordy sat silently, waiting, shivering, while Rita pulled the
chair from the trunk. She opened the door. "Come on, let's go."
Cordy stared up at
her, at her pretty, Irish face, and in that moment, hated her more
than she'd ever hated anyone. "I hate you."
"I know,"
Rita said, pulling her into the chair. "It's okay."
They were in a
handicapped space in front of the door, the little car wedged between a FedEx
truck and a van with a handicap sticker in the window. Cordy pulled
the jacket around her and ducked her head, unable to look at the
people, the cars, all the movement.
It was too loud, like
she'd stuck her head in a bucket and someone clanged it with a
hammer. She wanted to pull the hood over her head and hide.
When she looked up,
she realized they'd gone into the building and were rolling through
the lobby. The guard stared at her, eyes narrowed. People
stopped, mid-rush, to stare at her, and she waited, holding her breath,
for someone to shout, "Jasmine's mother! Kill her!"
Instead, they stared
at the chair. Just a split-second, maybe not much more than that,
but enough that it creeped her out. Made her realize that she
really was being stared at, but not because they recognized her.
Because she was broken.
Her jaw clenched. She
jabbed the elevator call button and waited impatiently while it
climbed down to the lobby. The doors slid open and she found herself
face to face with a cab full of suits. They swarmed out around
her, glancing at the chair, at her face, then away.
"Poor girl,"
she heard someone whisper behind her.
And then they were on
the elevator and the doors were shutting behind them.
Rita hummed along with
Simon and Garfunkel and Cordy tugged the string in the hood of
her jacket. They rolled off at the 18th floor and into the lobby of
a dentist's office. The smell of strong toothpaste and antiseptic slammed into her like a
fist.
Rita rolled her to a
corner next to a yellow couch and parked her. "Be right
back."
Cordy pulled a
magazine off the table and opened it randomly. A beautiful face stared
at her, the girl's hair dark and thick, her eyes sparkling with
life. Lean, muscular legs, perky breasts, she was the perfect girl.
Her eyes slid down her
legs, peeking out below the magazine, and caught on something
bright across the room. Blocks in a basket, a couple of scattered
children's books, a plastic truck. A little girl sat playing with the
blocks.
Cordy stared at her,
at the plump little body and reaching hands. She couldn't have been
more than three, and Cordy wondered what Connor would have been like
at three. He was the only baby she'd ever loved, and what had happened
between them later--
God, there wasn't
enough yuck in the world.
And then the little
girl looked up and caught her staring. Cordy smiled.
The bright, innocent
eyes traveled Cordy's face, down her body, to the wheelchair, and
the face started to crumple.
"It's okay,"
Cordy said, reaching out her hand.
The baby burst into
tears and her mother, sitting next to her, swept her up and shushed
her. Cordy stared. "What'd I do?"
The mom looked at her,
eyes following the same path as the baby's. "Sorry.
You scared her. In the chair?"
Cordy blinked.
"Yo, you
ready?"
She looked up at Rita.
"Get me out of here."
***
Cordy
fell into bed and pulled the covers up over her face. "I'm taking
a nap."
"Fine. See you
tomorrow. If you need anything, call John. He'll help you."
"Yeah,
right."
Going to the dentist
sucked. Going to a dentist in a wheelchair sucked
even more. They had to help her out, help her sit. The teeth- cleaning
hadn't been that bad; they'd kept them clean at Wolfram and Hart,
and she hadn't been eating anything, anyway. The wool sweaters were
finally gone, which was of the good.
But the way the
hygienist smiled at her, with those pitying eyes.
"What happened to your legs, honey?"
The dentist,
"Physical therapy going well? I tore an ACL once and--"
Rita made it worse
by dragging her to Whole Foods next. Getting down the
narrow aisles to buy lotion, trying to grab a bunch of lettuce when
she couldn't reach the shelf, watching everyone try not to stare at
her.
There was only one
thing to do and that was get up. Walk out of here on
her own. Until she could do that, she wouldn't have any power, any control.
And she was damn tired of being flat on her back and fucked without
permission.
And since she had to
pee, there was no time like the present. She rolled
to the edge of the bed and put both feet down, then slowly pushed
herself off till she landed on her knees.
Crawling, she got to
the wall and pulled herself up. Her legs trembled,
the unused muscles not used to the weight. One hand flat on the
plaster, the other out for balance, she took a tiny step. Her leg buckled
and she hit the floor.
"Dammit!"
She pulled herself
up and balanced against the wall, panting. Sweat broke
out along her hairline. "I will do this." Another step and her whole
body shook, but her leg held. Another, and she fell.
Gritting her teeth,
she stood. Desperate now, not because she had to pee,
but because she wouldn't be beaten by her own body. It was her left
leg that wouldn't take her weight. Again and again, it dropped her
to the ground.
Pain throbbed in her
hip, her lower back. Sweat rolled out of her hair
and down her face and she finally grabbed the doorjamb and held on.
Her breath sounded
like a gale force wind, but she'd made it. Except for
her left leg, she could walk. She laughed. "That's stupid. Except for
my left leg--" She sobbed out a breath.
Down the hall a door
slammed and she froze.
"Cordy? I'm
home!"
She looked over her
shoulder at the bed, back at her hands, clutched around
the doorframe. There was no way she could get back. She was stuck--
"Hey!"
David burst through the door, stared at the bed, and the empty wheel
chair, and then looked at her. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Cartwheels."
He cocked his head.
"Did you walk over there? You look kinda hot."
She laughed, but it
didn't sound very pretty. "Thanks. Yeah, I walked."
"Cordy, what
were you thinking? You haven't even been up two weeks." He
came over to her and peeled her fingers off the door.
"I had to pee.
I didn't exactly want to call John, since he's the chef,
and say, can you stop peeling potatoes and help me urinate? Because,
God knows, my urination just hasn't been public enough lately."
David blushed.
"Uh--"
"Look, just
help me in and I'll do the rest."
He nodded, looking
only slightly relieved. "So, how was your day?" he asked,
in a totally forced tone. His arms slid around her and he walked
her, slowly and gently, the last two steps in.
With his support,
her legs didn't buckle, and she was able to brace herself
on the sink. "Fine, dear," she said. "Now leave. I'll call you
in a minute."
After she was done,
the toilet flushed, her hands washed, she stared at
herself in the mirror. She looked a little more like herself today,
not quite like the Dough Boy with a dark wig. But no one would ever
apply the term "hot" to her unless it had to do with temperature.
She *so* had to get
better. Now. "David? I'm done."
A few seconds later,
the door opened. He stood looking at her, a shy smile
on his face. "I can't believe you walked that far. You wanna walk
back, or you want the chair?"
If she let go of the
sink, she'd collapse. "Chair." It was hard to admit,
but she may just have blown every bit of energy she had on a pee
break.
He held the chair as
she got in and rolled her to the other side of the
suite, to the gray leather couch. She crawled out and collapsed onto
the cushions. "Rita made me go out. I got my teeth cleaned. I couldn't
reach the lettuce. I made a baby cry. How about you?"
David's eyebrows
rose. "Not nearly so exciting. I worked out a few bugs
on that new software, tried to read through a board package-- they
should be called b-o-r-e-d packages, let me tell you. Then I did some
research." He grinned at her. "You made a baby cry? You're mean."
She jabbed him with
her finger. "Am not. It was the chair."
Something about the
way his smile lit his funny face made the crappy day
not quite so crappy. She couldn't help but grin back.
"You wanna
order pizza?" he asked.
"Only if half
is veggie."
David smiled and
reached for his Trio. "Deal."
***
"It's so nice
out here," Cordelia said. She and David sat on the patio
off her room, watching the sun set over the ocean. David's house,
from what she had seen of it, was a concrete, steel and glass structure
that hugged the hillside above Malibu. He'd put her on the side
facing the water, so that when she sat at the table next to the doors,
she had the best view.
David looked up from
the latest issue of Wired on his PDA. "It's great,
isn't it?" He stared out at the sunset, bursts of red and gold over
the spangled water. "I never came out here till you moved in. I almost
forgot about the view."
Cordelia rolled her
eyes and wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck.
"Only you would move into a house with a multi-million dollar view,
and wind up spending more screen time than back-yard time." She rolled
her wheelchair away from the table and left the remains of dinner
behind.
Since she'd awakened
a month ago, and had finally gotten strong enough
to wheel the chair on her own, David had the path off the patio
fitted with pavers so she could move around the yard.
David laid his
little computer down and followed her. "Well, you know,
all that screen time is what got me where I am today," he said, coming
up behind her so he could push her along.
"Why'd you buy
this house, anyway?"
The gravel crunched
under the tires and a light breeze blew. The jacaranda
trees fluttered in the evening breeze. "You really wanna know?"
She looked over her
shoulder at him. "Yeah."
"One of the
guys from Kiss owned it. I thought it was cool, so I bought
it."
Cordy couldn't
believe it. "You bought a Riker-designed house because someone
from *Kiss* owned it?"
His eyebrows went
up. "Who's Riker?"
Cordy shook her head
and turned around. "Because Kiss is a much better
conversation-starter than Riker."
David laughed, that
oddly self-effacing laugh. "Well, yeah. I need every
ounce of cool I can get."
They rolled along
the path and Cordy thought about what it was like to
be cool. To be the one everyone looked up to.
Hardly her life
anymore.
In the last two
weeks it had become a nightly ritual. Dinner together,
then a turn around the yard. Compared to her life before, it
felt isolated, strange. She was used to walking everywhere, doing for
herself. And she was used to doing it in middle-class surroundings.
Once in her life
she'd have felt right at home in David's wealth; it would
have been no less than she deserved. Now she just felt useless, out
of place.
She couldn't even
look at her legs. They were like a sick person's legs,
pale and spindly. All her bones stuck out in the wrong places. Her
boobs sagged. Her skin was pasty.
She was her worst
fricking nightmare and boy, did she appreciate the irony
that she'd finally gotten what she'd always wanted...and she didn't
have her health, or the desire to enjoy it.
She glanced over her
shoulder and saw David waiting for her to say something.
"I don't think perving over hentai counts toward your corporate
earnings."
His face lit.
"Hey, I only go to those sites for the game reviews."
Cordy snorted.
"Oh, please, I saw your favorites list. 'Naughty Dickgirls
on Ice'?"
It was good exercise
for her to roll the chair, but Rita had busted Cordy's
ass in workout today, so she figured it wouldn't hurt to let David
drive for awhile. It wasn't like her legs were going anywhere, anyway.
He rolled her off
the sidewalk and onto one of the smaller, gravel paths.
The wheels sunk and he laughed. "Note to self: buy Cordelia her
own laptop so she'll leave mine alone."
She held on as he
backed up a few steps and came at the chair full force.
With a bump, she was moving again, flying over the path.
By the time they
made it to the fountain, he was out of breath. "I always
thought wheelchairs were for the old and deformed," he said.
"But this one's actually fun." He was glowing from the exertion and
his eyes were bright and happy. "I should get one, too. That way, we
could have races and stuff."
She'd come across a
tiny hockey jersey and sticks after Connor was taken.
Gunn told her how he and Angel had played in the lobby, how they
broke a window. How many times had they all played together down there?
Video games, board games, hunt the vamp, with Fred as vamp- bait?
God, she missed her
family. It hurt in ways she'd never imagined that they
didn't seem to miss her. No one called to check on her. No one came
by. She was stuck by herself with virtual strangers, cut off from
her world. Cut off from her body.
"I like seeing
you like this," he said. "You seem a little better every
day."
"Uh huh,"
she said, barely even registering what he'd said.
He lay back on the
bench and stared up at the darkening sky. "I'd gotten
boring, you know?"
She stared out at
the sunset. "Boring? You?" She couldn't stop thinking
about the hotel. About Angel, smiling at her as she came through
the doors. About Wes's tea set and Connor's diaper bag.
David cut his eyes
at her. "This from, Miss I-go-to-bed-with-a-book- at-eight?"
She glanced at him.
The dimming golden light hit his face,
highlighting his
eyes. "Hey, coma girl, here! I have an excuse for being
boring. You don't."
"Must be
genetic, or something. Anyway, I'd just been wishing for the days
when I was young and carefree. And there you were, offering me a chance
to be, well, young and carefree."
Her forehead
wrinkled. "David, did I not mention I was in a coma? How,
exactly does taking care of a comatose patient equal young and carefree?"
He sat up and
propped his elbows on his knees. "Hell if I know. I just
figured it was you, you know, your energy and stuff. You always accepted
me, never came around asking for money."
"I thought
about propositioning you once," she said, letting some of her
anger snap loose. "Then I decided you were too boring."
Hurt flashed across
his face. "Everyone wants a piece of me. What can I
say?"
And now she felt
like she'd squashed a puppy. "I'm sorry, David. That came
out wrong." She turned her face toward the fountain so she wouldn't
have to look at him. "Ever since I...came back, I've been feeling
strange. You know? Like I'm not supposed to be here. Like I don't
have a purpose."
He rolled off the
fountain and knelt at her feet. "That's stupid. You have
more purpose than--"
"Than who?
Starving children in Africa? David, look at me!" She tugged
at her hair. "I'm a freak! I'm ugly! My family doesn't even want
me."
He winced.
"And my visions
are gone. My mission. I'm a lump in a wheelchair, taking
your money, living in your house. For what? Really, for *what*?
You should have let them put me in that home!"
That hurt look was
back. "You don't get it, do you?" He shook his head.
"Even when you were asleep, you made my life better. It sounds stupid,
but I felt like I could talk to you, no matter what. Like you heard
me."
She laughed
bitterly. "I was asleep, David! You were talking to coma girl!"
"You don't
think I know that?" He stood, paced to the fountain. "You all
think I'm just some-- some emotional retard. You think, 'poor David,
he's such a loser,' and you're right, you know?"
"Dav--"
"Just shut up!
Cordelia, all right? Shut up." He turned and paced back
to her, standing tall in the soft breeze. The light silhouetted him,
and for the first time she saw him as someone other than weak, ineffectual
David. "You made me feel like I was part of something bigger
than myself. Before the coma, I mean. When I knew you before, you
were the only person who didn't want me for my money, who treated me
normal. And when I saw the chance to help you, I took it."
He whirled and
stared out across the hills to the sparkling rise of ocean.
"Maybe that was the desperate act of a loser. But it's what I did."
She sat, stunned.
"David, I--"
"You know,
let's just go back to the house. I've got a ton of meetings
tomorrow I need to get ready for."
Cordy bit her lip,
desperate to say something that would make it better.
"I'd say I'm sorry, but I think we were both telling the truth."
He heaved her across
the gravel, taking his time getting the chair rolling.
"It's fine, Cordy. Really."
The trip back to the
house was agonizingly slow. She found herself missing
the flight over the gravel, his laughter. When he got her to the
patio, he parked the chair carefully next to the table and stepped
away. "You can get in by yourself, right?"
It was deep purple
now, and hard to see his face. That sense of isolation
was back, stronger than ever. "Yeah."
He went through the
doors and she saw him silhouetted against the sheers.
He didn't stop, just walked out of her sight, and she heard the
door to her bedroom close.
Cordy banged her
fist against her leg. "Way to go, dumbass. Piss off your
meal ticket. You'll be rolling into a homeless shelter any day now."
But she knew it was
more than that. What David said meant something to
her. She didn't know what she was here for, but David's faith gave her
something to cling to.
She stared out at
the lights, twinkling awake in the city below.
Chapter 3
"Cordy, could I
see you for a moment?" It was David, at the door to her room, sounding
very formal. Obviously he was still pissed about last night.
She put her book on
the bedside table and sat up against he pillows. "Sure, come in."
He stuck his hands in
his pockets and looked everywhere but at her. "It's my
turn to host game night."
"That sounds like
fun," she said. "Anyone I know coming?"
He cut his eyes at
her. "That's kind of it. Knox is coming, and he's bringing Fred."
Cordy had been joking,
trying to draw him out. She never expected the answer to be yes.
"Well, that's-- Huh." She stared down at her legs, wasted sticks under
the plush comforter, and tried to imagine facing anyone from her former
life. Even though she'd desperately wanted them to come.
"She asked about
you. She wanted to come see you. Actually, she's wanted to several,
times, but I keep putting her off."
A flash of anger burst
in her chest. "Really? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't
know," he said, defensively. "Look, what do you want to do about it? I can't keep
her away. It would be too strange."
Cordy twisted the
sheet between her fingers. What if Fred knew about the other life? Would
Angel know, too? Her stomach clenched. She couldn't face him yet,
not like this. "Fred can't keep a secret to save her life. There's
no way she can see me."
He stared toward the
double doors toward the garden. "Maybe you could pretend to still be
asleep."
Her heart jumped.
"What?"
David stuck his hands
in the pockets of his khakis. "You know, pretend to be in a
coma. You wanted to act once, right? Now's your chance."
She couldn't tell if
he was being sarcastic or not. But he was right. Much as it creeped her
out, it was the only way. And maybe she could get him to mention
something that would clue her in as to what Fred knew. "When are
they coming?"
"Eight
o'clock."
This would be so much
easier if she'd just see Angel. But the thought of facing him, looking
like this, when he had a whole, healthy Buffy by his side.... And
even more, what if he didn't remember. Or, oh, God. What if he did?
She nodded. "I'll do it."
"Great," he
said. His hand was on the doorknob when she called his name. He turned.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. I
don't think I've really said that, yet." She smiled at him, realizing for the
first time just how truly grateful she was that he'd rescued her.
His face, set in hard
lines, softened slightly. "You're welcome."
"Hey, David.
How's tricks?" Rita bustled through the door, nearly running him down.
He nodded at Rita,
then turned back to Cordy. "I'll see you tonight?"
She nodded. "Rita
and I will get it all set up. Don't worry about a thing."
"Yeah," Rita
said, helping Cordy stand. "We'll set it all up. What are we setting
up?"
***
"I still don't
like it," Rita said, as she inserted the IV needle into the back of
Cordy's hand.
Cordy grimaced at the
sharp jab. "Really? From the way you're poking me with that thing,
I'd never have guessed." Cordy smoothed the collar of her satin
pajamas and settled against the pillows.
"Ha ha."
Rita adjusted the drip. It was the same thing Cordy had been getting before:
nutrients and water. She figured it was the safest to make the whole set-up
look as real as possible.
Cordy watched as Rita
taped the needle down. Getting her to agree had been a bitch. She
thought Cordy should be happy to be awake, and didn't understand why
she'd want to lie to her friends.
Cordy explained that
she wasn't ready to see them yet--she wanted to be walking again, full
strength, before she presented herself to the world. That much was
true.
It was the part about
that other life that she didn't mention.
A vase of jasmine sat
by the bedside, its slick-sweet scent permeating the air. "Smells like a funeral
parlor in here," Rita said.
"You don't think
it's nice to have flowers for my friend's visit?"
Rita huffed and picked
up her journal and her fountain pen. "I'm gonna write about you
tonight, missy. You and your lying ways." She waved the leather book
at Cordy. Even from here, Cordy could see her fingers were tipped
blue with the ink.
"You work for a
computer geek, and yet you refuse to do anything on screen," Cordy
said, hoping to change the subject.
"Don't think you
can placate me by changing the subject. I'll be back at nine to take your
IV out," Rita said. "I should just leave it in there all night."
Cordy's hand was still
sore and bruised from wearing the IV for all those months. And it
ached now, having the needle back in. "You wouldn't."
"I might."
Then her face softened. "I don't know what you think you have to prove to these
people, Cordelia. I thought they were your family."
"I did,
too," Cordy said, looking down at her hand. When she looked up, Rita was gone and
she was alone in the room.
She stared at the
jasmine on the table, which she'd finally decided was safer than having
David try to bring the subject up. No way David could make it through
without leaning over her and yelling, "Line!" Plus, she'd have to
explain why she wanted him to bait Fred, and nothing she thought of
seemed plausible.
Hopefully she could
carry off enough of a lie that Fred would believe she was still asleep.
She heard voices in the hall and stiffened. This was it.
Closing her eyes, she
tried to even her breath, make herself look at peace. Just as the
door swung open she realized that her Vogue lay open on the bed next
to her.
"Wow, her room's
really nice," Fred said.
Crap. Maybe she
wouldn't notice the magazine.
"Smells good,
too. Is that jasmine?" The carpet muffled the sound of her footsteps, but
when she spoke again, Cordy could tell she was standing by the table.
"Mmm, I love jasmine. I knew someone named Jasmine once--"
Cordy tensed.
"Really?"
David asked. "It's an unusual name."
Fred laughed.
"Unusual for Texas, I can assure you. She was in my fifth grade
class," she said, and her voice moved back toward the bed.
Cordy blew out a long,
slow breath and willed her heart to slow down.
Long, slim fingers
gripped hers. "Cordy? It's me, Fred. It's so good to see you. You look
wonderful."
There was the sound of
rustling cloth as Fred settled into the chair. "She looks
much better, David. Not nearly so puffy."
"Uh huh,"
David said.
Cordy forced her face
to stay in that blank, relaxed mode.
"You wouldn't
believe how busy we've been. Wes is Mr. Efficiency. His department always gets
its reports in before deadline. And Gunn?" She laughed. "You
should see him now, all lawyerly." She leaned closer and said, under her
breath, "He looks pretty fine in those suits, let me tell you."
The stuff about Wes
she could easily believe. But Gunn? Lawyerly? Cordy felt her
forehead wrinkle and immediately tried to smooth it
"Oh, look, a
Vogue!" Cordy felt a weight on her body as Fred leaned across her, and tried
not to stiffen. "Were you reading to her, David? That's so
sweet!"
"Uh...yeah. She
likes the part about the, uh, you know, fashion stuff?"
The magazine hit the
bedside table with a flat slap. "She always dressed so well. I
looked up to her, you know? She was so beautiful, such a great dresser,
and now she's...."
Cordy's hand
tightened.
"Wow! She grabbed
my hand!"
David cleared his
throat. "Uh, yeah, she's been doing that some lately."
"Maybe it means
she's waking up."
"Maybe. Look, I
gotta run down to the game room and make sure everything's set up.
Just buzz Rita on the phone when you're done and she'll come finish
with Cordy for the night."
"Okay, excellent.
Thanks, David. I've been wanting to see her, but I didn't want to
intrude."
"No problem. See
you in a bit."
He must have gone
because Fred said, "I didn't want to say it in front of him, but
Angel really misses you. He doesn't show it much, but sometimes, if I
catch him alone-- Anyway. He and Buffy seem to be having some trouble.
Not that I'm glad about that. I like Buffy. I just always thought
you and he had something special."
She sighed and let go
of Cordy's hand. Cordy heard her shift, and then felt her
hairbrush pulling through her hair. Okay, that was totally annoying. But
Fred probably thought they were bonding.
"I never thought
I'd be working at Wolfram and Hart. I mean, we always talked about
how evil they were. But now that I'm there, I see they're just people,
you know? Doing a job. And they have great cinnamon rolls!
"Don't get me
wrong, I haven't stopped working on a cure for you. Wes and I are still poring
over all the research we can find. It's just that it's taking so
long, and sometimes I feel like, no matter what I do it's not
enough."
She fell silent.
"Do you ever feel that way? Like what you do isn't enough?" Fred
laughed. "Of course you don't. You're Cordy. Even in a coma you have rich
guys falling all over you to make your life perfect. I swear, if I
ever got in a coma, I'd end up at the VA hospital with the old
guys with no legs."
It was scary that
she'd actually followed that, Cordy thought. Fred's circular logic was
familiar and soothing, like the feel of the brush tugging through her
hair had become. Cordy actually found herself sad when Fred put the
brush away and stopped talking.
They sat in silence
for a few minutes, and the Fred spoke. "I miss you. I always knew you
were the heart, you know? But I didn't realize that you were also the
conscience." Her voice dropped. "Angel-- He's doing how he knows
best. And God knows, having all that pressure on him has to be hard.
But sometimes...."
She paused and took a
breath. "He crosses lines I don't think he should cross. Lines
you wouldn't let him cross. Like that time he killed the black ops
man? I mean, I know he was evil, but still."
It took everything
Cordy had in her to stay still, to not sit up and go, "WHAT?"
"I just can't
talk to anyone about it. Gunn's too busy lawyering, and Wes is too busy
running his department, and Lorne's too busy eating at chichi restaurants
with movie stars. Everyone seems really happy, but me. I go home at
night sometimes and cry. Because as good as the money is? I miss our
other life."
Maybe pretending to be
sick wasn't such a good idea. She was getting a picture of a group
that had lost its mission, its soul. How had they ended up working
at Wolfram and Hart, anyway? God, she so wanted to ask Fred that. To
find out what she remembered.
"Oh, wow. Look at
the time." Cordy heard her stand and then felt the brush of Fred's lips
on her forehead. "I have to go. Can I come see you again? I've missed
our talks. I know Angel's missed his. I think he's wanted to come,
but doesn't feel like he can do that to Buffy, you know?"
Fred squeezed her
hand. "David's taking good care of you. I'm glad to see that. And I should
so go, but I hate to." She took a deep breath. "Okay,
I'm going. What was your nurse's name again? Oh, right, Rita."
Fred fumbled with the buttons on the phone. "Rita? It's Fred. I'm done in here
now."
"I'll be right
there, Fred." Rita's voice was as bright as if she'd been sitting in the
same room with them.
"Thanks. So,
okay," Fred said, and even without looking Cordy knew she was talking to her
again. "Talk to you soon? God, Fred, just leave. It's not like
she can hear you."
Cordy counted to sixty
before she opened her eyes. "Actually, she can," she
whispered.
***
Cordy sat at the table
staring out the window at the rain. It came down in sheets,
beating against the windows, blowing back against itself, and turning
the world your basic, non-fashionable gray.
"Perfect,"
she said, frowning. Just what she needed. One of those rare summer storms.
After Fred's confessions last night, she felt pulled in two
directions, and totally depressed. The last thing she wanted was to look out
the window and see a reflection of her own, pissy mood.
She stood on her
crutches and turned toward the living area of her suite. "Ah!
David, you scared me."
He stood just inside
the bedroom door, watching her. "Yeah. Sorry."
"What's up?"
Okay, this was weird. Why was he looking at her like that? "How was
game night?"
"It was
fine." He frowned at her. "Why didn't you tell me you missed your birthday?"
Cordy's forehead
wrinkled. "What?"
"Your birthday.
You missed it while you were in the coma, and you never told me."
She shook her head.
"I don't know. I mean, I thought about it, but--" Now she was feeling
flustered. "What's this about, anyway? You're not still pissed, are you?
Because--"
"Fred told me
last night," he said, the frown deepening.
Fred knew when her
birthday was? Cordy thought back to the year before when-- Her
stomach clenched.
"Cordy?"
She shook her head to
clear it. "Huh?"
David stepped into the
room, and she saw that he was dressed for the damp day in gray jeans
and a burgundy cotton sweater, with a gray T- shirt underneath. He
held a red plastic bag from the Virgin Megastore.
He took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you the other night. And I'm sorry you
missed your birthday. And--" He pulled something out of the bag and
handed it to her. "Here."
And suddenly she was
in the Hyperion lobby. "Oh, wanting. Wanting presents!" she'd
said, and they'd all gathered around, with a cake and presents wrapped
with too-much tape.
And Angel. He'd been
such a dork, shuffling on his feet, talking about champions and
important stuff. She hadn't been paying much attention because she
was distracted by presents and baby snuggles.
The memory faded, and
she found herself staring down at David's gift. She sat on the couch,
lay the crutches down beside her, and took it from him. "It's--
It's from Tiffany." She held a little blue bag, and in it she could see a
small box, about the size of the one Angel gave her last year.
"Yeah,"
David said, breaking into her thoughts. "Anise said that girls like stuff from
Tiffany, so I had them open the store for me this morning and I
picked it out." He smiled at her, the same hopeful, anxious look
Angel had worn.
Angel had said,
"Who's more important than--"
She realized now that
she'd never opened his gift. Between the vision, and Skip and
what she now knew was Jasmine....
"Aren't you gonna
open it?"
"Oh, oh
sure." She pulled the box out of the bag. "The last time I got something from
Tiffany was my sixteenth birthday. I'd almost forgotten what the box
looked like." She forced herself to smile. "Thank
you."
And then there'd been
Connor, smelling like milky formula and the Crabtree & Evelyn
baby soap she bought for him. He was a warm, sweet weight in her arms.
She'd been holding him
when the vision hit-- "Take the baby."
"You're choosing
birthday gifts over my kid?"
"Take the baby!
Take the baby!" And then--
The vision had hit,
hard, hard enough to knock her right out of her body. Even though
she'd been all floaty, she'd been terrified when the shadow had swooped
through the room. That was the first time she'd seen Skip. She
should have paid more attention to her intuition. It'd had been warning her the whole
time.
Her jaw clenched.
"Lying bastard."
"Huh?"
Cordy glanced up.
"What?"
"Sounded like you
said, 'lying bastard.'" David shot her one of those smiles, the kind kids
who get bullied wear when they think they're about to get hit.
She thought fast.
"No, I said, 'flying faster.' I was just thinking of how the years keep
flying by, faster and faster."
David's smile turned
rueful. "I hear ya. Next thing I know, I'll be thirty." He shook
his head. "No more skateboarding barefoot through the loft for me."
Cordy squinted at him.
"Huh?"
He laughed,
embarrassed. "Nothing. Nothing. Still learning to talk to girls, I guess."
His cheeks turned pink. "Anyway, open your present!"
She lifted the lid and
found a pretty silver key chain, shaped into an open circle with
knobs on either end. A round tag hung from it that said, "If
found, return to Tiffany New York," and underneath was a number, which she
guessed was her ID number with the company.
An ID number. If she
lost it, anyone could send it back to Tiffany, and the store would
return it to her. "Yes, Ms. Chase, you can pick up your keys at the
Tiffany store on...."
Was that how Jasmine
had chosen her? Gone through all the celestial ID numbers till she
found one she liked, and said, "Send this one to LA and I'll pick her
up at the Hyperion?"
She turned the silver
bauble over in her hand, unscrewed one of the knobs and put it back
on, realizing that she was a hell of a lot less useful now than this
key ring. Angel Investigations didn't exist any more. Any hope she'd
had for her and Angel was erased by Buffy's presence in his life.
She didn't have the visions, didn't have a mission. She was dead
weight, useless and crippled and ugly.
Rain slapped the
windows, and the palm trees bent over under the force of the wind.
"Hey, Cordy, you
all right?" David sank down next to her and put his hand on hers.
She stared at him.
"David?" He felt so solid, his skin warm and alive against hers. "Is
this real?"
He laughed
uncomfortably, obviously unsure how to answer. "Who really wants to be reminded
they're getting older, right? Maybe I should take everything
back--"
Cordy shook her head,
trying to focus. "No, that's not what I mean. I keep having
these--" She gestured, not sure how to explain. "These flashbacks. Something
triggers memories, only I don't know if they're real or if I dreamed
them."
David's head tilted,
and he studied her carefully. "Do you want me to call Rita? You don't
sound so good."
What was real? Was it
this world, or that one? Connor, he was Angel's baby in that
world--but vampires couldn't have babies. And her and Angel? In love? She
shook her head. Everyone knew that Angel and Buffy were destined
for each other.
"Okay, that's it.
I'm calling Rita."
Cordy shook herself
out of the daze. "No, no! David, I'm fine. I'm sure it's just a side
effect of sleeping for so long." Desperate, she pulled the key chain
out and held it up. "Really, it's beautiful, thank you."
David stared at her,
"Are you sure you're all right?"
She nodded. "I
guess this means I'll have to get some keys, soon, huh?" Unless he'd
gotten her a car. She remembered a check he'd written once, just for
hanging with them.
His brow wrinkled.
"Oh, right. You don't have any keys...well, I can get you a house key,
and I have a whole bunch of cars I never drive. You can have keys to
as many of them as you want." He waved his hand. "That
wasn't the real gift, though. That was, you know, 'cause Anise said--" He
shook his head. "Anyway, here's the real gift."
David reached into the
Virgin bag and pulled out a flat box, wrapped in one of the store's
gift envelopes.
Cordy took it from
him, staring down at the Virgin logo, still spinning but trying
hard to stay focused. "Did you get them to open the store, too?"
He nodded exuberantly.
"Yeah. I know the manager. Open it! Open it!"
She lifted the flap
and slid out the DVD. "'While You Were Sleeping'?" Cordy
looked up at him, not at all sure what to think. "You got
me a DVD about a guy in a *coma*?" At least it wasn't Flatliners or Dead
Zone, for God's sake.
He clapped
delightedly. "Yeah! Aren't you gonna ask me how you're gonna watch it?"
"Uh, I guess I'll
just put it in the DVD player over there and--"
"Not that old
thing," David said, giggling. He opened the bedroom door and nodded to
someone in the hall. "Not when you can play it in this!"
Cordy's mouth fell
open as two guys in coveralls rolled several boxes in on a hand truck.
"David?"
He laughed. "I
got you a new entertainment center! It's so cool!"
One guy opened the
doors to the antique armoire that had been fitted to hold electronics,
and started unhooking the TV, VCR and DVD player. The other slit
open the biggest box with his knife. The smell of new wiring and
plastic filled the air.
In less than fifteen
minutes they were rolling the empty hand truck out into the hall and
handing David the instruction sheets.
He took them and
signed for the delivery. "Thanks," he said, waving jauntily.
"No
problem," one said, and they closed the door behind them.
Cordy shook her head.
"That was amazing."
"Yeah, it's a
really cool system." David rolled her over next to the couch, and sat down so
they were shoulder to shoulder.
"No, I meant the
guys. Usually, if I buy anything new like that it takes me days to hook
it up. Wes usually--" She stopped and fiddled with the DVD.
David glanced up from
the remote. "Oh, those guys are great. They do all my installation if
I don't have time to do it myself." He grabbed the DVD. "You
mind if I--?"
Cordy shook her head.
"No, go ahead."
He popped it in, then
sat down next to her again. "See this remote?" He held it up.
"It controls everything, so we can get rid of the three you had to use
before." He grabbed them off of the end table and pitched them
toward the garbage can next to the desk.
"And this DVD
player? Top of the line. Has a Shannon & Fluency filter." The FBI
warning tag popped up on the screen. He leaned closer and showed her
which buttons went with which machine.
She'd just gotten used
to working the other three remotes, and now she was gonna have to
learn a new one? Cordy tried to follow, but got lost after "Punch
AV 1 for videos, and AV 2 for DVDs. But make sure you also hit this
button so the speakers come on--"
Sound flooded the
room. The music loop on the DVD menu, apparently.
"You can't make a
cheat sheet, can you?" she asked.
"Oh, sure! That'd
be fun! I've got this cool little software package that lets me draw
stuff on my Trio. I can draw the remote for you and make a list of how you
turn everything on. It'll be way cool!"
She smiled.
"You're a big old nerd."
"I thought we
once confirmed that was part of the public record." He thumbed through the
menu. "Wanna watch a movie?"
"Don't you have
to work?"
"Oh, sure,
sometime." He shrugged. "I don't have any meetings till after lunch, so I'm
free all morning.
"Well, sure. But
only if we can have popcorn. And only if you explain to Rita why I'm
skipping my morning workout."
"I'm not
explaining anything to Rita! But I'll order the popcorn."
"Chicken."
"Yeah." He
picked up the phone and dialed the kitchen. "Hey, John. Can we have popcorn
and movie stuff in Cordy's room?"
David's life was so
strange. Opening Tiffany early, getting stereo equipment delivered
and set up, having popcorn for breakfast.
She shivered. Had she
chosen this life while she was asleep? Had another conversation
with Skip she didn't remember?
"What kind of
milkshake do you want?" David asked.
"Chocolate's
great."
David hung up the
looked over at her. "I've been thinking. You know, about what you
said?"
Cordy shook her head.
"When?"
"It was about
feeling, I don't know, un-missioned? Like you didn't have anything to
do?"
She shrugged and
looked down at her hands. Tried to remember the last vision she'd had that
was hers and not Jasmine's--the girl on Oak Street, had they saved
her? "Yeah?"
"Well, I was
thinking. You can't actually go into an office yet, but I've got this charity
function that needs planning, and the woman who was doing it at work?
Maternity leave." He shook his head. "I'm glad for her and
all--they've tried a long time to have a baby. But now I don't have anyone to
do it and I thought maybe you could. It'd, you know, give you
something to do?"
He looked as unsure of
himself as he had, earlier, when he gave her the key chain. She
found herself warmed by his confidence in her. "I guess I could give it
a shot. If I can tear myself away from the plasma TV."
"Great! I was
hoping you'd say that. I've got the files in the car." His gaze dropped.
"Only one thing. You'd have to work with Wolfram and Hart. We're
planning it together."
Her breath caught in
her throat. "Not Angel?"
He shook his head.
"Just one of his people. But he'd be at the dinner. So if you
went, you'd see him there."
The look on his face
triggered a memory, and all the other times she'd seen it fell
into place like lock tumblers. "Why don't you want me to see Angel?"
David glanced away.
"I don't know what you mean."
"You do this all
the time. Every time his name comes up, you freak."
His head whipped
around. "I do not freak."
"Uh huh. You
look...I don't know. Wigged? Like something bad's gonna happen if I see
Angel."
David fidgeted.
"Yeah, well, I just know that you guys have, um, history. And I don't
want you to get hurt." His voice had the ring of almost-truth.
She narrowed her eyes
at him. "That's sweet, but you're still holding back."
He stood, too quickly,
and went to the door. "I'll just get those files."
Chapter
4
Cordy took a deep
breath and stepped on the pad in front of the medical center's
doors. They swished open and she walked into the lobby leaning heavily
on her cane. A fountain gurgled in the center of the large, tiled
floor, surrounded by waving ferns.
At the end of the
lobby was an elevator bank. She slid her finger down the directory.
"Fitch," she said, under her breath. "Third floor."
Adam Fitch was the
doctor recommended by David's HMO. He'd come by right after she woke
up, and his office kept tabs on her through Rita's notes.
She'd been working out
with Rita every morning but her left leg still wasn't getting any
better. Cordy knew Rita was worried when she finally recommended
that Cordy go in for tests.
She was down to her
last few pain pills, too. She didn't take them often--the woozy,
cottony feeling reminded her too much of that last year with the visions.
The only good thing
she could see was that this was way different than that first trip
to the dentist. No sensory overwhelm. No crying babies, unless she
decked them with the cane. "I'm here to see Doctor Fitch. I have a two
o'clock."
She sat and waited,
flipping through the magazine, until about 2:20.
"Miss
Chase?"
Cordy stood and
followed the nurse, who was clad in pink scrubs, down the shiny, linoleum
hall.
"In here."
She directed Cordy into an exam room. "Doctor Fitch will be right in."
There was a chair next
to the exam table, so she sat. A picture of an anatomical drawing of
a man hung on the wall. She was sounding out names like
"sciatic nerve" and "crest of greater trochanter" when the door opened.
Wow. Doctor Fitch was
cute. "Hi. I'm Cordelia." She stood and stuck out her hand.
"Adam Fitch.
We've met, but you may not remember." His bright blue eyes seemed to take in
everything about her at once. "Your comeback is amazing, can I just
say?"
"Any time you
want to use the word amazing to describe me, you go right ahead," she
said, shooting him her brightest smile.
He ran his hand
through a shock of pool-boy blond hair and opened her file. "I hear
you're having some trouble with the leg. That's to be expected." He
patted the exam table. "Hop up here and let's see what's going on."
She climbed up and he
started probing her hip and thigh muscles and bending her leg. Just
as she was about to make a flirtatious comment about the placement of
his hands, he turned her leg the wrong way. "Ow!"
"Sorry." His
head was almost buried in her breasts, but his eyes were closed as he
manipulated her leg--it was almost like he was listening to her body talk to
him.
Finally he stood.
"Walk for me."
Cordy slid carefully
off the table and walked from one end of the small office to
another. Dr. Fitch wrote something in her file.
"We need to do
some x-rays and see what's going on in there." He glanced at his watch.
"If you'll make another appointment at the front desk, we'll
check it out."
***
They sat in the quiet
kitchen eating peanut butter sandwiches. Cordy had a pile of potato
chips and a glass of milk; David put the chips right on his sandwich.
"More efficient this way," he said, as he took a crunchy bite.
Cordy glanced at the
cane leaning against the wall behind her. She didn't like to think
she was clinging to this safe haven he'd created for her. But she was
walking now, unsteadily and with a limp, but she was walking.
She'd thought a lot
about that day when she'd gotten home from the dentist. Her
commitment not to take life lying down--or sitting down. And now that she was
standing, she knew she needed to take the next step.
But the thought of
letting him go, of living on her own was so overwhelming. That's
how she knew it was time. "I need to talk to you about something,
David."
He glanced up.
"Sounds serious."
Cordy looked down at
her hands. "I guess it is, in a way."
His hands covered
hers, long-fingered and surprisingly graceful. "What is it. Are you okay?"
Her gaze snapped up.
"Oh, David I'm fine. It's just--" She blew out a breath, looked up at
the halogen lights over the sink. "I think it's time I moved out on my
own."
He did that tilty
thing with his head. "Huh?"
"Not now, I mean,
obviously. But soon, you know? I can't depend on you forever, no matter
how much I--" She pressed her lips together, surprised at how
emotional she was feeling. "Anyway. Thank you for keeping me
going."
He was still sitting
there with his mouth open.
"David?"
"Wow. I just....
Wow." He looked away and his Adam's Apple bobbed. "I kinda wanted you to
stay forever."
Oh, crap. She pressed
her hands to her eyes, totally confused by what was happening. She
didn't want to leave him, and he didn't want her to go, but she felt
like she had to.
After what happened
with Jasmine, she had to be the captain of her own ship, the ruler of
her own life. She could never really explain that to David, because
he didn't even know who Jasmine was.
When he turned to her,
he looked resigned. "I guess I knew this day would come. And
believe me, I understand. Or, well, obviously I don't, since I've
never been in a coma." He laughed, a dry, breathless laugh.
"But it makes sense. You're an independent woman. You need your own
space, and, really who wants to live with a--"
She covered his mouth
with her fingers. "If you say 'geek' I will kick your ass."
He went totally still,
then pulled away and stared at her.
"David, I'm
terrified of being on my own. I can't imagine eating dinner without you.
And that's exactly why I have to go. Does that make any sense?"
"Uh, yeah.
Sure." His voice broke.
Cordy put her hand
over his and squeezed. "Hey, I'm not going far. You *so* need someone
to give you clothing tips. Otherwise, it's Queer Eye for
you."
"Right. Break my
heart, then threaten my life." He took a deep breath then put his sandwich
down on his plate. "Obviously you're the perfect woman for
me."
She smiled at him
shakily. "Obviously."
***
"I had them clean
it up really good for you. Not that there was much to do— Evidently
everyone who lived here moved out pretty quickly." David bounced on the
toes of his Chucks and shoved his hands into the pockets of his loose
jeans. "I heard it was haunted," he said, leaning over to
whisper it in her ear.
She looked around at
her apartment. Felt Dennis—oh, God, Dennis, I'm *home*--ruffle her
hair, pat her hands, kiss her face. It felt incredible to smile
and cry at the same time. A real Hallmark moment, she thought, with a
laugh. "It is."
"No way."
"Uh huh."
She smiled up into the air. "Dennis, meet David Nabbit. David, Dennis."
David flinched as a
breeze tugged at his shirt sleeve. "Uh, hi." But he smiled gamely.
The apartment looked
just like it did when she first moved in, still furnished with the
same couch and tables, and there was that stain on the floor under the
window where she'd watered that fern to death.
She limped over to the
window and looked out at her view. "I don't know how to thank you,
David. This is just incredible." When she turned to smile at
him, he was looking at her with real affection and warmth. She returned
the look. He was a geek, sure, but he had such a good heart. "Not
that your place wasn't incredible, though, don't get me wrong."
He strolled over to
stand with her and look out at the hills. "Well, all that space can get
kinda lonely. I always thought it'd be nice to have a place like
this, small and cozy and…haunted." That boyish grin flashed.
"Lucky for me,
Dennis and I had an agreement. No one but me was allowed to live here.
Thank goodness the landlord finally figured it out."
"Lucky for you, I
bought the building."
Cordy rolled her eyes.
"You didn't."
He nodded. "After
that guy told you that you couldn't have the place for the same price as
before? I mean, hey, I always wanted a place like this, like I
said. And rent control…well, there's a reason it exists."
"I'm not sure
whether to kick you or kiss you."
David blushed.
"Um—" His voice broke. "I'd probably be better with the kicking. I mean,
girls are more likely to react that way to me."
"Come here."
She reached up and pulled him down by the collar and pressed her lips to
his. She pulled away, laughing and blushing, surprised by how soft,
how innocent his mouth felt. So fresh, so real.
David's face was beet
red and he tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Uh—thanks."
She grinned.
"Well, I figured I owed you, what with getting my apartment back for me,
not to mention the months of—"
His face went serious.
"Cordelia, you don't owe me anything. Promise me you understand
that. I didn't do this for any reason other than that I respected you
and I wanted you to have the best care possible."
There was a funny,
warm feeling in her chest. "That's just— Thanks." She smiled and held
out her hand. "Once I get my stuff moved back in…." She
didn't even know where it was anymore. Her clothes, her shoes, her pictures.
Having it all back would be really strange, like stepping into someone
else's life.
"Oh, I have
it."
"My stuff?"
He went over to the
couch and plopped down, propping his feet on the coffee table.
"Yeah, I got it from Angel when we moved you to my house." He jumped
up, a bundle of energy as always, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Cabinet doors opened and shut and the silver splash of water on porcelain
hit the air.
Cordy sucked in a
breath and forced back tears. This apartment had always meant something
bigger to her than just a place for her stuff.
It meant she wasn't
being punished anymore. Not for being a bitch in high school, or for
being Jasmine's toady. Thoughts of Jasmine brought a little pill
of guilt, hard to swallow, and always on the back of her tongue.
David bopped back into
the living room. "So I'll have your stuff sent over this afternoon
and Rita will help get you settled in. They put some food in the
fridge for you and, uh—" He stopped, his lightning- quick mind spinning
off to the next thing.
"Yeah. So I have
a meeting with FedEx. We're doing the upgrade on their tracking
software." He grabbed her hand and swung it loosely between them.
"I've got my phone if you need anything. Otherwise I probably won't see you
until tomorrow. Dinner with the guys from the Getty museum. They
need a big check." He rolled his eyes, then waved and was gone.
She watched the door
close behind him. Silence settled over the apartment and she felt
Dennis wrap himself around her. "Hi," she whispered. "How
ya been?"
The words, the horror
story of her life since she left over a year before, tumbled out
into the quiet apartment. She'd never been Catholic—really
didn't even understand why anyone would go to church— but there in the quiet
confines of her apartment, the concept of confession made sense
to her.
Even if Dennis could
talk back, she knew he wouldn't have. That he'd have just listened,
without judging, to the story of how she let her pride, a need to be
needed, and her desire to help lead her into making a decision that
was the mother of all stupid decisions. How she'd fucked with
Angel's head, fucked his son, and nearly fucked over the world.
How she didn't deserve
what David was giving her. She was living a lie, but it was
another lie the universe seemed bent on perpetrating with her.
And Connor, God.
Connor. The sweet baby who'd been a miracle child, then a pawn in
Jasmine's game, then a hopeless, crazy man who'd given his own life at the
hands of his father.
What she wouldn't give
to hit the reset button on her memories. To be as free and clear of
all that crap as everyone else in the world seemed to be. But
maybe that was her own version of hell. To live with the guilt, the
secrets and lies, to know the role she'd played and to never be able
to speak of it. With anyone but a ghost.
***
Cordy leaned her cane
against the wall, set the groceries on the floor, and stuck her
key in the lock. "God, my leg is killing me," she grumbled as she
swung the door open.
Grocery shopping with
a cane and no car was about as much fun as getting a third eye
from a Skilosh. "Dennis, could you get the door?" It swung open and she
saw David sitting on the couch.
"Hey, can I help
you with that stuff?" He bolted up, dropping his Trio on the coffee
table.
"David?"
He kissed her cheek.
"Hey. I was starting to get worried." He took both bags of groceries
and schlepped them to the kitchen. "You look beat. I was worried
you would be." He frowned. "I have all these cars to play with. You have
to at least borrow one sometime. No one should have to ride the bus
in LA."
She hobbled into the
kitchen behind him. "Oh, David. You know I can't take a car on top of
everything else--" She glanced at the table.
White boxes of
take-out sat on the table, next to an open pink plastic bag, full of
chopsticks and fortune cookies. "But I can *so* eat. How long have you
been here?" She grabbed one of the grocery bags and pulled out
the cereal.
David put the
half-gallon of milk it in the fridge. "Just a little while." He
glanced at his watch and his eyebrows flew up. "Wow, actually, more than a
little while. More like a couple of hours." He leaned in like a man
with a secret. "Dennis and I were reading baseball stats."
Cordy dropped paper
towels and toilet paper on the counter. "Dennis is a huge fan. His
main problem is that he likes the Yankees."
"Where do you
want the peanut butter?"
"In the cabinet
next to the sink. Everyone knows the Yankees suck," she said, winking at
David.
Dennis replied by
stripping a set of chopsticks from the wrapper and pointing them at her
chest. Cordy rolled her eyes and plucked them from the air.
"See what I mean?"
David laughed.
"Hey, I respect a man who loves his team." He put a loaf of bread on the
counter and folded the empty bag. "So, should I even ask how your day
was?"
She smoothed her bag
flat and put both of them under the sink next to the garbage can.
"Not bad, actually." Water streamed out of the faucet and she soaped
her hands. "Wanna wash up?"
He took the soap under
her and shared the water. Their fingers slipped across each
other and Cordy grinned and tangled them together. "You
brought me dinner. That is so sweet."
David's gaze slid
away. "Yeah, well, I was worried you were overdoing it."
She turned off the
faucet and dried her hands, then gave him the towel. "Plus, you
wanted to hang with my ghost."
They sat and started
dishing food onto the plates he'd set out. "So, your day?"
"I talked to
Joanna at Evil Central and we're clicking along for the party." She
stared down at the white containers, her mind clicking back into planning
mode. "I'm thinking, since it'll be a little chilly at night in
October, we might want to have heat lamps near the tables. It's hard to
cough up the big bucks if you can't grip the pen."
"Well, we want to
do everything we can to ensure that they cough it up."
"The next thing
on the list is getting me a job. I so need to buy a car."
His face pulled into a
frown. "Wait--I thought you knew. I'm paying you for planning the
dinner."
"You are?"
Taking charity was one thing. Getting paid was entirely another.
"I figure I'd pay
an event planner at least ten thousand to pick up the slack, so let's
start there." He looked worried. "Is that okay?"
She eyeballed him.
"Ten thousand? I don't know. I'll have to think about--" She gave
up and grinned. "Woo hoo! I have a job!" She made her chopsticks do a
can-can. "I'm gainfully employed!"
David stole a bite of
pork off her plate. "Yeah, but now you have to pay me rent." His
eyes twinkled.
She considered it for
a moment. "I was paying seven-fifty a month on this before. Will that
work?"
He rolled his eyes.
"I was thinking maybe you could buy the next dinner."
"That's not fair,
though, David. I need to pay you something."
"Okay, buy the
next two."
"Seven-fifty. And
I buy the next dinner."
When he leaned in, he
looked earnest, determined. "What's the use of being rich and
all-powerful if I can't help my friends?"
She thought of Angel.
Rich and all-powerful and locked away in his penthouse apartment.
"Not much, as far as I can see."
"Oh, I almost
forgot." David hopped up, went to the fridge, and came back with a bottle of
wine and two juice glasses. "I know you're not supposed to drink much
with the painkillers, but I had this at one of those Rubber Chicken
dinners the other night, and it actually wasn't bad." He pulled
out his pocketknife and popped the corkscrew free.
"Really? What is
it?" She leaned forward to look at the label. It was a Chardonnay from a
Sonoma vintner.
"I'm not much of
a wine guy, you know?" The cork came out with a quiet pop and he set
the bottle down on the table at his elbow.
Cordelia smiled.
"I'm sure it'll be great."
When he poured, it was
the color of spring sunshine. Green-tinted gold, young and fresh.
The sound of the wine hitting the glass was like music and she
found herself relaxing, fully relaxing, for the first time since she
could remember.
He handed her a glass
and toasted. "To California wine and carry out."
"Cheers,"
she said. It tasted like honey and flowers. "Not bad," she said, surprised.
"And you say you're not a wine guy."
He shrugged, sat, and
picked up his chopsticks. "I know what I like," he said, looking at
her.
From his expression
she knew he was talking about more than the wine. She picked up her
glass, strangely warmed and comforted by his words. Of her friend, who
cared about her. It had been so long since anyone looked at her like
that.
She found herself
pulled toward him, leaning forward slowly, watching his eyes grow wide,
his mouth part. When she kissed him it was sweet, soft, like the wine.
When she pulled back,
he looked dazed. She smiled, pressed her fingers to her lips.
Her body wasn't racing, wasn't churning. But she felt warm and content.
Then David spilled his
wine and she laughed and the spell was broken.
They finished eating
and while they were cleaning the kitchen, David said, "Um, I have
a thing--"
She glanced over the
dishtowel at him. "A thing? That sounds kinda dirty, David."
He blushed.
"You're so
easy," she teased.
David cleared his
throat. "Not the first time I've heard that. Anyway, what I was
gonna say is, I have a charity dinner. Maybe you've heard of it.
The Sutter Fund?"
She smirked.
"Never heard of it. Sounds boring."
"Oh, it is.
Totally. I wondered if you'd go with me." It came out in a rush, the way an
inexperienced high school boy's question-popping would.
She took the next dish
from him and dried it carefully. "I'd have to see Angel."
He nodded and swished
his hands in the soapy water. "I understand if you don't want
to--"
"How can I not?
I'm planning it. I've already been stockpiling the armor."
His eyebrows rose over
the top of his glasses. "I've got a mesh chest plate if you're
interested."
She snorted. "As
if."
They turned off the
light in the kitchen and went to the couch, settling in on
opposite ends. He picked up the remote. "This okay?"
She stretched her
tired feet out on the coffee table. "As long as we don't watch any geeky
sci-fi, we're cool." The cushions felt wonderful. She was
full, relaxed, and with David and Dennis some of that deep loneliness
seemed to disappear.
She leaned her head
back and closed her eyes. When she woke up, the TV was off, and she
was snuggled under the afghan. The apartment was quiet and dark, and
she was alone again. But she smiled when she thought about David,
and going back to sleep was effortless.
Chapter 5
Cordy sat in Dr.
Fitch's office waiting to talk with him about the results of her first
round of tests.
"Cordelia
Chase." It was the same nurse as before, only this time she was wearing navy
scrubs. "Dr. Fitch will see you now." She held the door open for her, and
Cordy brushed by and knocked on Dr. Fitch's door.
He welcomed her in and
motioned her to a chair. Then he sat and got right down to
business. "We've reviewed your test results." He smiled. "The
right leg looks excellent. Muscle tone and bone mass are right on target.
You're at about a hundred per cent of operating capacity there."
She arched a brow.
"And the left?"
"That's a bit of
a different story." He held up the test results and showed her where he'd
underlined a portion of the printout. "You can see here that, for
whatever reason, the muscle degenerated, and has left you with
permanent damage. We don't really know why, though I'm guessing its due to a
defect in the structural stability of the sarcolemma."
"The sarco-huh?"
Dr. Fitch chuckled.
"The thin membrane enclosing the muscle fibers."
She blinked. "So,
what does that mean?
He put the film back
into the manila envelope and folded his hands on the blotter.
"Well, it basically means that the muscles beneath your left hip bone just
aren't responding to the body's prompts to get better."
Cordy sucked in a
breath. "And?"
"And we'll do
some more tests." He shook his head. "I wish I could give you a definitive
answer now, but I think the next round of tests will really help us
pinpoint the problem."
She clenched her purse
to her chest. "Will it ever improve?"
He looked down at the
papers. "I really don't know. We could do surgery to remove any
scar tissue, but there's no way to reverse permanent
damage." His looked up at her and smiled. "But why don't we let the tests
determine that for us? No use worrying till we have something to worry
about, right?"
"Right," she
said, over the ringing in her ears.
***
She cranked the
Coldplay disk as loud as it would go. "Nobody said it was easy…. But it's
such a shame for us to part…." The breeze carried her tone-deaf voice
away, flinging it somewhere toward Japan. David's classic MG buzzed
beneath her like a green bee, carrying her up the coast.
Under her hand the
ball of the gear shift was worn smooth. The car was stripped down,
bare, primitive next to the Mercedes he preferred her to drive. It was
temperamental, good-looking and required a lot of attention, but
that's why she liked it. That and the fact that nothing else handled
Highway 1 like this.
After seeing the now
less-than-charming Dr. Fitch, all she wanted to do was get away. Be
alone for awhile. Think about the direction her life was taking.
Salt wind mixed with
old leather and the chemical tang of Armor All and as she breathed,
something in her uncoiled and let go. She thumbed off the cell
phone and lost herself in the tug of gravity and the shift of gears.
Her left leg ached when she shifted the clutch, but screw it. It was
probably never work right again anyway.
The glass panel of the
ocean cut through jutting black rocks and sliced the sunset in
half. As LA dimmed in her rearview mirror, houses became sparser,
dark canyons hulking to her right, home of mudslides and
earthquakes, unstable earth moving somewhere way down below her like a
stretching tiger.
She sneered at herself
for being so poetic—something about the view always got her
thinking, moping, wishing.
Wondering—what if
she'd said yes to Groo? What if she'd said no to Skip?
Wrapping a long scarf
around her head Garbo-style kept her hair out of her eyes; the
black, zip-up sweatshirt kept the chill off of her shoulders. Curves in
the road gave way to a long, straight line outside of Malibu then
dipped back in, arcing in and out along the craggy coast.
Why her? Why not Buffy
or Willow or the guy behind the counter at Perks?
The warbling piano of
"Clocks" smoothed the rippling air. "Lights go out and I can't be
saved, tides that I tried to swim against, put me down upon my knees,
oh, I beg, I beg and plead…."
She tapped her fingers
on the wheel in time to the music and followed the road's snakelike
curves. It was nearly full night now; she'd been driving almost two
hours, if you counted the time it took her to make it out of the city.
Ahead lay the silver
smudge of light that was Ventura; behind was long, dark coastline
cut only by the glow of the MG's red taillights. Maybe she'd stop in
Ventura, have dinner, call David. Let him know she was okay.
She passed a
slow-moving van just in time to see it turn off on one of the canyon roads,
leaving her alone in the darkness. Not the first time she thought,
remembering the months she'd been trapped in her own, comatose body.
Was it fate? Destiny?
What was that Pylean word Fred had used… kyerumption?
Or was it all just a
choice?
Suddenly the car
sputtered.
She glanced down at
the dash, with its big, round dials and strange knobs and
instinctively hit the gas. The engine throbbed, shooting the little car
forward, and she relaxed. The tires hummed against the tarmac and she patted
the dash. "Good girl."
As she rounded another
curve, the lights flickered and the car choked. "Oh, come
on." She wrestled it to the side of the road just in time for the engine
to rattle and die.
Coldplay gave way to
silence and darkness and Cordy stared at the blank dash. "Dammit!"
She opened the shell on the phone. No service. Flipping it opened and
closed didn't help; the screen stayed as stubbornly blank as
the dashboard.
She tried the lights
again, but no dice. This far out, there were no street lamps, though
when she dug in the glove compartment she came up with a small
Maglite. She leaned under the dash to pop the hood. Like she'd know what
to do with the thing, but it was worth a look.
Her trainers hit
gravel with a soft crunch and with a metallic creak, the old metal bonnet
rose against the pure night sky. The beam of light dusted the
engine with gold.
Okay, that looked like
a bunch of metal intestines, and ewwww, where did *that* thought
come from? The beam of light traveled up the open hood, over to the slab
of rocky hill standing next to the car, and around toward Ventura.
She closed the hood,
went back to the car and tried the engine again. The car shook with the
effort and finally caught.
"Thank *God*! I
thought I was stuck out here all by myself with serious
thoughts."
Cordy slipped the car
into gear and hit the gas. It rolled for about ten feet then stalled.
"Argh!" She banged the heel of her hand on the steering wheel.
"Come *on*!" Cranked the ignition, stomped the gas…. Nothing.
She laid her head on
her hands. How far away was she from Ventura? Five miles? Ten? There
was no way she could walk that far. Lifting her head, she peered
out into the soft, moonlit night.
Of course, she could
just stay with the car. Someone would come by eventually. But the
thought of sitting out here, isolated and alone, gave her the creeps.
Maybe if she walked
back to that canyon road the van had turned on, she'd find a house.
She thought about the hills of Malibu, and how densely populated they
were, and how, even then, you had to travel sometimes miles to
find the next driveway.
The wind blew,
shuffling her scarf, and she yanked it off in frustration and threw
it into the passenger seat. Under the visors were the latches for
the convertible top. She popped them open then leaned into the back
seat, undid the straps, and yanked up the top.
"Dammit!"
The jagged edge of a broken nail pissed her off almost as much as the car
stalling out. Finally she got the top in place, grabbed her bag and
cane, and locked the car door behind her. The gravel gave under her
feet, so she moved to the road, walking carefully to keep her weaker leg under her. The
pavement was straight enough that she could see someone coming and get
back on the shoulder.
All those cars in
California, she thought, looking down the road, and none of them were
here. What was *with* that?
She shivered in the
chilly breeze and pulled the stretchy cotton of her sweatshirt
tighter. Of course it'd be just her luck when one came by for her to wind up
with a psycho, who'd tie her up like that girl from that slasher
movie and turn her into a Moonie, or something.
She kicked a rock off
the road and watched it skitter away into darkness. Even this
far up the surf roared, and the strong arm of the wind elbowed her face.
Everything was dark, salty, hard.
It was so dark that it
hurt her eyes. She'd turned the light off, hoping to conserve the
battery, but the moonlight wasn't bright enough to guide her.
Twisting the flashlight's head and illuminated her shoes made her
feel a little better—she still had some power.
Her ears picked up on
something different, a hum that cut beneath the surf and wind. She
turned, breath catching. Was it a car?
Cordy stepped onto the
shoulder and listened as the hum changed to a whine and then a
whoosh. The car came into view, blinding her with its lights. She threw
up her arms to cover her face, and realized she'd effectively
waved the driver down.
So much for not luring
in the psychos.
The hulk of an SUV
slowed, its black hide gleaming. The window rolled down. "Everything
okay?"
Something in her
stilled, tensed.
The truck pulled over
and the driver leaned out the window. "That must have been your
car I passed. MG? Probably the electrical system. Those cars are really
cool, but they always lose power…."
He kept talking and
talking, his tone of voice easy, light. And all she could think was,
"It can't be."
The door opened and
she stumbled back, stopping when she ran into the sharp bank of dirt and
rock. The overhead light turned his face to shadow, and it gave
her a minute to catch her breath.
And then he stepped
out of the car, and the light's reflection off the rock face threw
his features into shadowy relief.
Maybe somewhere,
sometime, she had felt this way. Like she was light, glancing off rock. But
she couldn't remember. Couldn't remember ever—
"Hey, whoa."
She must have wavered
because he touched her, steadied her. His hands felt the same. Strong,
sure, long-fingered. He gripped her upper arms and she didn't
struggle, just stared at him.
Her lips trembled.
"Connor?"
The young man shook
his head, longish brown hair trimmed to a respectable cut that
suited him, made him look like a college boy back home for the
summer. "Nope, Ben. Hey, you all right? You look a little pale."
She nodded, feeling
weak, empty. "I'm-- I'm fine." Maybe it was just her fear, and
wondering about everything, and being out here alone that had her thinking
this was Connor.
Maybe after all that
happened, she needed it to be Connor.
"Really, I'm
okay. You just-- You just reminded me of someone I knew." She shook
her head and smiled, trying to assure them both that she wasn't going
crazy. She held up her cell phone. "I can't get a signal. Could you
maybe help me get to a phone?"
Ben smiled. "Cell
phones are iffy near the canyon. Look, why don't we check the car out, see
if we can get it running." He reached in and turned off the
ignition, pocketing the keys in his loose jeans. An ancient, white Sex Wax
T-shirt fluttered around his lean body.
She followed him to
the little car, handing him the flashlight on the way.
"You from
LA?"
Something in his
voice—envy?—reminded her of the conversation she'd had with Buffy about a
thousand years ago. About how LA had everything Sunnydale didn't: class, style. Shoes.
"Yeah. For about eight years."
Connor—Ben—leaned
under the hood. His capable hands fiddled with wires, jiggling and
twisting and poking, and when he came up, he had greasy hands and a
black smudge on front of the shirt. "See if she'll start."
Cordy slid behind the
wheel and cranked it. Nothing but a couple of clicks.
"Huh." He
brushed his hair out of his eyes with his forearm. "Sounds like the alternator.
How old's the battery?"
"No idea."
The wind ruffled him,
from hair to T-shirt to the hem of his jeans, but he managed to look
calm, in control. Just like Angel used to. "You got
Triple A?"
Did she? "My
friend-- It's my friend's car. I'll have to call him and find out."
He gestured down the
road toward the truck. "I live just down the road. You're welcome
to use our phone."
She hesitated for just
a second, thinking about refusing. Which would net her another wait
of who-knew-how-long on the side of a dark road. With even more serious
thoughts and chance for psychos than before.
He was probably about
as safe as any other stranger she could hitch a ride with. So she
followed him again, rounded the back of the truck and climbed into the
high seat, slamming the door behind her.
Ben turned down the
radio, dimming Eminem's voice to a whisper. The truck was expensive,
with leather and burled wood, but a well-worn baseball glove huddled
at her feet, and in the back seat she could see the coiled mass of
a sleeping bag and a six-pack of bottled water. When they
pulled out, a baseball rolled and banged into her heels.
He laughed.
"Sorry about that. I've practically been living out of the truck since I got
home."
"Home?" She
stared at his profile. Angel's forehead. Darla's mouth. Such a pretty boy;
he'd always been beauti—
"…going to
school up at Berkeley but mom wanted me to…."
So, she'd been right.
He was just another college boy, home with his family. Probably spent
most of his time with his friends playing ball or surfing.
His voice trailed off
and the warm hum of the music pulsed through the truck.
She nudged the ball
with her toe. He wasn't Connor at all. His voice wasn't right. The
cadence was different—not that tense, always-on-the- run inflection he'd
had, but a light, easy drift. This boy was happy, healthy….
Silence met her,
growing tenser by the minute. She realized he'd asked her something.
"I'm sorry. I was just--" Her hands slapped against the soft,
cotton-covered bend of her knees. "Must have spaced out." The laugh
was high, self-conscious.
"What's your
name?" he asked, gamely trying again.
She paused, not quite
sure she wanted to tell him the truth. If she told him and he knew
her, how awful would that be? But if she told him and he didn't….
"Cordelia
Chase." She'd never been able to lie well. It just wasn't in her nature.
He shifted and she
realized he held out his hand. She took it, shook. Felt him move his eyes
from the road to her face, which was probably lit with the same,
blue halogen glow as his. "Ben Maddox."
He released her hand
and went back to driving, maneuvering the big vehicle over the
winding roads with familiar ease. Ahead a green road sign flashed and he
turned left onto another winding street.
Live oaks, lacy and
sage-green, flared and disappeared in the lights. Ice plant poked its
plump fingers through the blowing sand and craggy coastal rock. Ben
steered through the dark, singing under his breath to the radio.
Led Zeppelin, driven
and otherworldly, wove its spell around her and left her with the
feeling that they were the only two people alive. Adrift with Ben, a boy
who looked like the son she'd loved—and who Jasmine had used her
body to seduce.
"Ooh, it makes me
wonder, ooh, it really makes me wonder…."
She let his voice,
tuneful and low, soothe her. It was as familiar to her as the roads were
to him—even with the different cadence, the tone was achingly
right. She could pretend for a minute that he wasn't dead.
That was fair, wasn't
it? After all she'd been through, to pretend, just for now, that
everything was okay?
Ben pulled off the
main road and down a long, sloping driveway. They passed a large mailbox
with "Maddox" on the side, and then the nose of the truck dipped
like a car on the first hill of a roller coaster.
She gasped, grabbing
the dash with one hand.
His grin flashed,
teeth white and straight. It wasn't fair—first Angel, now Connor.
Dead guys with heart-stopping smiles.
"Sorry about
that. Driveway's kinda steep." And then the truck straightened out and
the lights illuminated a big, old wood-frame house. Two cars sat
next to each other in the driveway. Before he turned off the lights,
she saw a tabby cat, curled up on the porch rail and a mountain
bike standing next to the door.
They hopped out and
threaded through a hedge toward a back-yard patio. Through the
screen of bushes lights glowed, showing a butter- yellow kitchen and a
den with shelves and shelves of books.
From inside the house
a dog barked, and as they got to the patio doors the light from
the kitchen spilled onto her feet, golden and warm. An older
woman—Ben's mom?—was leaning on the butcher-block- topped island, talking
on the phone. He slid the door open with a quiet hiss and they
crossed the threshold from darkness into light.
The woman waved them
in. "Yes, tomorrow at nine would be fine." She leaned down to
scribble something on a piece of paper and laughed, the same laugh Cordy
had heard Ben give earlier. Easy, free, confident. She was a slim woman, with a quietly
pretty face and smile lines around her eyes.
"That's my mom,
Barb," Ben whispered, drawing her into the kitchen. A golden retriever burst
into the room, barking. "Gandalf! No!" He corralled the dog out
onto the patio and closed the door behind him.
"Sorry about
that." He went to the fridge, his lean, hungry lines barely filling his
loose clothes. "You want something to drink?"
He turned, a can of
Coke in each hand, and his eyes flashed, perfect, pure blue.
Oh, God.
She heard the cans hit
the cabinet and felt his hands, cool and damp, clamp around her
wrists. Then Barb was there, clutching her shoulders and saying something
in soothing tones.
She couldn't stop
staring at Ben—at Connor.
Darla's eyes and
mouth. Angel's forehead and smile. All wrapped up in a happy, healthy,
perfect, All-American package.
Oh, God. What had
Angel done?
"I'm sorry,"
she said, feeling her stomach slosh. "I'm sorry—" She ran to the sink and
vomited brown, watery stomach acid. There was a flurry of activity
behind her, of raised voices.
She was led out of the
kitchen to the den she'd glimpsed earlier. The sofa was big, leather,
well-used. Comfortable. It opened its arms and drew her in, and she
lay on it, panting and sweating, watching as Connor crossed the
room.
"Cordy?" It
seemed like he wanted to say something else, but just then his mother rushed
into the room, a wet towel in her hands.
She leaned over Connor
to wipe Cordy's face with it, then asked, "Are you all right?"
Cordy nodded.
"Better, thanks. I'm really sorry about that--"
"It's okay."
The woman was staring at her, a look of suspicion and worry on her face.
"I'm really am
sorry," Cordy said, scrabbling for an explanation. Again, she settled on
the truth. Or most of it. "I was recently in a coma."
Barb's eyebrows flew
up. "A coma."
Great. Now she was
barf girl *and* soap opera girl. "After an accident."
Barb's face relaxed
somewhat. "Oh."
A line flexed between
Connor's eyebrows. "A coma?"
She could see
something shifting behind his eyes, like a scarf blowing in the wind.
Barb stood and wadded
the towel between her hands. "Can I call you a tow truck?"
Cordy drew a breath,
tugging her gaze away from Ben's. "If you could call my friend, David,
for me, that'd be great." She gave Barb the number and watched her
walk away to make the call.
That left her alone
with Connor. He knelt next to her and took her hand, and the look on
his face was exactly like the one he wore before, when she'd
been morning-sick with rapidly-growing baby Jasmine. Concerned,
upset, uncertain. "How are you feeling?"
"Besides wanting
to bury my head in the pillows and die of embarrassment?"
He grinned.
"Yeah. Besides that."
"A little shaky,
but better."
His fingers were soft
on her forehead as he brushed back her bangs. It was an intimate
touch, more than something an acquaintance would make, and she stilled.
He didn't even seem to realize he'd done it, but simply rose to his
feet and left the room.
When he came back he
held one of the Coke cans and a glass of ice. "This might
help."
His mom followed him
into the room. "Your friend is David Nabbit." It wasn't a question, and
if anything, the tone of voice was even frostier.
Connor stopped pouring
and turned to look at his mom. "What?"
"*The* David
Nabbit?" Barb asked, phone still in hand.
Cordy nodded, suddenly
very aware of how crazy this whole thing sounded. "I know
it sounds crazy—I mean, how many people do you know who hang out with
David Nabbit?" She laughed just a little too loud. "He's
really just a big old geek. I mean, if you think about it, why wouldn't he
be? All those video games—"
Barb cut in.
"Maybe you should just call a tow truck. I'll take you back to your
car."
The sound of soda
hitting glass cut the tension. "Here," Ben said, handing her the glass.
"Mom, don't be like that. Cordy hasn't done anything wrong."
Cordy. He kept calling
her Cordy. The spinny feeling came over her again. What was
happening?
"Look I really am
sorry— If you don't mind, could you maybe call me a cab?"
Connor put the empty
can down on the coffee table. "You don't have to do that." He
glanced at his mom. "I can take her home."
His mom looked at him,
then at Cordy. "Ben, would you mind joining me in the kitchen for a
moment?"
He smiled reassuringly
at Cordy and followed his mom into the kitchen. Cordy
listened to the low, heated tones of an argument. What now? Could she sneak
out? Walk back to the car?
Just then, Ben came
back into the room, face flushed, eyes flashing. "I'm going to take you home."
"But, your
mom—"
"Says it's
fine." He helped her off the couch.
Crap. Two hours in the
car with Connor? "Let me call a cab."
He dropped her arm.
"Look, this is stupid." Now he sounded like the boy she remembered.
Pushed to emotions he didn't understand, wasn't comfortable with.
"Let me take you home."
He was right. It was
stupid. "You're right. This is the best way."
Connor guided her out
of the house and to the car. "Sorry about my mom," he said as
he held the door for her. He buckled into the driver's seat and
started the engine. "She's real protective of me. Always has been."
"I understand
that," Cordy said, remembering how protective she'd felt of him when he
was a baby. How tuned she was to his cries, his expressions. How she
knew, instinctively, if he needed something.
And now she knew
exactly how much could go wrong with a life. There was no protection
against the Powers, not if they wanted you for something.
Fate.
Ben was Connor. She
knew that the same way she'd known which smile meant
"happy" and which one meant "gas." Elemental. Instinctive.
What were the chances
of him finding her? How many millions to one?
Destiny.
She dropped her head
to the headrest and stared out the window.
Choice. What a joke.
"Cordy?"
She turned to him,
realizing that he'd called her by her nickname again. Which she'd
never told him. "Yes?"
How much did he
remember?
"Where are we
going?"
Her laugh sounded
slightly unhinged. "Hell if I know." At his uncomfortable pause,
she relented. "Silverlake. Just head toward LA and I'll give you
directions."
They drove in silence,
and the truck's big engine hummed beneath them, eating the
miles. Finally he spoke. "You said you'd been sick?" He threw her a glance
and his eyes slid to the cane resting against the car door. "Do
you mind if I ask--?"
Memories of the mall
surfaced like grainy video. She'd seen it happen in one of those weird
flashbacks, but hadn't been able to do anything about it. Connor,
building a bomb. Strapping it to her and a roomful of innocent people.
Angel's face as they
fought. As he fulfilled the prophecy.
Floating free, high
above everything. Dark. Stars. Nothing.
Sort of like now,
soaring above the sea, with night pressing in.
Did he know he was
living a lie?
"I was in a coma
for over a year. I just came out about three months ago."
It was about the same
length of time since Connor died. Since Ben was born.
Since Angel started
working at Wolfram and Hart.
And with a click,
everything fell into place.
"God, that's
awful. Are you all right now?"
Innocence shimmered in
his voice, as if waking up from the coma had solved all her
problems. As if a coma was the worst thing that could ever happen to you.
She knew this
breakable boy inside and out. Her body had been his; her mind knew
everything about him, just like she knew everything about Angelus.
Seeing him again....
It didn't make up for what happened, but God, if Connor was really
alive, then at least some awful part of what happened to her had
been reset.
It gave her hope.
Until she remembered the truth.
She could never tell
him. Or anyone.
The life she'd been
living, the *lie* she'd been living had to continue to protect
Connor. She glanced at him and remembered how Holtz tied him to
trees and left him, teaching him to track. What Connor's back had
looked like, riddled and swollen with welts where Holtz had beaten him
because he went to sleep on watch. How he'd tried to learn to read
as Holtz traced letters in the dirt, slow to retain the information
because he was constantly having to shift his attention to the
hell-world around them. Talk about an ADD kid.
"What about
you?" she asked, desperate to turn the attention away from her. To stop
thinking about all the lies. "Do you like school?"
He drummed his fingers
on the steering wheel and thought about his answer. "The
first year was tougher than I imagined." His blue eyes glittered in the alien
light of the control panel. "I mean, high school, you know? It's
pretty easy compared to some of my classes at Berkeley."
She tried to reconcile
the image of the boy, stumbling over "Adam" and "Eve"
and "father" with this one, who obviously was smart enough to get into one of the
toughest schools in the nation.
"Yeah. Well, I
mean, I know high school. I didn't do college. I, uh-- " Went to work
for your father. Slayed vampires and demons. Almost blew my head off with
killer visions. "Got a job in an office and tried out for small
roles in Hollywood." She laughed, another one of those dry, wry huffs.
"I wanted to be an actress."
He didn't answer,
which surprised her. Usually saying she'd wanted to be an actress got a
response. Instead, they fell into silence. She glanced at the clock
on the dashboard. 9:45. Her phone probably worked again; they
were close enough to LA that she should be able to pick up a tower. She
reached into her pocket for it when he spoke.
"Do you ever feel
like you left the iron on?" Connor's voice was quiet, shy, like a
child asking a question he wasn't really sure how to phrase, or even if
it would be answered.
Her hand stilled on
the cool plastic. Flash of that other life, the one where she was
"Cordy!" the award-winning actress, not Cordy, the seer. Time folded in
on itself, leaving her feeling unsettled, spooked.
"What?" Her voice was loud in the quiet car.
"Do you ever feel
like you're missing something? Like you've forgotten
something?"
Fragile things came to
mind: eggshells, thin ice, antique porcelain. She cleared her
throat. "Um, sure. I mean, doesn't everyone?"
Connor's shoulders
tensed. "I just-- It was weird, but when I saw you before, I felt like I
knew you." He glanced at her, and she could see confusion, fear.
"Well, I was in a
couple of commercials," she said, feeling the web of lies tighten.
"Maybe that's it."
His fingers drummed
the steering wheel again.
"Oh, look,"
Cordy said, trying not to sound as relieved as she felt. "Here's the
PCH. Just go up to Santa Monica Boulevard and hang a left."
Traffic was thicker.
Malibu's strip malls were welcome beacons. Nearly home now.
Nearly through this hell ride; this amazing, wonderful, terrifying,
sickening hell ride.
They wove through the
towers, down toward the freeway, silence broken only by her quiet
voice, giving directions. The long day had caught up with her; she felt
like an overstretched rubber band, limp and useless. Her body
wanted to lie down and not get up again for hours.
How much did he
remember?
Sleep would be the
door that closed on all those lies, locking her in with them. He drummed
his fingers on the wheel again, and the silence went from warm and
comfortable to a chilly, thin buzz. Her presence was doing something to
him; she could feel it in the car, the edges of the spell wavering.
Drive. Faster. Before
this all collapses.
His profile, so
familiar, so dear-- She loved him like a mother, like a sister, and yet she
carried the memories of him as a lover. First love, so black, so
polluted, and delivered through her body like a sacrifice to a
hell-god.
Her gaze snapped to
the passing streets, the rows of offices and apartments and
restaurants. This was the last time she could ever see him. It couldn't be
any other way. But watching the final flare of his taillights,
feeling her head on the pillow, letting her eyes close and dreams
come….
When she woke up
tomorrow all of this would be gone.
Grief was like a
sucking tide, she thought, as the brightly lit city blurred by. Put one
foot in, and it'd swallow you whole. And no matter how hard she
flailed, she couldn't seem to get out.
It was only going to
get worse.
For a second she
considered disappearing. Leaving this life behind and going somewhere to
live an anonymous, quiet life. A trailer in the desert. An
apartment in Knoxville. A bungalow in Ensenada.
Then she thought of
David. Of his goofy laugh and generous heart. How sweet and real his
kiss had been.
They turned into her
drive and she remembered the last time she'd been here with David.
How he'd run around the back of the car and opened the door,
bowing like a concierge and holding out his hand for her.
Could she give that
up, too? "Here's my apartment," she said, careful to keep her voice
steady.
He pulled the truck to
a stop. "I'll walk you up." He was reaching for his seatbelt when
she stopped him.
"No,
thanks." Hand on the door handle, foot on the curb. Her gaze caught his and held,
one beat, two. She filled her mind with him, her heart. Memorized his
blue eyes, his sweet cheekbones, the stand-up brush of hair that,
with a little gel, could have been Angel's.
Refused to let her
eyes water and block any view of his face, these memories.
Fate?
Or choice?
She smiled, but she
knew it didn't reach her eyes. "Good-bye, Ben. Thank you." And
then she closed the door and left him behind.
Chapter 6
"Man, I'll be
glad when all this is over," David said. He stuck his finger in the collar
of his tux shirt and tugged.
They were in the big,
black Mercedes, with tinted windows and leather seats. Max, the
driver, looked all official in his uniform, as the car glided up Los
Feliz Boulevard toward the Griffith Observatory.
"Stop picking at
it. You look fine," Cordy said, shooting him a glare. "I already
tied that tie three times for you tonight." She'd sat as still as she
could on the drive over, trying not to wrinkle her red sequined
dress, and all his fidgeting was driving her nuts.
"Not the least of
which is because," David continued like she hadn't spoken, "you've
been like the queen of the hags for the last two weeks. I was thinking
about naming a troll after you."
She huffed. "You
try putting on a charity dinner for two-hundred- fifty of your richest
pals and see how you feel." Her leg ached, which pissed her off,
but not enough to take a pain pill.
He slid an arm around
her shoulder and pulled her close. She stiffened and pulled away. "Stop. You'll
mess up my hair." She'd spent an hour on it, pulling it up on top of her
head in a twist of curls that looked effortlessly loose and sexy.
"Stop," he
mimicked, and he primped his hair.
Despite herself she
laughed. "Shut up, David."
"It's not just
the dinner is it?"
When he looked at her
like that, she felt pressured. Like she had to tell him the truth. So
she shrugged and stared out the window, instead. Her hand
clenched on the head of the cane. The silence stretched then enough
to prod her into answering. "No," she said. "It's not
just the dinner."
He touched her hand,
just a brush. "It must be hard. Seeing them all again, I mean."
"Yeah."
Houses flashed past,
with sloping yards and big, old palm trees whose paddle-like branches
waved in the warm summer air. She'd always liked this neighborhood, the
way it felt rich but cozy, the kind of place you could really
settle into.
That's all she wanted,
was a place to settle. To feel like she had a mission and a family.
And here was David, being all decent, and she was taking her crap
out on him.
She turned to him and
smiled, eased by his humor and his affection. "I'm sorry I was such a hag. I
guess you kinda got the worst of it, huh?"
David shrugged.
"You know me. Most of the time I don't even notice what color my socks
are."
She snorted.
"Please don't tell me you wore the white ones."
"You should
know." He raised his leg and hiked up his pants. "You picked them out."
The black socks were a concession--black to match the tux pants and
patent leather shoes, but Pacmen chased each other around the top band in
all their yellow, open-mouthed glory.
"Just promise me
you won't get drunk and show them off. Unless one of your big-money guys or
gals has a Pacman thing." Her stomach fluttered with
butterflies and her mouth was dry--but at least she wasn't ready to bite
someone's head off any more.
"I'll stick with
Kool-Aid, then."
"I don't think
that's on the menu."
He kissed her cheek.
"Tell me what you need, and I'll get it for you, Cordy. I just want you
to be happy."
Her breath caught.
His eyes were so soft,
so open, his hand so warm. He leaned close, closer. She felt his
breath, saw his eyes drift closed. And then he was kissing her.
When they pulled
apart, they were both breathing hard. "Wow. Okay, that was
unexpected."
David looked intense,
serious. "I don't know why." He cupped her cheek.
"We're here, Mr.
Nabbit."
Cordy looked out the
window and saw the lights of the parking lot, filled with limos and
expensive sports cars. When she glanced back, David was watching
her.
"You gonna be
okay?" he asked.
She smiled at him.
"Yeah. Stick close?"
He nodded. "Not
hard to do."
Then Max was opening
her door and helping her out. Flashbulbs exploded in her face,
blinding her, and she stumbled, surprised by the glare, even though
she'd been the one who sent out the press releases. But then
David was behind her, hand in the small of her back, saying something
goofy that had the reporters laughing.
"Who's your lady
friend, David?" one called.
Cordy stared into the
crowd, trying to place the voice with a face, but couldn't get past
the lights of the news cameras. "Cordelia Chase," he said.
He squeezed her waist gently. "She's the one who put all of this together,
so if you guys have a good time tonight, it's all her fault."
She smiled at him,
surprised at his confidence and ease in the face of the press. Then he
was leading her across the drive and up the sidewalk to the
Observatory. The cane hit the soft lawn and sunk in and they slowed down
so she could walk without busting her ass.
The lawn spread from
the driveway to the balustrude that lined the edge of the hill. City
lights twinkled below, and on the lawn tables and chairs sat under
white tents. On the steps leading to the observatory was a
stage, lit so it could be seen from the back tables.
A screen hung next to
it to broadcast tonight's video, one she'd had Joanna make Wesley do.
His plummy voice and James-Bond looks would get the women hot
enough to get their husbands to write big checks, and by God, she was
gonna see that those kids got some money. Plus, it made her feel good
to boss him around, even if he didn't know she was doing it.
Candles turned
everything gold, designed to make everyone look beautiful and young,
and the place settings glittered white in the sparkling night.
Cordy watched as
people spilled out of limos, Lexus SUVs and Porsches. The
orchestra played under their tent, something from Broadway with swelling
violins and a gorgeous melody. She'd been up here organizing and
making sure everything was in place until three hours ago, but it was
the first time she'd seen it all come together.
"You should be
proud," David whispered, kissing her on the temple. "This is
beautiful."
She smiled and nodded.
"Doesn't suck, does it?"
And then she saw Buffy
by the Wolfram and Hart table, tiny and blond, in a silver strapless
dress that made her look like a shooting star. Cordy froze. "Oh,
crap."
"What?"
"Buffy."
His hand squeezed
hers. "Wanna get it out of the way?"
She swallowed.
"Guess we'd better."
"Cordelia!"
She turned, and Joanna was rushing across the lawn, her fuschia dress setting
off her blond hair and creamy skin. "We've had a screw-up with the
caterer."
Cordy let out a
breath, then glanced at David. "I'll be back. Go have fun."
He nodded. "I'll
see you when you get done."
***
Cordy and Joanna made
their way slowly around the building from the back parking lot where
the caterer's big, white vans were parked. DeRossa's had brought
shrimp puffs instead of crab puffs, which--as far as Cordy was
concerned--wasn't even on the screw-up radar for an event this big.
But Joanna had proven
herself to be a perfectionist, and she'd come this close to sending
them back. "You made the right decision to keep the shrimp,"
Cordy said. "I mean, think about it. It was either that or give yourself the
hives again, and rashes really don't go well with fuschia."
Joanna blew her bangs
out of her eyes. "I know. I'm glad you talked me down." She
scratched her elbow. "I really think I need a drink, though. Will you be
okay walking back by yourself?"
Cordy glanced out at
the wide expanse of lawn, with bars set up on either end. From the
looks of it every single guest who RSVP'd had made it--and then
some. "I don't think you could call this 'alone,'" she said, with a
laugh. "Go, get drunk. You've earned it."
"Cool." With
a wave, she trotted off toward a white-gloved waiter with a tray full of
champagne flutes.
Cordy hummed the theme
from "Somewhere in Time" along with the orchestra, letting
herself enjoy the breeze and the music and the sense of
accomplishment. Just as her foot hit the lawn, she heard someone call her name.
She turned.
"Angel."
He looked like he did
when Darla showed up ten months pregnant. "Cordy?"
If she had to see him,
being dressed in Valentino, with her hair up and diamonds in her
ears was really the way to do it. "Yeah. Hey." She held herself
regally, shoulders back, head up. All those months of putting this off,
of waiting until she was beautiful enough.... And of course, she
thought, as she clasped her cane, now she never would be.
Angel stepped toward
her, looking broad-shouldered and gorgeous in his fitted tux.
"You-- You're awake."
Her heart pummeled her
chest and she felt light-headed, like she'd fall over if the wind
blew in any harder. "Yeah." She cleared her throat and stood
there, twisting the cane back and forth, the haunting melody a
painful soundtrack for the real drama unfolding between them. "I
have been for about four months."
His eyes flashed and
he looked over the crowd, like he was looking for someone.
"Don't go after
David. I didn't want him to call you."
Those eyes, so dark,
so intense, pinned her. Even so, he looked like he wanted to sit down.
"Why not?"
"Angel? There you
are. I've been looking for you--" Buffy stopped on her silver slippers
and stared. It was like watching a computer process code--one
minute the screen was blank, and the next it displayed the right
answer. "Oh, my God. Cordy?"
Buffy rushed forward
and hugged her, her arms like tight bands around Cordy's waist. When
she pulled back her eyes were luminous with tears. "Oh, my
God. You're awake." She laughed and turned to Angel. "She's
awake!"
"Yeah, I got
that." Angel's obvious anger, his uncertainty, were like wet wool, heavy and
chilly.
"How long...?
How...? This is so of the cool. I mean, we thought you were destined for the
Land of Nod forever, and now, look at you!" She stepped back and took
Cordy in from head to stiletto. Then she focused on the cane.
Her beautifully made-up eyes were full of questions.
Cordy shrugged.
"Side effect of not walking for so long."
Buffy's face drooped.
"That sucks." She stepped back and took Angel's hand, and as always
her petite, golden beauty was the perfect foil for his
tall-dark-and-brooding-ness.
Cordy smiled, the
brightest she could. "If you'll excuse me, I really need to make sure
everything's running smoothly."
Angel blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"Cordelia! Could
you come here? There's someone you need to meet." Joanna raised her
glass to wave Cordy down.
"I helped plan
it." She nodded to them both and walked as quickly as she could to Joanna's
side.
"Hey, this is
Doctor Barbara Maddox. She's on the staff at Sutter South."
Already shaken, it
took everything Cordy had to smile. "Hello, Doctor Maddox. I'm Cordelia
Chase. We met at your house--"
Barb's eyes were blue
chips of ice. "Of course, Miss Chase. I remember you. Ben
talked about nothing else for days." Her black dress was classic,
probably five years old and obviously trotted out only for occasions
like this one. But its simple, Grecian lines suited her.
"How is
Ben?" Cordelia asked, trying to sound easy. She knew Barb and her husband were on
the guest list, but she'd put it out of her mind so she could focus on
the party--to the point that she'd nearly forgotten they were
coming.
"Why don't you
ask him, yourself?"
Cordy's breath left
her body as she found herself face-to-face with Connor, who held a
glass of champagne in each hand. The tux fit him well, like it was his
and not a rental. His hair was longer and unstyled, just that
pretty, rich brown that showed off his eternal blue eyes.
"C-cordy?"
He handed his mother her drink and took a quick gulp of his.
She wished she had a
Scotch. Or some Dran-O. Her triumphant return was fast becoming a
cluster fuck. "Hi, Ben. It's good to see you again. How's
school?"
Okay, Powers, she
thought, I made the choice to let him go. Why'd you bring him back? And
then she froze. Angel. He couldn't see Angel. She had to get him out of
here--now. She didn't know how she knew that, but she knew,
somewhere deep, that if they saw each other again....
"Con-- Ben, would
you mind helping me with something over here?" She laughed uncomfortably.
"I want to make sure all the lights are in place, and I can't
lift them, myself." She motioned toward her cane, then, without waiting
to see what his mother said, hurried him off toward the stage.
A low hedge ran along
the front of the building as part of the new landscaping that went
in when they retrofitted the Observatory. As they rushed along,
Connor grabbed her arm. "What's going on?"
"I'll tell you in
a minute." She ducked behind the hedge with him, and hid behind one of
the Bartlett pears growing in the front bed. She pressed as close
to the building as she could without picking her dress.
"Cordelia, what's
going on?" He looked flustered, confused.
"There's a man
here who you can't meet. I don't care what it takes-- get sick, cut your
finger, whatever. Just go home. Now," she whispered harshly.
He looked at her like
she was two parts crazy, one part mystery. "What? Why?"
"Just-- Oh,
crap." She held her breath and tried to squeeze in behind the tree.
"Cordelia?"
"It's
David," she whispered. A quick glance at her watch told her it was time to be seated
for dinner.
"Oh, there you
are!" He came around the hedge like he walked through flower beds every day.
Knowing David, he probably did. "Who's this?"
"David, this is
Barb Maddox's son, Ben. We were just, uh, talking about plants. He's,
uh, a talented landscaper and--"
Connor stepped forward
and shook hands with David. "Nice to meet you, Mr...?"
"Oh, David's
fine." His smile widened. "You guys look like you're having way more fun
than I have been. But the good news is, steak's on. You ready for some
real food?"
Connor shot Cordy a
glance. "Sure. Cordelia?"
She plastered on a
smile. "You bet." Crawling out from behind the hedge, she took
David's arm and let him lead her across the yard.
"Ben, remember
what I said about that *landscaper*?"
"Sure, sure. I
know--he's not the kind of guy I should be working for." He shot her
another of those "what dimension are you from" looks.
"It's good you
can talk about so many subjects," David said. "Me? I'm all computers,
computers, computers." He laughed. "I even have Pacmen on my socks."
"Really?"
Connor stopped walking. "Cool. Can I see?"
"Guys,"
Cordy said, gaze sweeping the crowd for any sign of Angel. "We really
need to be going. And Ben, didn't you have an elsewhere to be?"
She shot him a Significant Look.
He shook his head.
"I wish I could, Cordy, but I promised mom I'd be her date. Can't let
her down."
David said, "You
sound like a way better son than me."
"Probably not
what mom would say," Connor said, with a wolfish grin.
The closer they got to
the tables, the tighter her shoulders got. The Wolfram and Hart
tables were up front, next to theirs, and they had to pass them to get
Connor back to his mom's. She stepped between Connor and the Big
Evil, hoping to block him from sight.
Too late. "Cordy?
Cordy!" Fred rushed across the lawn to meet them, nearly tackling her in
a hug. "Angel told me! This is fantastic!" Her rose-colored dress was
wrapped with a burgundy pashmina. She looked rich, delicate.
Cordy hugged her back
hard, holding on to the only friendly voice in the crowd. "Fred.
It's good to see you."
When they pulled
apart, Wes and Gunn were standing behind Fred like tuxedoed bookends.
"Hi, guys."
Wes's smile didn't
reach his eyes, and his hug was stiff, formal. "Cordelia. You've engineered this
entire party, I hear."
She nodded and sank
into Gunn's hug. "Cordy-girl," he whispered. "Have
I got stories for you."
When she pulled back
there was something in his eyes--something more than she remembered.
It made her shiver. "Looks like it. Hey, where's Lorne?"
Gunn shrugged.
"Sleeping. And, trust me, you don't want to wake him up."
Cordy really hoped
Connor had moved on. But when she looked, he was admiring David's
socks. And when she looked again, there was Angel, staring at her, Buffy
on his arm.
"Oh, God,"
she said.
Out the corner of her
eye, she saw Connor stand, and turn to her.
"Cordy?" he
asked. "You ready to eat?"
Angel froze, his eyes
locked on Connor's face. She saw him mouth the word,
"Connor?"
She couldn't stop
watching Angel. Couldn't stop the recognition that flooded her--he knew.
He'd known all along. He remembered everything, just like she did.
It was like a building
crumbling around her. The careful reality she'd built, the
bricks of lies, the mortar of fear. In that one second, in that flash
of Angel's eyes, she knew: all of this had been planned from the
beginning.
And there was no way
to avoid it.
She grabbed David's
hand. "I need to sit," she said, and her voice sounded wrong.
He immediately pulled
a chair up from the nearest table and hustled her into it. She felt
queasy, weak-kneed.
"Are you okay?
You look pale."
"Cordy?"
Fred knelt beside her, and put her hand on her knee. "Can I get you something?
There are lots of doctors here, ya know, if ya think you might faint,
or something."
Cordelia shook her
head and took a careful breath. The waiters started flowing onto
the lawn with huge, silver trays, stacked high with plates full of
food. The symphony played Mozart and the breeze blew, carrying the
scent of eucalyptus and pear blossoms.
David squeezed in
behind Fred. "You need to leave? I can take you home now if you
want."
Connor rushed to her
side. "Cordy? Want me to get my mom?"
It was like a tidal
wave rushing through her. "All of you stop it!" Silence at the tables
around them, and then light chatter, covering her faux pas. The
clink of silver on china started filling the air as people got their
meals.
Fred and David pulled
back, giving her space, but Connor stayed close, looking at her
like he did that night at his house. When she finally collected
herself, Angel was standing behind Connor, staring down at both of them,
a grim look on his face.
Cordy eased back,
grabbing for the distraction dinner offered. "Yeah, I'm fine now. You guys
go find your seats and let's have dinner. Ben, thanks for the offer,
but I think I just need to eat something, okay?"
He nodded and stood.
"If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
"Hey, guys, can
we switch tables?" David asked.
The Wolfram and Hart
employees whose seats they'd taken moved to the other table, and the
waiters set their plates down in front of them.
Cordy stared down at
her petit fillet. She wasn't alone. It wasn't a dream. She pressed her
hand to her stomach and swallowed, trying desperately not to be
sick.
She turned her head
and found Angel staring at her, shock and betrayal clearly
written on his face. She wanted to apologize, but had nothing to
apologize for, except loving him.
"You sure you're
okay?" David asked, looking at her like she was as fragile as the china
on the table in front of them.
"I'm fine. Sorry
about that. I think all the excitement finally got to me." She
smiled and put her hand on his knee. "Thanks. I'm pretty sure I'd be taking up
residence at the insane asylum if you hadn't been here." She
kissed him on the cheek, ignoring the feeling of Angel's gaze burning
between her shoulders.
***
"You sure you
want to go home? You can come back and sleep at my house, if you want.
That way you wouldn't have to worry about catching the bus for
your workout tomorrow morning."
She smiled tiredly and
shook her head. "Thanks, but we cancelled tomorrow's workout.
I'm planning on sleeping in. Can I call you when I wake up?"
Dinner sat like a stone in her belly, and her leg throbbed. "I
really just want to sleep."
David smiled.
"Sure." He squeezed her hand. "You were great tonight. Any time you want to
be my date, you let me know."
Cordy laughed
ruefully. "I always wanted to be in the spotlight. Funny how we seem to
get what we want, just not like we imagined it, huh?"
David's smile turned
sad. "Yeah. Funny, huh?" He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
"Call me when you get up."
Max helped her out of
the car and she smiled at him. "Thanks, Max."
"No
problem."
She leaned into the
car, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. "David,
what did you mean just then? What did you think is funny?"
The corners of his
eyes crinkled, but his smile didn't look any happier than before.
"Just, you know, things you want, they don't always go like you
thought. Or, maybe they do. I mean, I knew you'd always--" His
gaze slid away. "Anyway, have a good sleep, okay? I'll talk to you
tomorrow."
She stepped back,
watching as the car drove away, and started the long walk to the
elevator. The feeling that she'd just missed an important cue sat as
heavy as the steak, but she was too tired to figure it out.
Chapter 7
She wasn't surprised
to see her message light blinking when she got in the door. The
clench in her stomach told her it was Angel, so she ignored it and went,
instead, to the bedroom to get ready for bed.
As she showered and
washed her face, she could hear the phone ringing. Finally,
wrapped in a robe, her hair up in a towel, she went out and unplugged it
from the wall. "Once was enough for one day," she said to Dennis.
Her hairbrush floated
down the hall and a cool hand nudged her to sit. She did,
realizing suddenly how exhausted she felt. Like a wrung out towel. Speaking
of, she unwrapped the towel and dropped it on her lap, playing with its
damp edges.
The brush rose and
pulled gently through her hair, and her eyes closed. She drifted,
and for a minute she was back in that other world, with Connor
dozing in the crib across the room, brushing her hair after a
post-fight shower.
She jumped awake at
the pounding on the door, feeling disoriented until she realized
where she was. For a moment she was so overcome by grief that she doubled
over, hurting like someone had hit her.
Then she realized who
it was and she sat perfectly still, breathing as quietly as she
could, knowing he could hear her breath and heartbeat, but
refusing to get up and let him in.
"Cordelia. Open
the door."
His voice made her
shudder. The sense memory of them on the bed together, the baby
between them, so *present* that she could hear him whispering. About
college funds and ski condos and boats.
Only now, he sounded
like he was talking through clenched teeth. When he hit the door again
it rattled so hard she was afraid it would break.
Suddenly furious, she
shot across the room and opened it. "Stop it. Leave me alone."
Dennis fluttered around her nervously, not sure what to do.
Angel's brows were
drawn far down over his eyes, his mouth pursed in a thin line. "We
have to talk."
"No. We
don't." When she tried to close the door, he pulled his usual bullshit trick and
knocked it open with the flat of his hand. She'd seen him do it a
thousand times to other people that didn't want to see him.
She caught it with one
hand and blocked the door with her body.
He actually bared his
teeth at her and involuntarily stepped back. He muscled in and she
stood staring at him, pissed and out of control.
One way or another,
Angel got what he wanted. Even if he had to sacrifice his son and
their future to do it.
He walked through the
door and she noticed again the new luxury to his clothes. The
expensive fabric, the tuxedo tailored to perfectly fit his
football-player's shoulders and muscled legs. He looked like what he was: a rich,
powerful man who lived in the mainstream.
So, so far away from
the vampire she'd run into at that party. An outsider. On the
fringes. One who turned down the Gem of Amarra so he could keep helping the
people at night, who had no one.
Who helped them now?
"What do you
want?" She crossed her arms over her robe, feeling chilled and exposed.
Angel closed the door
and walked into her living room. He glowered, looking defensive,
angry, betrayed.
She knew how he felt.
"How long have
you been awake?" It came out as an accusation.
"Long enough to
figure out you turned your back on the good fight."
His fists clenched.
"Bullshit. I fight the good fight every day. With more resources
than--"
"Oh, right, Mr.
Armani. Finally got your fancy clothes, your GQ penthouse, your true
love?" She clenched her elbows, emotions bubbling up hot and
mean. "Good thing you're all redeem-y now. God knows, there are
always enough champ--"
Angel bulked up, got
in her space. "Enough!" It echoed through the room.
Dennis fluttered,
rattling the blinds at the windows. Cordelia's voice went to steel.
"Is this how you run your company? By intimidation?"
He took a breath,
seemed to get himself in line. "I told him to call me the second you woke
up."
Was that regret she
heard? Obviously not enough to have actually kept her around.
The one person in the
world she trusted. Who told her she was worth more than the visions.
That she was enough on her own. "And I told him not to."
She turned away from
him and went to the window to look out at the hills. "Look,
Angel. We've been through this. Earlier tonight, as a matter of fact. I woke
up. I'm fine." She shrugged, trying to make it all look okay.
"Your job is done. It was when you turned me over to David." And went
back to Buffy. But she left that unsaid. It didn't stop the grinding
sense of betrayal though.
He came up behind her.
She felt him. Not his body heat, but his presence. Her vamp
meters were buzzing at full speed.
So Cordelia moved
away, went to a chair and sat. Untouchable. "I'm fine. Really."
He flinched. Then,
without a word, he leaned down, grabbed her arms, and kissed her, hard.
She fought him,
pulling away, slapping him with her hands. "Let go of me."
He yanked her to her
feet and the cane hit the floor, the head bouncing on the hard
wood with a loud rap. "No." His mouth devoured her, his lips cold and
ruthless. "You're lying. I can see it in your eyes."
She twisted, trying to
get away. "Stop it. You're hurting me."
It seemed to slow him
down for a second, though the animal flare she saw in his eyes was
enough to set off her survival alarms. Angelus was in the house.
"You think you can bully your way into anything. You've forgotten your
heart, Angel. You gave it up when you sold your soul to buy Connor his
new life."
His hands were
crushing her arms. "You have no idea why I did what I did."
"Oh, I know
perfectly well why you did what you did." She tugged and this time he let her
go. She stepped around him, picked up the cane, and put about ten feet
between them. "Because you can never stay around for the hard
part," she said, looking him in the eye.
His edges frayed. It
was like watching a life unwrap itself at the seams. "That's
bullshit! I *lost* my child! I *lost* you! How can you call that easy?"
The head of the cane
bit into her palm. "Because the hard part would have been keeping me,
no matter what. The hard part would have been letting Connor
go." She took a step toward him.
His jaw clenched.
"You've been avoiding us for months. You call that honest?"
Cordy dropped her
gaze. "No. But I had my reasons."
"And I
didn't?" His voice was cold, cutting. "You finally bag yourself a rich one,
Cordelia?"
She flinched.
"Fuck you, Angel."
When he walked toward
her, he seemed to be gliding, like a preternatural force. "Only if you ask
nicely," he said, in a voice of silk.
Shivers walked up her
arms. "Dennis, show Angel the door, please."
Angel smiled, and it
was beautiful and deadly, his demon's smile. "Dennis, lock the door, please."
The air churned, as if
Dennis wasn't sure what to do. So Cordy walked down the hall and put
her hand on the doorknob.
And then he was behind
her, his big body cupping hers, his hand on hers, his breath on
the back of her neck. She went still, not sure what he was going to
do--it was a toss-up between the teeth and the lips.
She got a little of
both. "Angel--"
In reply he ran his
hands over her robe, down her ribcage to her hips, and pulled her
back against him. He was solid all over, and against her butt, she
could feel him, hard through layers of fabric.
He slid his palms
around and parted the robe, and she gasped when his cold flesh found her
shower-warmed thighs. Did she want this? David's face flashed in her
mind, and she felt his warm mouth pressing against hers, and saw
those sweet, dark eyes.
"Stop," she
said.
His fingers brushed
her curls, slid between her legs. "Is that what you told him?"
She churned away,
unable to get leverage on her weak leg, and collapsed against him.
"Angel, stop it. This isn't-- Oh, God."
His mouth was on her
throat, her collarbone, in her hair. "Is that what you told my
son?" He was cruel, knowing.
Her body betrayed her,
and she felt his fingers get slick. God, this wasn't right. She
didn't want him, not like this. "Not in revenge, Angel. It wasn't me--
I didn't--" Her eyes watered as he twirled his fingers, as he slid
them deep.
When she came, she bit
her lip, cutting off the cries. It wasn't pleasure, it was pain,
of the worst type. Her body responded, but her heart cried.
Then he was unzipping
his pants and lifting the robe. She felt his hand on the back of
her neck, pinning her to the door.
She was exhausted from
the weeks of stress, of dishonesty. From being on her feet all day,
and tonight in heels too high. It was so easy to slide down to the
floor.
Too easy to let him
spread her legs and pump into her, hard and cold, his hand on her neck,
holding her still.
He didn't make a sound
as he rocked against her, not even a breath. Just him, pressing in
and out. Her hip torqued and she cried out in pain.
Angel gasped and
pounded against her, and she knew, instinctively, that he was turned on
by her anguished cry.
This wasn't Angel, not
her Angel. This was a demon where he used to be. A man without a
heart.
His fingers slid
between her legs and his body slowed, the motions of his hips becoming
soothing, a parody of romance. He was still silent and the air around
them fluttered, Dennis, as freaked out as she.
Then the movement of
his fingers sparked a fire in her. Her hips jerked and she gasped.
"That's it,"
he whispered.
The sound of his
voice, the only warm part of him, fanned the flames. She arched against
him, crying out in pain, but this time it was mixed with pleasure.
His knees braced
against hers, spread her wider. She lay on the floor, on the puddle
of her thick, terry robe, and he took her from behind, not even
caring enough to look into her face.
She came again, and
bit down on the terry to stop the sound. Angel tensed as she came,
then let go of her neck and slid his hands down her back. Hands on her
hips, he pulled her back against him, slamming into her.
When he came, his
voice sounded like glass breaking on pavement. Sharp, violent, a
throwaway sound.
Then he pulled away,
and his weight was gone. She heard his zipper rasp, heard fabric
rustle as he tucked his shirt in.
The door clicked
behind him, and she lay on the floor, shuddering.
***
Two days later,
Cordelia's cell phone rang in the pocket of her black track jacket. She
glanced at Rita, not wanting to interrupt their workout session.
"Go ahead,"
Rita said, with a nod. "You could probably use a rest anyway."
She was flat on her
back, on the workout mat, her left leg high in the air. The phone
rang again and she unzipped the jacket and flipped it open.
"Hello?" Lowering her foot slowly to the floor made her grimace as her leg
muscles trembled and burned.
"Cordelia? Is
that you?"
"Uh huh."
Her breath came fast, sharp. It was one freaking leg lift, for God's sake. Why
couldn't she even do-- Then the caller's voice registered.
"Wesley?"
"Yeah. Are you
all right? You sound winded."
"I've been
running a marathon," she snapped. Then it hit her again. *Wesley.* "Sorry,
Wes. I'm working out." She waited a beat, trying to adjust to the idea of
talking to him again. After Saturday night when he'd been so distant.
"So, what's up?" It sounded anything but casual.
"I need to talk
with you. In private." His voice was muffled, hurried.
"Where are you?
Sounds like you're in a broom closet." She pulled her knees up so her feet
were flat on the mat. The strain in her thighs made her legs shake.
"I don't have
much time," Wes said. "Angel will be back soon, and there's no place safe
to talk."
"Wes, what's
going on? You're acting weird."
"Cordelia, either
meet with me, or don't. I don't have time for--"
"Fine," she
snapped, brow furrowing in confusion and concern. "I'll meet you. But this had
better be good, Wesley."
"Since when can't
two old friends meet for a drink?"
Now he was Mr. Jovial?
Entering Strangeville, Population 2. That twinge in her gut was
either the cheese omelet she had for breakfast or her intuition,
telling her that a paranoid Wes was not a good thing. Either way,
she'd meet him. "Where and when?"
"Tomorrow night.
Midnight. At 3703 Grand Avenue."
"You want me to
go to East Los Angeles? At midnight? Wes, this is too strange. Just tell me
what's--"
She was talking to
empty air. "He hung up on me," she said.
"What?" Rita
glanced up from the writing desk where she was updating her paperwork.
"Who?"
Cordy dropped the
phone on the floor next to her. "Wesley. He's this guy I used to work
with. He wants to meet me tomorrow night and he's acting all
weird." She sighed. "Now he's got me freaked."
Rita put her pen down.
She had blue ink smudged on her fingers, as always. "So,
don't go."
Rolling slowly onto
her side, Cordy propped her head on her raised hand. "I feel
like I have to. He used to be one of my best friends."
"You don't owe
him anything." Rita came over and knelt beside her. "The only
person you owe is yourself."
Cordy shook her head.
"If only that were true." She sat up and crossed her legs,
tailor style.
"Look at you,
sitting up on your own, walking with a cane." Rita put a blue-smudged hand on
Cordy's knee. "You're the one who did that, Cordelia. Not this old
friend, or Angel, or anyone else you used to know. You."
Cordelia's fingers
knotted together in her lap. She stared down at them, short nails,
skin that still had a tendency to puff like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
Not the hands she had before. Ugly hands. Injured hands. Frumpy
old lady hands. "So what you're saying is, they abandoned me, so now I
can just leave them behind?"
When she looked up,
her eyes were burning with tears. "But, Rita, I do owe them something.
Don't you understand? I--" Cordy pinched her lips together.
Rita looked at her, a
question on her face. "What, honey? What do you think you did that was
so bad?"
Cordelia laughed, and
it felt dry in her throat. "Let's just say that meeting Wes would be
the least of my penance." Was that what Saturday night with Angel had
been? Penance? How many debts like that would she have to pay before
she felt like she'd made up for all the pain she'd caused?
Those big, dark eyes
took her in, full of compassion if not understanding. "If you need to meet him,
fine. But promise me you won't try to do too much. You've got that
doctor's appointment in the morning, remember?"
"Right,"
Cordy said. "We don't want to undo all this wonderful progress." She
smacked her leg with her fist. "They work so well, after all."
Rita's eyebrows
arched. "I'm not even going to start on how well you're doing. Instead,
I'll just say, if you want to feel sorry for yourself, go right
ahead. If anyone deserves a good bout of self- pity, it's you."
She stood. "In the meantime, I'm going out for lunch. You want
anything?
Cordy's shoulders
squared at Rita's no-nonsense tone. "I'm coming with you." She
rolled onto her hands and knees and pushed herself slowly to her feet.
***
"Are you sure
you'll be all right?" Max, looked unsettled. David had really, really not
wanted her to go alone, and she'd conceded to the driver. The only other
alternative had been a bus or a cab and no matter how much
independence she wanted to assert, she wasn't stupid.
The black Mercedes was
edged up to the curb, as close to the door as they could get. Wes
hadn't told her they were going to a club. She'd have dressed
differently and now she felt at a loss for more reasons than just her cane.
"I'll be fine. A friend is meeting me."
Big, old warehouses
loomed around them, brick gleaming like dead flesh in the harsh
streetlights. The club door was open, and inside she could see a flash
of black light, quickly changing to strobe, and even with the car door
closed, she could hear the blast of music. A bouncer sat on a stool
at the door, taking cover charge.
His bright red hair
was gelled into spikes, his jeans covered with safety pins. A razor
blade hung around his neck and it glittered against his black
tee-shirt. Over the door the sign read "Serpent's Egg."
"I'll wait for
you," Max said, sounding as uncertain as she felt. "Call me
when you're ready to go."
This was her first
time out of the house at night alone. And she was wearing Donna Karan to
a goth bar. "Oh, I'll call. Don't you worry." She edged herself out
of the car, leaning heavily on the cane. Its twisted, metal head
bit into her palm.
Closing the door
behind her, she watched as Max pulled away from the curb, off to find safe
parking in close range of the building. "You'd better be here,
Wesley," she said under her breath. Then she pulled up her courage and
turned, an act of will as much as balance, until she was facing the
door.
She took a deep breath
and started walking. Cane out, right leg first, drag your left
leg to meet you. Cane out, take a step.... By the time she got to
the bouncer, she felt like she'd been spotlighted, center stage. Mid-vision.
He smiled at her,
showing broken, dirty teeth. "Hey, Jennifer Aniston," he
drawled. "You missed your stop. It was back there--at the Beverly
Center."
The girl standing next
to him laughed, a high-pitched giggle. If her pupils dilated any
more, they'd swallow her head.
The sloppily lettered
sign at his elbow read, "Ten Gets You In." She really was going to
kill Wesley for this, she thought, as she pulled a ten out of her purse
and held it out to him. He stared down at it like it was an Hermes
tie tack.
Oh, right. Like this
guy was gonna give her attitude. "Sid and Nancy, much?" She
glanced back and forth between him and the girl with the ripped fishnets and
burning eyes. "I thought you guys were dead." She smiled. "Oh,
right. That would explain the teeth."
His lip drew back.
"Fucking bitch."
"Sid Vicious
paper doll." She held the ten out, her fingers as close to the edge as they
could get. He probably had fleas. "Now, let me in to your little club,
and I promise not to tell anyone you use Miss Clairol hair
dye."
He stared at her with
beady little eyes. When he didn't answer, she said, loudly,
"The words MC Max ring a bell?"
With a quick snatch,
he took her ten. "Bitch," he said again. The girl next to him
stamped Cordy's hand with a day-glow skull. "Bitch," she echoed, but it
didn't carry as much weight, since she wobbled on her Goodwill rejects
as she said it.
Cordy smirked.
"It's a title I'm proud of." Then she started the long, slow walk into
the bar.
The strobe made it
tough to track the layout of the room, so she stood, just inside the
door, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Finally, everything started to
take shape. Dim, blue balls of light trailed along the floor in a
path that led to the bar, the dance floor, and in the back, the
bathrooms.
The band was a black
cardboard cutout on the low stage across from the bar, white faces
flashing in the blaring pulse of the strobe. One of them raised a
violin high in the air and dragged the bow down the strings. The screech
made her teeth ache.
It stunk of too-sweet
cigarettes and sweat. There was a scramble of motion to her left,
and she turned instinctively. The strobe flashed and she saw a tall,
thin man, bare-chested with a raven tattoo covering his back from
shoulder blade to shoulder blade.
He pinned a
white-blond boy to the wall by the back of the neck. Cordy caught a glimpse
of the boy's bare, pale ass as the taller man ground against him. He
turned his head, blond hair glimmering in the low light, and Cordy
saw his face, twisted in horror or pleasure.
She felt Angel's hand
on her neck. His hips, pistoning against hers.
The violin wailed.
A hand groped her
shoulder. She jumped. Turned and found herself staring at Wes's
blue-shadowed face. "Come on," he yelled. He took her hand and dragged
her forward.
She stumbled, fell
against him, tripping clumsily over her cane.
He turned, looked down
at her legs, and when he looked back up, there was no pity on his
face. Just a banked impatience. But he moved more slowly now, and she
tapped along behind him, wedging through the crowd.
They made it past the
restrooms--more people pressed into the corner, and Cordy didn't look
too closely this time at what they were doing-- and Wes opened a door
at the end of the hall.
Now they were in an
office, piled with dusty papers and broken furniture. In the
corner was an ancient computer, the blue screen blipping with a white
cursor.
It smelled worse in
here than it did out front and Cordelia wrinkled her nose. "Where
are we?"
"Manager's
office." He opened yet another door and they were in the alley, where a black
motorcycle sat.
She stared at it.
"Okay, enough with the Ninja act. What's going on?"
Wes swung his leg over
the seat and buckled on a helmet. "I'll fill you in later. Get on.
We don't have much time."
Cordelia stepped back,
coming up hard against the metal door. At one end of the sticky,
stinking alley was a Dumpster, overflowing with garbage and stench. At
the other end was the road, leading back into the hulking, broken
warehouses. The feeling of being trapped intensified. "No.
Not until you tell me what's going on."
Wes's eyes glittered
behind the helmet's mask. "I found something in Lilah's office while
she was out. I think it could be important."
In the space of an
instant, her world shifted again. "Lilah's dead."
He hit a button and
the bike rumbled to life. "Not last time I checked."
A shiver crawled up
her spine. She handed him her cane and tried to lift her leg over the
seat. Her muscles cramped and she gritted her teeth. She could do
this. Damn it. She bent her knee and wedged it behind Wes's body.
Felt him brace the bike with his legs, then turn and sling her up with
one, very strong arm.
He took off before
she'd buckled her helmet.
They flew through the
streets, weaving through traffic, pinching off yellow lights just
before they went red. She held on tight, hands clenched around her
cane and his waist. The sense of urgency she'd felt on the phone was
nearly palpable. Wes was tense, focused.
The bike rolled to a
stop in front of an Asian grocery store in Koreatown. White
heiroglyphs spanned the green awning and the windows were lined with
plastic tubs of tofu and packages of noodles. Wes parked the bike and
got off, then helped her stand. She felt wobbly, weak, so she grabbed
the cane tight and shuffled after him.
He looked over his
shoulder just before he entered, then disappeared through the door.
Cordy followed him in without the theatrics. She was so spooked that
the entire world could be watching and she wouldn't be able to
tell the difference. A bell jingled and a young Korean man looked up
from his comic book. "Help you?"
Wes nodded. "Do
you carry Coconut Palm litchi drink?"
The boy nodded, then
hit a button and at the back of the store, a door buzzed. Wes
rushed back and pushed it open before the buzzer quit. Cordy followed,
that creepy feeling intensifying.
The door slammed shut
behind them, and Cordy found herself in another office. This one,
dimly lit by a halogen lamp on the Tansu desk, was lined floor-to-ceiling
with cardboard boxes.
Something moved in the
shadows. Cordy jumped. A light came on and she saw old man, sitting
at a rickety table that had been shoved into the corner. A Korean
newspaper rested on the table in front of him and Cordy couldn't even
begin to guess how he'd been reading it in the near-dark.
"Mr.
Wesley," he said, in a strongly accented voice. He was small and white-haired, with a
Jetson's tee-shirt covered by a mangy maroon sweater. With a hand
he gestured toward the wall of boxes.
Wes nodded curtly and
touched the cardboard. A small box disappeared like it'd been sucked
into a hole, and then the whole wall shifted and swung inward.
"Oh, for crap's
sake," Cordy said. As she passed him, the old man smiled at her, then
went back to his paper.
When the door closed
behind them this time it did so with a weird sucking sound. She
realized they'd just been air-locked in. On trembling legs, she
stood staring, while Wesley went to a sleek black desk in the corner of
the room.
He hit a couple of
buttons on the computer's keyboard and finally glanced up.
"We're safe, now. Have a seat." With a quick gesture, he motioned her toward
the Danish red leather couch.
She didn't so much sit
as collapse. "What gives, Wesley?
"Would you like
some tea?" In his eyes, she finally saw a flash of concern.
It calmed her down
enough to think a little more clearly. "Yeah. With honey and lemon if you
have it." She needed the flash of energy the sugar would give her.
So she could kick his pansy ass.
Taking a leaf out of
Angel's book, she sat silently, waiting for him to speak. She'd seen
it work a thousand times. Whoever was on the receiving end got so
uncomfortable, they finally babbled.
Unfortunately Wes had
obviously learned a thing or two from Angel, himself. He was a
study of economy as he fixed the tea, drawing water from the bottle of
spring water in the corner to fill the little carafe from the coffee
maker on the desk.
By the time he was
settled next to her the smell of steaming green tea was beginning to
permeate the air.
He unzipped his
leather blazer and reached a hand into the inner pocket. When he pulled
it out, he held a long, flat box, about the size that a bow-tie
would come in. He handed it to her.
She opened it and
found herself staring at a scroll, carefully rolled and stored in a
plastic sleeve. Tugging it free, she let the box fall away, and slipped it
from its cover. It was fragile, sheepskin, ancient but marked
with yellow highlighter. Even she grimaced at the obvious destruction to
the artifact.
"It's not the
shanshu prophecy," she said, staring down at it. She glanced at him,
wondering what it said. "Did you translate it?"
He nodded. "It
says, 'The father will kill the son.'"
Cordy's hands
clenched. "What?"
"'The father will
kill the son.' See here"? His long finger traced a line of rune-like
writing. "Lilah had it in her private safe. I believe she assumed,
incorrectly, that even if we did find it, none of us would be willing
to use the tarantulas to open it."
"I don't even
want to know," Cordelia said. Her mind whirled, trying to find a place to
land. "Wes, what do you remember from before I was...hurt?"
His forehead wrinkled.
"How is that relevant to this discussion?" The coffee maker steamed
hard, but not so loud that he had to raise his voice that much.
"Just tell
me."
"I--" He
pinched his mouth shut. "Let's focus on the scroll."
She shook her head.
"Why did you come to me, Wesley?"
He actually looked
stunned, the first real, solid flash of emotion she'd seen.
"Maybe I shouldn't have."
"But you did for
a reason. Because you trust me. Because, for whatever reason, you
think I can help."
Finally, he nodded.
"Then, answer the
question."
He stared at her, blue
eyes piercing. Then he blew out a breath. "Fine. You got sucked into Pylea. We
rescued you. You had visions; we worked on cases. Then you were hurt.
The next week we went to work for Wolfram and Hart."
"And you didn't
think that was strange? Working for the enemy?"
"If I didn't
think it was strange, would I have risked my life to snoop in Lilah's
office?"
"Good
point."
He got up and poured
tea into two, small beaten-metal bowls, added honey and lemon to
hers, and walked back to the couch.
She took the cup and
wrapped her hands around it, grateful for the warmth in the cool,
sterile room. "What do you think the scroll means?"
"I don't know,
exactly. But I-- it feels--" He cleared his throat. "It feels
like it has something to do with what happened to you. Why we're working
for the law firm. It's stupid, I know. I can't verify it, and none of
my research--"
She silenced him by
squeezing his hand. "Hush for a minute and let me think." Cordy
remembered very clearly that other life. So clearly that it was more real
than this one. Angel remembered it--she knew it without ever having to
confirm it, just by the look in his eyes when he saw her with
Connor.
So if she knew, and
Angel knew.... Why didn't everyone else? "You say Lilah had the
scroll?"
He nodded.
Lilah must know
something, then. "Let me take the scroll. I have some ideas."
Wes's eyes narrowed.
"No."
"Hey, I'm not the
one with something to lose, here." Not entirely true, but it sounded
good. "David's got some good resources, some we can use that wouldn't
trigger any red flags at the law firm." She set her tea on the arm of
the couch, rolled the scroll up and put it back in its tube. "You
came to me because you trusted me, Wes. Now show me you trust me with more
than the location of your super secret bomb shelter."
Wes must have bought
it. "It's probably safer not to have it on premises anyway. I
assume Mr. Nabbit has a safe you could lock it in?"
She nodded. "I'm
sure we can find one somewhere in his thirty-room mansion." The
honey was doing its job, and the warm, grassy flavor of the tea took the edge
off the strange evening. She felt like she might be able to make
it home, now. "We done here?"
"When will you
know something?"
"Next day or two.
I'll call you."
This time when she
rose, Wes was there with a steadying hand. He gave her the cane and for a
moment, he was just Wes. The guy she fought with, fought beside,
and loved like a brother. Her heart stumbled. Dammit, she missed
him. She missed all of them.
Then he was undoing
the combination on the keypad at the computer and bustling out of the
room. The motorcycle ride back didn't seem as long or as tense as
the one on the way over. He pulled up in the alley and helped her
off the bike. "Don't go through the bar," he said. "It's not
safe for you to be in there alone."
"But walking
through the alley like a cripple is?"
He shrugged.
"I'll watch till your driver gets here."
She pulled out her
cell phone and dialed Max. "I'm ready." Then she started the long walk
to the mouth of the alley.
By the time she
reached the street, he was there. And when she looked back, Wes waved. She
got in the car and closed the door behind her, then rested her head
on the seat.
"You okay, Cordy?"
"I'm fine. Just
tired. You okay?"
Max wheeled the car
out of the warehouse district and toward the freeway. "I
wasn't the one in the alley in East LA."
"I was perfectly
safe." She thought of the boy, pinned to the wall. Of the fevered race
through Los Angeles' streets. Of Wes's face when she asked him what he
remembered.
And then remembered
Jasmine, and wondered what it all meant.
"Perfectly
safe," she repeated, but it was more to comfort him than herself. With the
scroll in her purse and the memories in her head, there wasn't a safe
place for any of them. Even Wes, who couldn't remember any of it,
knew enough to take her to an impenetrable fortress to talk about
it.
Whatever was going on,
it was big. And she was right at the center of it. "Swear to
God," she muttered, "I'm gonna kick the Powers' asses."
Chapter 8
"Hey,
Cor, it's me."
Cordy clutched the
phone between her ear and her shoulder and went back to her dish
washing. "Hey, David." Every time she talked to him now she felt guilty,
like she'd betrayed him. "What's up?" It just added to the growing
pile of lies.
"I have a
proposition for you."
Her eyebrow went up.
"Really?" She rinsed her plate from lunch in warm water and stood
it in the dish rack. "What is it?"
"Well, it's
actually more like two. The first is, I'm going by one of the hospitals that got
money from the charity dinner the other night. It's a thing, you
know, go see the people the money helped? And I wondered if you'd go
with me."
Her hands went still.
"Really?" The kids she'd helped were just an idea, an ideal. But
the thought of them becoming real.... "I-- I'm not sure. I mean, what
would I say to them?"
She could almost hear
him shrug. "That's not really important. The important thing is to
go and show them there's a face behind the money."
"I get that, I
guess." All those rich people, listening to Mozart and eating steak. They'd
been happy to write checks--but if it came right down to it, would they
get their hands dirty for the cause?
Would she? After
seeing people's pain and fear for so many years, what would it be like
to see kids who were facing a life where pain and fear were the
norm? "When?"
"Tomorrow? I know
you're going to the doctor over there anyway, and I figured I'd just drop
you after and then send Max back to pick you up."
Cordy could never
figure out why he was so good to her. Especially when she didn't give
him anything in return. No visions, no filing, nothing. The noose of
guilt twisted tighter. But that feeling was back, that tingle of
intuition. And it told her that, for some reason, seeing these
kids was important. "Yeah, that'd be great. What time?"
"I'll pick you up
at ten."
She turned the tap on
and rinsed her glass and the silverware. "Ten is great," she
said, over the sound of the running water. "You said you had two
questions?"
"Yeah, hang on.
My other line's beeping through."
He switched over, and
she was left alone in the kitchen, with nothing but the sound of KLOS
playing softly in the background. She dried her hands and walked to
the living room, where she'd left the files from the charity dinner.
Finally, she'd gotten
all the loose ends tied up, the thank you notes written, and the bills
paid. Just as she was putting the lid on the file box, David
clicked back over.
"Sorry. That was
Fred, rescheduling. Anyway, remember the gal who was handling corporate
giving for me? She went on maternity leave?"
Cordy sat on the couch
and stared at the blank TV screen. Something about his tone of
voice had her bracing. "Yeah?"
"Well, she's
decided to stay home, and the position is vacant. I wondered if--and you
totally don't have to say yes, but you were the first person I thought
of--you'd like to take over."
An electric jolt shot
through her. "What?" she gasped. "You want me to work for you full
time?"
"Yeah, hang on.
I'd like a King Burger and a strawberry shake. No, that's it.
Thanks." His voice came back to her full force. "Okay, sorry about that. I'm
ordering lunch. Anyway, what were we saying?"
She gripped the phone.
"That you wanted me to work for you?"
"Right. No, it
wouldn't have to be full-time, unless you wanted it to be. I do most of the
face-time myself. I like to see where my money's going. But there's a
lot of behind-the-scenes stuff that has to happen. Big donations,
determining worthwhile charities, planning events from the little
meetings like the one tomorrow to the party a couple of weeks ago.
It's a whole deal."
"It sounds
so...official."
He laughed. "Tell
me about it. Some day, I'm dumping the whole thing and moving back into a
loft. But the good thing about having money is that I can give it to
other people who need it."
It hit her then that
David, despite the way his money insulated him, really wanted to
connect with people. He put himself at emotional risk all the time,
just so he wouldn't be lonely. He'd said it before- -that she made him
feel part of a family, just by being who she was.
A quiet humbleness
settled over her. David didn't want anything from her except her
presence in his life. His cars, his money, his gifts-- they were easy because
they were just things. Generosity was his nature, the way it was
a child's. He liked to give, and he really liked to give to the
people he loved.
Her chest felt warm,
and she wrapped her arms around one of the couch cushions. "You're
an amazing man," she said quietly.
He chuckled.
"Yeah right."
In the background she
could hear him make the money-for-food exchange, and then the paper bag with his lunch
rattled in the car. "No, you are. I don't think I've ever
met anyone so free with their money--but it's more than that. It's that
you...connect." She smiled. "So, tell me more about this job.
What's it pay?"
"Half-time is
thirty thousand. Full is sixty. Bennies are adjusted accordingly."
Her breath caught.
"I don't want special consideration."
"No, that's how
it is for the whole company. The only difference is, that with this job you
pick what hours you want. Maybe you could start half time and
see where it went."
She considered the
visit to the doctor, the tests they'd run, and the possibility of
surgery. "I don't want to take it till after I know what's happening with
my leg."
"Ah, take it
either way. The hiring process would probably take as long as waiting for
you to get mobile again would."
Her smile felt bright
for the first time in weeks. "You're really good to me."
"What's with you
today? You smokin' crack, or something?"
She thought of Angel,
so cold and distant. How he'd been willing to ship her off to a
hospital with no one who knew her. "No, just realizing what a good
guy I have."
An uncomfortable
silence buzzed between them. Finally, he laughed, but he sounded really
uncomfortable. "Okay, so, see you tomorrow at ten?"
She'd been trying to
make up for something that she could never make up for by sleeping
with Angel. And now, she was realizing just how little she could trust
him. Comparing him to David, who had been there for her before
he even knew who she was, made her realize just how different her life
would have been without him.
And she could do what
Angel did, and take the easy way out. Or she could start clean with
David and see if they had a chance. Because she really did care
about him.
"David, could we,
maybe, talk sometime soon? There are some things I need to tell
you." Her fingers tensed on the phone.
"Uh, sure. Any
time." He sounded like he was the one bracing for something now. That
same tone he'd used after the charity dinner, the one that sent up red
flags, colored his voice.
"Maybe the day
after tomorrow? I could buy you that dinner." Tomorrow was going to be busy.
Charity visit, doctor's office. And tomorrow night, she was taking
the scroll to Lilah.
"Speaking of
eating...."
"Yeah, you should
go," she said, fiddling with the fringe on the cushion. "I'll
think about that job offer, okay?"
"Fair enough.
Talk to you soon?"
"You bet."
She hung up and sat, cradling the pillow. Nerves danced through her, tensing
her shoulders. She was running the risk of losing him, but she
couldn't pretend any more. Not when he was so willing to give so
much of himself to her.
She could live her
life like Angel did, closed off at the heart and unwilling to openly
show his love and commitment. Or she could tell David the whole story
and see if he stuck.
It was a risk she had
to take.
***
Something was wrong.
She knew it as soon as she woke. The doorbell chimed and the sound
reverberated through her, sending her shivering to her feet.
Doorbell. Middle of
the night.
She didn't even put on
a robe.
Shoving hair out of
her eyes, she pressed her face to the peephole. Dropped back down,
hand over her mouth.
"Open the door,
Cordy," he said, voice pitched to carry to her, but not to the neighbors.
Her heart slugged like
a fist in her chest. "You can't be here."
Silence. When she
looked again she saw him pacing, agitated. "Cordy!" He slammed his palm
flat against the wood.
She flinched.
Another slam. The door
rattled in its frame. Dennis coiled around her, picking up on the
live wire of her feelings. "Go home, Ben."
After a minute the
pacing stopped. Quiet returned. She let out a puff of air, let her
shoulders slump. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he was—
The sound of his foot
on the door ricocheted through the apartment. She stumbled back as
the door slammed into the wall. "Oh, God— Oh, my God—"
His face was like a
mask of marble, his eyes flashing dark, crazy. "I keep having these
dreams." It shouldn't have sounded like an accusation. He grabbed
her shoulders and yanked her to him. "In them, you fuck me." His
smile wasn't the pretty, easy thing she'd first seen on him. It was
rank with betrayal, with violence. "And then you fuck me over."
By now she was
standing on her tip-toes, held nearly off the floor by the force of his
grasp. "B-ben—"
He shook her.
"That's not my name. Is it?"
There was a noise in
the hall. "Let her go!"
Connor dropped her and
looked over his shoulder. "Back off." The door stood open, the wood
around the lock shattered.
Cordy stood, teeth
chattering, mind spinning, in her boxers and tank top, watching as her
neighbor, Jack, raised a baseball bat and aimed it at Connor's head.
Do it, she thought.
Kill him now, before he can remember it all. Except that it was
obviously too late for that.
The two men stared at
each other, Connor in his jeans and over-sized T-shirt, an
all-American boy on the way to being a man; Jack, in his rumpled plaid pajamas
and his hair sticking up everywhere, defending her.
"It's okay,
Jack," she said. Her voice came out trembling, husky.
He narrowed his eyes
at her. "It doesn't look that way to me."
Connor took a step
toward him and Jack pulled his arm back like a batter aiming for the
bleachers. "No one asked you—"
She put her hand on
Connor's arm. "Stop it. Sit down"
His head swiveled, a
sneer on his face.
"Please, Connor.
Sit down."
He flinched at the use
of his real name, but he backed off.
Some of the strength
came back to her voice and she went to the door. "I'm sorry,
Jack." She noticed then that several of the doors on her hall were open,
peoples' heads out, trying to figure out whether or not they
should call the cops.
"I know him.
He's—" Looking over her shoulder at Connor, her heart clenched. "He's
my friend's son and he needs help."
When she looked back,
Jack had relaxed. "It looked bad, Cordy."
She tugged her lips
into a smile. "It *is* bad. But nothing I can't handle." Her
fingers touched his elbow, feeling the soft cotton of his pj's. The normalcy
grounded her, gave her confidence. "Thank you."
Jack took a step back
and glanced up and down the hall. Doors closed and left them alone.
"Call me if you need anything."
"Yes. I
will." She waved then closed the door. She had to go to the kitchen to get a chair
so she could anchor the door closed.
When she got back,
Connor was pacing in front of the couch. "You've been having
dreams," she said, easing past him to sit in the chair at the end of the sofa.
"Tell me about them."
Connor snorted.
"What are you, my shrink?"
It was like being hit
in the face. "No. But I'd like to be your friend." She knit
her fingers together in her lap. "I— I don't think we ever had a chance
to be friends."
The night dragged out
with him pacing and her sitting. Finally, he spoke. "My whole
fucking *life* is a lie."
Cordy met his eyes.
"Yes."
Something about the
simple, honest answer seemed to defeat him. He sat on the floor, back
to the couch, knees in front of his chest. His Tevas showed off
tanned feet with haphazardly-tended nails. The jeans were clean and they
fit; the T-shirt old but obviously well-loved.
"He changed
everything without our permission," she said quietly.
Almost before the
words were out of her mouth, he exploded. "It wasn't his
*right*!" He was back on his feet, pacing, a ball of lightning, dangerous
and explosive.
Even so, her fear was
gone. She knew he wouldn't hurt her now; he just needed to blow
off steam. "No. But it's typical Angel."
He whirled.
"What, fucking everyone over? Taking away their fucking freedom?"
"He thought he
was protecting you. Us." She shrugged. "It's just…. How he is."
"And you're
perfectly fine with that."
She met his eyes.
"I made a choice. It was the wrong choice. I can't condemn him for doing
the same."
"What, when you
gave me that pity fuck?"
Cordy held his stare
but it cost her something. "No. Before that."
"What, screwing
your best friend's son wasn't bad enough?"
Her laugh was bitter,
brutal. "Connor, that was far from the worst thing I need
forgiveness for."
"Well, it was the
worst thing to me!"
She felt his hackles
rise, felt him fight them back, as if he were reviewing all the
possible reasons he had to be angry. And there were a lot. "I know.
And I'm sorry. I wasn't— This is going to sound—"
She stopped and looked
at her hands, folded too neatly in her lap to belong to her.
Something about that struck her as wrong—why was she taking the brunt,
here? She'd been hurt just as much as he had in all of this. She'd lost
just as much.
And if fate was
offering her this opportunity, then she was gonna make a choice.
"Oh, fuck it." Cordy stood and got right in his face. "Connor,
that wasn't me. It was Jasmine. I wouldn't have had sex with you if you
were the last man on earth."
His forehead wrinkled.
"What?"
"I knew you when
you were a baby. God, Connor, I loved you so much." She bit her lip,
waited for it to pass. "But I would never, *never* have had sex with you.
Do you understand that?" Cordy clasped his hands. They were hot,
callused, like he'd been fighting.
Connor jerked back.
"Don't touch me."
Stunned at what she'd
done, she backed off. "God, stupid much?"
His eyes flared.
"Not you, me.
Look." She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. "This
whole thing sucks on a scale too big to measure. We set the new record for
suckage." He was staring at her, eyes narrowed, but he was listening.
Those eyes, so hard,
so full of hatred. She flashed on Darla's face, the same eyes,
laughing with cruelty just before she drove her teeth into Cordelia's neck.
Connor came from that: life from death, love from hatred, violence
from violence.
And then his eyes
changed and his whole body sagged. "Fuck," he whispered. He scrubbed
his hands over his face, then turned and walked to the door.
"Connor?"
She wasn't sure what to say, what to do. He couldn't be leaving, could he?
He stopped, one hand
on the back of the chair, the other hanging limp at his side.
"Do you need a
place to crash?"
His laugh was dirty,
knowing. "Inviting me in, Cordelia?"
Her fists clenched.
"What part of 'last man on earth' did you not understand?"
He didn't turn around,
but he mumbled something under his breath.
"That better have
been an apology, bub."
"I'm sorry,"
he said. When he turned, all the fight was gone, the nasty glint washed out
of his eye. "That was uncalled for." His hands found his pockets.
Cordelia sucked in a
breath. How many times had she seen Angel make that same move?
"You can sleep on the couch while you decide what to do." She walked
toward the kitchen, suddenly starving. "Fix the door while you're here, and
we'll call it even."
He appeared behind her
as she was pulling a pepperoni pizza out of the freezer. "I'm
not sure," he said, almost under his breath.
She pulled the kitchen
shears out of the junk drawer and cut the box open. Scissors in
hand, she turned to him. "About what?"
"Dad--
Angel." His gaze dropped.
"We could cut his
head off," she said, clacking the scissors.
His head jerked up,
eyes and nostrils flaring, until he saw she was joking. Then he
smiled, that brilliant, beautiful flash. "Ha ha. Wouldn't be the first
time I've had to cut off my dad's head."
She froze, bent over
to put the pizza in the oven, and looked over her shoulder.
"Holtz." Cordy had seen that, too, in one of those weird flashbacks. The
shovel, raised high over the boy's head; the downward spiral of
metal and death; the severed skull, smile twisting gruesomely.
He looked away.
"Never mind."
Cordy watched him,
tried to read him, but couldn't. She slid the pizza the rest of the
way into the oven and shut the door.
"Get us a couple
of sodas," she said, throwing away the box and putting the shears
back in the drawer.
He reached into the
fridge and rooted around, came up with a couple of Diet Sprites.
"Too late for caffeine," he said, handing her one.
She laughed, but it
didn't feel very light. Then she went to him, raised her hand
slowly, and stopped just a few inches short of his jaw.
His nostrils flared,
just like Angel's used to when she got this close.
"May I?" she
asked, dropping her voice into soothing range.
After a second, he
nodded. When her hand cupped his cheek, he closed his eyes, and held
perfectly still.
"I remember when
you were born," she said, stroking his face with her thumb. A gentle, sad
gesture. A gesture of love. "You were so tiny. And we were all so
afraid we'd break you." She laughed, and it came out in a quiet huff.
"Your dad was a total freak, obsessing about every little detail.
It was a full day before he'd let anyone hold you but him. I had to
drag him out into the sunlight to convince him to let you go."
His eyes opened.
"Guess it worked, huh?"
She smiled. "A
little too well. Look, Connor, I fucked up. Not just with you, but with
your dad and with myself. I thought I was making good decisions for the
right reasons--and maybe I was, who knows? But the bottom line is,
we're here, you and I. And now we have a choice."
He leaned his face
into her hand. "I feel safe here. Can't I just stay forever?"
It pinched her heart
and reminded her of that moment so long ago between her and David.
"Don't I wish?" she said, and it wasn't totally out of
kindness. "I'm not saying we have to choose one thing or the other. Or even
when. All I'm saying is," she took a deep breath, "if you
ever want to go see your dad, I've got your back."
He made a sound in the
back of his throat. "I don't know what I want."
She pulled him into a
hug. "I don't know what I want, either. So let's just eat some
pizza and sleep on it, okay?"
They held each other,
and she felt Dennis run a soothing hand down her back. "I
forgot to tell you, I have a ghost," she said.
"Oh. I thought
that was your Sprite can on my back."
Cordelia pulled away,
laughing, and looked over his shoulder. "It is." A wind
rushed through the room, ruffling Connor's hair. "That wasn't."
Connor smiled, a quirk
of his lips. "Ghost. Cool." Then he lifted his hand and cupped her
cheek, just like she'd done to him. "I won't let you down this time,
Cordy."
She leaned into
against his palm. "I wish I could say the same. But with my track
record...."
"Just promise me
you won't lie to me."
Angel's broken boy,
asking for nothing more than the truth. "God, what a relief. I've
spent all this time feeling like I was in hell because I was the only
one who knew what really happened."
"Now you have a
cell mate." He dropped his hand, took hers, and led her to the table.
"Tell me where the plates are."
She could tell him
about Angel, and how he knew everything too, but it didn't seem like
the time. Not now that Connor had calmed down. Instead, she pointed
him toward them and yawned. "You need to call your mom?"
He shook his head.
"She thinks I'm at Jake's."
Cordy put her head
down on her arms. "Okay. Just as long as you call her in the next day or
two, so she doesn't worry." She let out a deep breath, feeling her
insides uncoil and her shoulders loosen. "Wake me when the pizza's
done."
When she woke, she was
alone in her bed, buried under the covers. She froze, feeling like
something was out of place.
Then a quiet voice
came from the door. "It's okay. It's just me."
"Connor? Did you
put me to bed?" She remembered pizza and hugging and putting her head down
on the table.
"Yeah. You zoned
out. I figured you'd be more comfortable in here."
Pushing up on her
elbows helped her get a better line of sight on him. He sat, a
folded-up shadow, in her doorway. The light from the window angled across
him, striping his face. "You all right?"
"I was
just--" He paused, stared out the window. "I just needed to be close. Is that
okay?"
"Aren't you
tired?"
He shrugged. "I
don't sleep much." When he turned to look at her, half of his face was
in shadow. "Unless you want me to leave?"
She thought about it.
"No. You're fine. It's kinda nice to have a guardian angel. As
long as you stay on your side of the room."
His laugh was low,
bitter. "I think I got that 'last man on earth' part. You don't have
to worry about me jumping your bones." He paused, awkward.
"Not that they're not pretty bones!"
"God, you sound
just like Angel when you do that." She laughed. "He could be such a
dork."
Connor's stillness
made it look like he was fading into shadow.
"Connor?"
"He was your
guardian angel. Before I came along and screwed everything up."
Cordelia wrapped her
arms around her knees. "That's not true, Connor." Maybe it
had been, once, the part about Angel guarding her. But it wasn't any more
true now than Connor screwing everything up. "You
were--are--a miracle child. What happened to you isn't your fault. Don't ever
believe that."
"Then why did
everyone's life go to hell when I was born, Cordelia?" His voice escalated,
became thick with tears. "Why? Can you tell me that?"
Drawn by his grief,
she got up and went to him. "Shh," she said, wrapping her arms
around him. "Shh, Connor. Don't blame yourself. Don't ever do
that."
She stroked his hair,
kissed his head. "You're a victim of fate, just like the rest of us.
And you've been given a second chance. Don't you see?"
It turned her stomach
to say it, but she knew it was the truth. And she'd promised not to
lie. "Your dad was trying to hit a reset button. To give you
the life he always wanted you to have. And now you have it--your mom
and dad, your school, your friends."
"Then why do I
remember the other life? Why does it feel more real that this one?"
His voice broke and his body shook.
Cordy realized he was
right. This life had never felt real, not from the beginning. It was
like gauze laid over a moth-eaten dress. "I don't know. I wish I
did."
He pulled back, and in
the pale wash of light, his face was stained silver with tears.
"You feel it too?"
She nodded, dropped
back, and sat next to him on the floor. "I have since I woke up. I
guess it's part of the spell. If you don't look too closely at it, it
works. But start pulling the edges, and it unravels."
And if it suddenly
fell apart? David would know everything about her, all those sins she'd
worked so hard to keep a secret. What would he say, what would he do,
if he knew what had really happened?
Which was exactly why
she had to tell him.
"It scares me to
think about going back to the other way. I have a man that I...."
Was she really going to say this? "I think I might be falling in love with.
And he's human, and it's real--in the midst of this lie, it's the
only thing that's real."
Connor stared at her.
"You're falling in love? Do I need to meet him?"
She banged her head
gently against the wall. "Stop with the creepy stalker routine. He's
way nicer than you'll ever be."
They sat together in
silence and Cordy stared out the window, watching the light
shift on the glass.
"So you'd give
that up for me?" Connor asked, sounding uncertain.
Cordy looked over at
him. "What?"
"You'd give him
up? Your love, the only thing that's real?"
She thought about all
the things that she'd done, as herself, and as Jasmine. She wasn't
responsible for her actions while Jasmine lived in her, but for a
couple of months, evil wore her face. And people would remember.
David would remember.
But there was really
only one answer. "Yes." Because to right the wrongs, you had to go
as far back to the beginning as you could, and start from there.
Maybe she couldn't go all the way back to that moment in the ethers
when Jasmine pointed at her soul and said, "that one," but she
could start here.
With Connor. With
herself.
Connor shuddered.
"You're insane."
She squeezed his
shoulder. "No, I love you. And I want you to have the life you want. But
Connor, you have to realize--choosing this path, it might mean
you die again. Do you understand that?" The thought of losing him
for a third time--she wanted to keen with pain. But it was the only
way.
They both had demons
to face, and they'd face them together.
He stared out the
window, totally still. "In one of my dreams, Holtz tied me to a tree and
left me." Connor laughed, but it had a nightmarish quality to
it. "In another, I looked into Angel's eyes as he raised the
knife."
Connor leaned his head
against the wall and let out a soft puff of air. "And both
times, when my fathers made me face death, I welcomed it. Dying to this
life...it wouldn't matter. I don't really feel alive here
anyway."
She sat next to him,
shoulder to shoulder, a sister in arms. Silence bloomed between them,
and it felt more real than any words could
Finally, Connor got to
his feet. "You need to sleep." He held out his hand. "You must
be exhausted."
She took it and stood
next to him. "I've got a busy day tomorrow-- today. I probably
should." She squeezed his fingers. "Stay?"
In the half-light his
eyes were liquid silver. "I'll be here."
Cordy crawled in bed
and pulled the comforter up to her chin. When she looked back, he
was sitting in the doorway again, staring out the window at the night.
"Whatever happens," she said, "I love you."
And then she was
asleep.
Chapter 9
Cordy spritzed Souffle
d'Issey into the air and walked through the cloud. A last swipe of
lipstick and she was out the bedroom door. "Be back this
evening," she called quietly to Dennis.
Connor slept on the
couch, shoes off, but otherwise fully clothed. His hand was tucked
between the pillow and his cheek, and under his parchment-thin
eyelids, his eyes flickered. She wondered what he was dreaming.
Crouching next to him,
she watched him sleep. Her baby boy, and so much more.
He woke with a jerk,
eyes focusing on her, hand coming up to strike. She caught it,
mid-air. "It's just me."
His body relaxed back
into the cushions. "Sorry," he whispered. She laid his hand gently
back down on the afghan. "Reflex."
"I know. I've got
a thing this morning, and a doctor's appointment this afternoon. You
gonna be okay here?"
He rubbed his eyes and
sat up. "Time is it?"
"About ten till
ten. I've got to meet David downstairs before he comes up here and
finds you." She grinned. "I don't want him thinking I've left him for a
younger man."
Connor snorted.
"As if. You sure it's okay for me to hang?"
She nodded. "As
long as you want." She waggled a finger at him. "Just don't get me in any
more trouble with your mom."
"'kay. Is there
any pizza left?" His hair was soft, frazzled. He smelled like young
man's sleepy sweat, green and untarnished.
"No. I ate the
rest for breakfast. But there's another in the freezer, and some
cereal and stuff." She glanced at her watch. "Must dash. Do I look
okay?" She turned in front of him, shooting a grin over her shoulder.
He nodded. "You
look great. I like that suit. Very official."
"We're going to
the hospital to see the kids. They're getting the money from the charity
dinner the other night."
Connor smiled at her.
"That's good." He sat up, letting the afghan puddle at his waist.
His T-shirt was as rumpled as his hair. "You got a T-shirt I can
borrow?"
"In the bedroom.
Dennis will show you where."
"Cool." He
stood, scratching his chest. "If I'm not here when you get back, I'll call
you."
She picked her purse
up off the hall table. "You'd better."
The door closed behind
her with a quiet click, and she made her way to the elevator. By
the time she got downstairs, David had pulled up in front of the
building and was getting out of the car. It was the MGB today.
"Hey. You got it
fixed?"
He came around and
helped her in, then slid her cane behind the seat. "Yeah. It's
a great day. Perfect convertible weather." His head tilted. "That's a
nice suit. You look really pretty."
She touched her hair,
which she'd pulled into an over-the-shoulder braid. "Thank
you. You don't look half bad, yourself."
He had on khakis and a
button-down and a Looney Tunes tie. As he settled into the seat
beside her, he put on a pair of aviator sunglasses. "The kids like the tie."
They pulled into
traffic and he headed toward the hospital. The radio played jazz and the
wind ruffled her hair. She leaned her head back and watched the clouds
pass, a long strand of pearls in the blue, blue sky.
It was nice to just
hang out with David. Easy, free, fun. No brooding or darkness or
remorse--except for hers. And for a little while, she could let herself
leave it all behind.
They pulled into the
hospital parking lot and David got a parking pass from the
attendant. He helped her out of the car and handed her the cane. "You
ready?"
She nodded.
"Yeah."
A nurse greeted them
at the second floor desk. He was a tall, thin black man in bright
purple scrubs, and he held out his hand for David to shake. "Mr.
Nabbit. Good to see you again." His teeth were white and perfectly
straight, and his smile was beautiful.
"Hey, Larry. This
is my friend, Cordelia. She's the one who organized the dinner the other
night and I thought it'd be nice for her to meet the kids."
Cordy shook Larry's
hand. "Nice to meet you."
He glanced down at her
cane. "You look like a kindred spirit."
"I guess I
am." She smiled. "Though they're probably a lot less whiny about it than I
am."
Larry laughed and led
them down the hall to a large living room. A brightly colored rug
covered the linoleum, and toys were scattered around three toy
chests. A group of about ten kids sat in wheelchairs or on bean bags,
watching TV.
"Hey, guys, Mr.
Nabbit's here."
"And he brought
goodies," David said. He pulled a bag out of his briefcase--miniature
candy bars.
The kids rushed him,
screaming, and David sat down in the floor with them and ripped open
the bag of candy.
"He's not
supposed to do that," Larry said. He shook his head, but his eyes were
definitely amused by the sight of the kids crowding David.
"But who's gonna
stop him, right?" Cordy asked.
Larry chuckled.
"Pretty much. You guys gonna be okay in here? I need to go back to the
desk."
"Yeah. No
problem."
"Hey, everybody,
this is Cordelia Chase. She's my friend, so you should be really nice
to her."
One of the kids in the
wheelchair eyeballed her. "Those earrings aren't real
diamonds."
"Yeah," said
a blond boy whose crutches lay abandoned beside him. "And Micayla
can tell. Just ask anyone."
Cordy laughed. "Micayla
has good eyes." She knelt down next to them, as best as she could.
Her hip twinged, and she winced. "Not very graceful, am I?"
"What happened to
your leg?" Micayla asked.
"I was in a coma
for a long time."
"Can they fix
it?" asked the boy with the crutches.
"I don't know.
I'm going this afternoon to find out."
He pulled his pants
down, showing Superman underwear and a network of criss-crossing red
scars. "They're trying to fix mine. It's way better than it was,
but I'll never be a hundred per cent." He poked one of the scars.
"That's what Doctor Mike says, anyway."
Cordy glanced up at
David, who was watching them talk. He smiled at her. "I have
really big ears, but the doctors could never fix those, either."
Superman giggled.
"You look like that guy from Mad Magazine."
David snorted.
"Like I haven't heard that a million times."
Cordy rolled her eyes.
"Please, David's way funnier than that guy. Hey, you don't know
his name do you?"
"Alfred E.
Newman," David said. "All I need is a red bowtie and I'm good to go. And aren't
you guys too young to read Mad Magazine? I thought that was just
for old people, like me and Cordy."
"Doctor Mike
brought a whole stack by one day," Micayla said. "I didn't like them. I
like Mary-Kate and Ashley's magazine way better."
"I'll bring one
to you next time I come," Cordy said. She stood, trying to take some of
the weight off her leg. "You guys mind if we move to the couch? My
leg is killing me."
An hour later, she and
David walked down the hall to the front desk. "What'd you
think?" he asked.
"It was kinda
cool. Nice to feel like I'm helping people again."
He slung his arm
around her shoulders and they waved at Larry as they passed the desk.
"You guys come
back any time," Larry said.
"Will do."
David reached into his pocket and pitched a candy bar to him, an extra-big
ones.
Larry caught it,
shaking his head and laughing. "Thanks."
"Keeps me out of
trouble," David said.
"Take a lot more
than that, " Larry called.
***
David
had an afternoon meeting so he dropped her off at the doctor's office,
about two blocks from the hospital. She sat in the waiting room,
a magazine open on her lap, waiting for her name to be called. Her
stomach clenched and she tried to take deep breaths.
Rita and David had
both offered to come, but she wanted to do this alone.
Melissa, the nurse
whose name she'd finally learned, opened the door and
called her name. She made the now-familiar walk to Dr. Fitch's door.
"Oh,
good," he said, looking up from a set of color film. "There you are.
It's nice to see you." He motioned toward the chair in front of his
desk. "Have a seat."
She sat, and put her
cane and her purse on the floor next to her.
"So, what's the verdict?"
"Well, it's
like we thought. You've got some permanent damage in the left
leg." He shook his head. "It's not really scar tissue, so we can't
operate on it. And while the nerves responded normally, there are
places where the muscle didn't."
She sat, silently.
The window behind Dr. Fitch's desk looked out at the
tops of the trees. A palm waved against a stand of eucalyptus. Her
head felt empty, like the doctor's words had knocked everything out.
"There's some
good research coming out of the muscular dystrophy sector
that might allow us to do something called muscle patching. Basically,
you inject a chemical that we think the body uses to rebuild
muscle and hope the body responds. We can get you into that experimental
program but it's pretty intense. You'd have to be willing
to come for injections regularly, and there are no guarantees."
He leaned toward
her, and his voice was firm, but compassionate. "I think
the bottom line is, you'll never regain full use of that leg. Even
if the muscle injections work, it'll never match the strength of the
right leg again."
It wasn't like this
was unexpected. She'd been preparing for it ever since
their last meeting. But to hear it stated so clearly.... "Can I get
another opinion?"
"Of course. I'd
expect you to. And anything you find out, with another
doctor or online, bring back to me. We're willing to do whatever
we can to help. The only thing you'll need to consider is that,
over time, the leg will continue to deteriorate. Exercise will help,
and proper rest and diet. But the body isn't responding to the muscles'
call to rebuild, and eventually it'll put its energy somewhere
else."
He took a deep
breath. "I really am sorry. I hate to deliver news like
this. It isn't at all the outcome we were hoping for, especially since
you'd already made such an amazing recovery."
Cordy took a deep
breath, then, unable to sit there another minute, picked
up her purse and cane. She stood and looked down at him. "Just tell
me whether I'm going to end up in a wheel chair."
His eyes were kind
in the way you'd be kind to an injured stray dog. Concerned,
but unwilling to get too attached. "If you do, it won't be for
years and years."
Which only made it
worse. A limp, a cane. And down the road, complete dependence.
"Thanks, Dr. Fitch. I'll be in touch."
He stood and walked
her to the door, patting her on the shoulder. "If you
decide to try out for that program, let me know. We'll do everything
we can to help you get in."
Her breath left her
body. A surge of anger flared. God *damn* the Powers
for doing this to her.
The door closed
behind her and she leaned against the wall. "Fuck you,"
she whispered. "*Fuck* you."
***
Cordy sat in the
back of the Mercedes, watching the buildings flash past.
Her cell phone rang. "Yeah."
"Hey, how'd it
go?" David sounded hopeful.
"Great. I'm
trying out for the Olympics tomorrow." She swallowed and her
throat was thick with tears.
"Cordy? What
happened?"
For a minute she
couldn't talk. Finally, she wiped her hand over her eyes
and said, "My right leg's great. My left leg? Bum."
"What do you
mean? They can't repair it? Surely there's something they
can--"
"The muscle is
degenerating and my body doesn't know how to fix it. They
don't know why it happened. He says there's some kind of experimental
program, with injections and stuff." She took a deep, shaky
breath.
"We can get you
into any program you want. I'll call my friend who's the
head of orthopedic surgery at Pacific Center. He'll have you in his
office tomorrow."
The day she was
supposed to tell David everything. She couldn't imagine
piling one more thing on top of herself. "Thank you. But I just--
I need some time, okay?"
"Want me to
bring you some dinner, or something?"
"No," she
said, squeezing the cane handle. "I've got pizza, I think. Or
peanut butter. I'll just take a bath and throw myself a pity party."
David sighed.
"This sucks so hard."
"Tell me about
it."
"You can move
back in with me. Any time you want. No strings attached.
Rita would come back full-time to help you, I'm sure. She loves
you. You're her bright hope."
She huffed out a
laugh. "Yeah, right. Except for the part where I'm crippled
for life."
They sat in silence,
the white noise of the car and the dim flare of the
radio the only noise. "You know I don't care about that, right?" David
asked. His voice was quiet, and very serious.
She did. And it was
the only thing getting her through this hellish afternoon.
"Yeah. Thanks."
Max pulled into her
driveway. "Cordy? We're here."
"I'm
home," she said. "Can I call you later?"
"Sure. Any
time. I'll be here."
She climbed out of
the car, then leaned in and said, "Thanks, Max. See
you soon?"
He smiled at her, a
gentle, wistful smile. "I'm sorry you got bad news.
Anything I can do, you let me know." His brown eyes were so sweet,
so much warmer than Dr. Fitch's.
She was surrounded
by people who cared. For the first time since she woke
up, she had a family.
"I know. Thank
you." The door closed with a thunk, and she walked slowly
into the building, letting herself feel the cane in her hand. Already
it felt like a permanent attachment, another limb. Better get used
to it, she thought. You're stuck with it for life.
When she opened the
door, Dennis closed it in her face. "Dennis? What's
going on?" She rattled the doorknob again, but it was like a hand,
keeping it from turning. "Who's in there?"
The door flew open
and Angel stood, looking at her.
This is a no good,
very bad day, she thought. "I so don't want you here
right now."
He yanked her in and
closed the door behind them. "I so don't care. Where
have you been?"
She dropped her
purse on the entry hall table and glared at him.
"Welcome home, Cordy. How was your day, Cordy?"
Angel narrowed his
eyes at her. "Don't start with me. He's been here, hasn't
he? My son has been here."
Cordy stomped past
him to the couch, with its straightened cushions and
carefully folded afghan. "What, your vampy nose sensors going off?"
"That and your
guilt." He sat on the chair across from her, lounging his
legs out like he owned the place.
"Any guilt
you're feeling is yours. Is this why you came? To see if I was
harboring your son?"
"I thought we
needed to talk. Then I found this." He held up the scroll.
"The father will kill the son, Cordelia. Why do you have it?"
Crap. She couldn't
give up Wesley. "I bought it at a garage sale. Owner
moving, everything must go."
Angel's eyes
narrowed. "You really don't want to fuck with me on this."
"Yeah, well,
you really don't want to fuck with me, either." She rapped
her cane against the floor. "In fact, why don't you leave, so I
can get in some quality brooding time? Something I seemed to have picked
up from you."
He leaned forward,
and his eyes softened. "Why? What's wrong?"
Why hide it from
him? He was gonna live forever; he'd figure it out soon
enough. "Thanks to our friend, Jasmine, I'm crippled for life."
He flinched.
"What?"
"Yup. Muscle
degeneration, blah blah blah. So you'll understand when I
say, get the hell out, Angel. I don't have the energy to deal with your
games today."
It seemed to snap
something in him, because suddenly she was looking at
him, without the barricades.
Her breath caught.
"Angel?"
He rested his
forehead on his open palm. "I fucked everything up."
"How?"
"By not paying
enough attention to my family. Wes is going behind my back,
looking at the prophecies, Fred and Gunn are at each others' throats
and they don't even know why. Lorne--did they tell you he had his
sleep removed last year and didn't tell anyone until it was nearly
too late?"
Cordy paused, not
sure whether to tell him what was happening. But it sounded
like he was blaming himself for something beyond his control.
"I don't think it's you."
He glanced up.
"What do you mean?"
"I think the
spell is breaking down. It's never worked on us, and now it
sounds like it's wearing off on everyone else, too. Which is why I have
the scroll, so I can figure out what's going on." She shot him a look.
"And if you knew it was Wes who gave it to me, why'd you ask?"
He leveled his gaze
on her. "To see what you'd say."
She sighed.
"When did you become this person, Angel? This paranoid freak?"
He smiled. "I
missed you. No one else talks to me this way." Then he closed
his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. "My life is
hell. Losing Connor, losing you. Fighting with Buffy. Watching the team
fall apart."
He ran a hand over
his face. "There was a time, at the beginning, where
I worried whether what I was doing was going to play into the hands
of the senior partners." He shook his head. "Now, I don't give a
shit. I'm just trying to keep it in the road."
"No one said
redemption was easy." She smiled, bitterly. "I mean, look
at me, making up for bad decisions by losing my youthful good looks."
Angel stared at her.
"You didn't make any bad decisions. Every decision
you made was for the mission."
She shook her head.
Thought about Doyle. "Not the visions. I didn't ask
for them. I wanted to give them back."
"But you kept
them. You made that choice, even when it was killing you.
And then you took on Jasmine--God, we thought you'd been saved, and
really you'd been damned." He laughed, and it was as bitter as her
own. "We'd all been damned."
Angel stood and came
to sit next to her on the couch. "I'm sorry about
Saturday. I-- I broke. And you caught me, like you always do." He
put his hand on her leg and rubbed her thigh gently.
She sighed.
"Angel, why are you here?"
His eyes softened,
warmed. "Because I need you."
She put her hand on
his and stopped his motion. "No, you don't. You have
Buffy."
His head bowed.
"I don't. I screwed it up. She's gone."
Cordy sighed.
"Did you go after her, you nit?"
"She doesn't
want me. She told me to leave her alone."
"And you
believed her." She put his hand on his own thigh and stood, walking
across the room to turn on the radio. "Angel, remember what I said
the other day? That you aren't willing to stick around for the hard
stuff?"
His eyes flared, but
all he said was, "Yeah."
"Well, this is
the hard stuff. Do you love her?" She leaned against the
armoire that held her stereo and TV.
He shrugged. "I
don't know. I-- I think I do. But then, there's you, and...."
He crossed the room, got in her space. "I know I want you. Maybe
that's a good enough place to start."
She blocked his
reaching hands, put them gently at his side. "Maybe that
would have been enough for me before. But I've changed. I don't share
your mission any more. And I'm in love with David."
The look on his face
would have made her laugh if she hadn't realized how
hurt he was. "But-- He's-- He's not your type."
"And you
are?" She stepped around him and went to the couch, exhausted
from the busy day. "Angel, I love you. I always will. But you're
a vampire and I'm not."
He crossed his arms
across his chest and stared at her. "That never seemed
to worry you before."
"It was my life
before. We were linked by the visions. Remember how much
I loved Connor? How much time the three of us spent together, like
a family?"
He looked so sad.
"Yeah. I remember."
"That's what I
want, for real. For keeps."
His mouth twisted.
"I can't give that to you. I can't give that to anyone."
"You can give
it to your son." She leaned forward and held out her hand.
He crossed the room
and took it, kneeling in front of her.
"Angel, Connor
knows. He remembers everything. It's part of the spell breaking
down, the way everyone else is remembering."
Angel swallowed,
hard. "Oh, God."
"I'm trying to
find out why, but I need you to do something for me, okay?"
He nodded.
"Anything."
"I need you to
promise that if all this pops back, like some huge, supernatural
rubber band, that you'll let him go this time. Let him die
a natural death."
"No. No!"
He pulled back. "I can't. Not Connor."
She squeezed his
hand. "Yes, Connor. He knows it's possible. He's willing
to accept it. You have to be too." She closed her eyes. "We all
have to be."
Angel bowed his
head. "I can't," he whispered. "He's the only good thing
to ever come from me."
Cordy ran her hand
through his spiky hair. "Oh, Angel, that's not true.
Look at what came from you--all those people you saved, all those
people you're still saving."
"I'm not saving
anyone, any more. I sit on my ass and watch hockey. Sometimes
I kill a client when I get bored. They don't let me go out-- they
bug my lapels and make the people I save sign waivers. It's a fucking
nightmare. I feel like I'm in a fucking cage."
"So, get out.
Go back to private investigation. It's what you did best."
He shook his head.
"I'm out of shape, out of practice. I don't have a link
to the Powers."
"Remember what
you said when you found out I had the visions?"
His smile was
sweetly nostalgic. "Besides, 'Why me'?"
She hit his
shoulder. "No, dumbass. You said, When a door closes, a window
opens, or something really cheesy like that."
"So?"
"So, close the
door at Wolfram and Hart, and see what window opens."
He swallowed hard.
"What if one doesn't?"
"At least
you'll be able to save people without making them sign a waiver.
Heck, the Scoobies did just fine without a link to the Powers.
They just walked through graveyards and killed stuff."
Angel chuckled.
"Good point. I'll think about it." He sighed. "I don't
want to leave."
"Well, I want
to take a nap. I've got stuff tonight and I'm worn out."
His smile grew warm,
delicious. "Can I tuck you in?"
"No, you may
not. You had your shot. And you get extra credit for giving
me two happies in one night, even if the rest of it was on the empty
side." She pushed him back and stood. "Now, go find your girlfriend
and throw yourself at her feet."
"I'll think
about it."
She sighed.
"Fine. Whatever."
He leaned down and
kissed her cheek, pulled her to him in a hug.
His body was cool,
and after David's warmth he felt strange, inhuman. But
he was Angel, and she loved him, and she hugged him back, hard.
"Love you," she said.
"You too."
He kissed her forehead. "Don't do anything stupid with that
scroll."
"Like
what?"
"Go to Lilah.
She'll eat you for lunch. She's had a hard-on for us ever
since I took over."
She snorted.
"Don't be an idiot." She waved him toward the door.
"Angel?"
He turned.
"Yeah."
"The hardest
thing about this world is to live in it."
"Yeah."
It
was a stand-off. Lilah against Angel.
Gunn lay on the floor,
unconscious, his shirt ripped and a dark smear of blood on his head.
Behind them Wes held a slumped-over Connor under the arms, right
next to a glowing portal. The pistol in his hand was aimed at
Connor's head.
She gasped. "Wes!
No!"
But when she tried to
run to him, David grabbed her arm. "Stay back. This looks bad."
Then he shot her a funny look. "Did you say you loved me?"
"We'll talk about
it later," she said, vibrating with tension.
Lilah tapped the toe
of next season's Prada shoes on the concrete floor. Looked like
Wolfram and Hart not only got cop protection, they got first dibs on the
Fall line. "Hail, hail, the gang's all here."
Wes's face was drawn
in grim strokes. "I didn't want it to happen this way," he
said to Angel.
"Second verse,
same as the first," Angel said, fists clenched. "I should have killed you
when I had the chance."
"Stop it, both of
you." Cordy took the scroll out of her pocket and threw it on the floor
at Wes's feet. "The spell is breaking down."
"No, it
isn't," Lilah said, gliding forward on her beautiful shoes. She adjusted the pink
scarf at her neck. "Everything's working out just like I'd
planned."
Lilah brushed by her,
giving Cordy a chill. Her flesh was cool, dry, soft…wrong.
"Why are you here, Lilah?" The jolt she'd gotten when she saw the dead woman was
starting to reverberate through her, and she didn't like it.
"You're so smart,
why don't you tell me?"
Cordy crossed her arms
over her jean jacket, wishing she'd worn something a little
more upscale in the face of Lilah's Marc Jacobs.
"Connor."
"I can see why
Angel kept you around." Her eyes dropped to Cordy's chest. "Well,
knowing him like I do now, I'd say that was probably second or third on the
list."
Angel stepped forward.
"Lilah--"
"If you have a
point," Cordy said, "please feel free to find it."
"Angel gets off
on chasing girls around the copier." She glanced over her shoulder.
"Oops. That probably wasn't the point you wanted to hear me make."
"Angel's a
vampire, Lilah. They're hardly great boyfriend material." She shot him an
apologetic glance, then wondered why she'd bothered since it was true.
Little crinkles
appeared at the corners of Lilah's eyes. "That's not what you said two
summers ago." She clasped her hands to her chest. "I'm in
love," she said, in a surprisingly good imitation of Cordy's voice.
"With Angel!" Her laughter rang through the room.
David tensed. "I
knew you were in love with him."
Cordy squeezed his
hand, but kept her gaze pinned on Lilah. "So, how's the neck?"
She remembered how it felt to shove the knife deep in Lilah's throat.
She'd hoped it was a nightmare, not one of those flashbacks that came
in dreams. But now she knew it was true.
Lilah stopped laughing
and fingered the scarf. "Fine, thanks." She tugged the fabric
aside, showing a long, thin line. "I know how Marie Antoinette felt."
Cordy stood, tense.
Coming face-to-face with Connor had been one thing. But Lilah was
dead because of her. Never mind that Lilah being dead was actually a
*good* thing.
Or it would have been
if Lilah had stayed dead. "Get to the point, Lilah."
Her perfectly waxed
eyebrow arched. "Angel's spawn? Your young stud? He's looking good, by
the way. I can totally see why you boffed him."
David whipped around
to stare at Cordy. "You had sex with Ben-- Connor?"
"She didn't tell
you? And here I thought she was supposed to love you." Lilah
leaned forward and said, sotto voce, "She seduced him while Angel watched.
It was all very sordid. And then, she got pregnant with his
child--with Jasmine, actually."
David's eyes narrowed.
"Cordy wouldn't--"
"Oh, please. She
bagged Connor *and* Angel." She thrust her chin towards Angel.
"Ask her about the night after the charity dinner."
"Cordy?"
David asked.
Angel grabbed Lilah's
arm. "Enough! Just say what you want, so I can kill you and get it
over with."
Lilah looked down at
his hand and smiled. "Oh, Angel, you hardly need a visit from Nearly
Headless Nicole to tell you what you already know." She
shrugged and Angel dropped her arm.
"This whole plan
is such a thing of beauty." She clasped her hands under her chin and
batted her eyelashes. "There you are, going along, thinking you're doing
the right thing. And suddenly, bam! The world hands you everything
you never wanted, on a silver platter. Really, who would
complain?"
She leaned in,
ignoring Angel, and got in Cordy's space. "You got your reprieve, your
happy little family complete with live-action baby, but at what
cost? I've always wondered, what was it like to be filled by her?"
Cordy felt herself
pale.
"Jasmine, I mean.
One of the greatest evils ever to grace the earth." Her laugh was low,
smoky, seductive. "The thing I loved about Jasmine was how she pretended
to be good. You wouldn't believe how Angel lapped that up. And
Connor? Please. That boy would do anything to be loved." She
coughed daintily into her hand. "Kinda pathetic, actually."
"Lapped what
up?" Cordy's lips felt numb, her hands cold. She was ignoring the part
about Connor on purpose. If the look on David's face was any
indication, the last thing they needed were any more revelations about her
relationship with Connor.
"He really
believed he'd made the right choice," she said, shooting Angel a look. "To
kill her, I mean. And then, when the world went back to its murderous,
back-stabbing, beautiful self…." Lilah shivered in delight.
"I love guilt. I really, really do. Especially his, you know?"
"You're
dead," Angel growled.
"Old news,"
Lilah said. She trailed her finger along Cordy's shoulder, tangling it
teasingly in her hair. Leaning in, she pressed her cool lips against
Cordy's ear. The mothball scent of death clung.
"And here we are
again--back to where we started. Working for Wolfram and Hart has its
rewards," she said breathily. "Life after death. Really excellent
cinnamon rolls, not that I ever ate them, of course." She
pulled back, eyes glinting. "Gotta watch our figures, we girls."
She paused, as if
considering something important, her glossy pink lips pursed into a
perfect moue. "Oh, and the ability to keep spells running for
eternity."
Then she snapped her
fingers and a contract appeared in her hand. "David's a real sweetie, you know. A
step up from your usual fixer-upper."
Cordy's teeth
clenched. "You bitch."
"I thought we
established that already." She rocked on her thin, black heels and
considered the paper in her hand. "You could come to work for us, though,
and all of it would go away. All this?" She waved her hand.
"Forgotten. You'd get your pudgy little human lover, and Connor would go
back to his normal life."
"You want me to
work at Wolfram and Hart?" Cordelia asked, stunned. "For
what, the price of my soul?"
"Please,"
Lilah said, rolling her eyes. "You gave that up years ago. Do the words `demonize
me, already' mean anything to you?"
Cordy stared at her.
"Okay,
enough," Wes said. "Sign it, Cordelia, or we're gone."
"Why do you care,
Wes? You don't even know him." Cordelia asked. She dropped David's hand
and walked closer to Wes, who thrust the pistol at Connor's temple and
backed up toward the portal.
"Oh, but I do. I
remember it all." His gaze slammed into Angel like a fist. "Including
the part where Angel decided what I should be allowed to remember,
and what I should forget."
"Because I
thought it was the right thing to do!" Angel sounded anguished, angry.
"It was for Connor!"
"No, it was for
*you*!" Wes said. "I lost someone, too, someone I loved. And I was
willing to let her go--but you took my memories from me because you
couldn't handle his death!" He set his chin and stared at Angel, a cold, blue
gaze. "And now, either way, you've lost him."
Lilah smiled, a
bright, shiny smile. "Well, there it is. Cordy, you sign the contract and
I erase it all, or you don't, and we take him away forever."
"How is that any
different than what Angel did? You're still taking everyone's
memories," Cordy said, her voice rising. "And how do we know all this won't
happen again?"
"I guess it's
just a chance you'll have to take."
Connor stirred in his
arms, and Wes glanced down at him. "Your choice, Cordelia. But
if you don't make it soon, you won't have a choice to make."
She stared down at the
contract, then over at Connor, who was blinking awake. She
knew he'd rather die than live a lie. Or go back through that portal.
"What about you?
Are you willing to lose your memories again?" she asked Wes.
"I won't
be." He smiled, a triumphant twist of his lips. "The spell only effects this
dimension."
Lilah stepped toward
the portal. "And I'm going with them."
"Like hell you
are," Angel said.
"Angel,
don't!"
But he'd already
lifted off at a dead run, taking Connor and Wes down in a flying tackle
away from the portal. The gun skidded across the floor.
Cordy slugged Lilah,
felt her fist connect with jawbone. Her eyes widened when Lilah's
head bounced off. "Oh, ugh!" she said, as Lilah's body fell in a
heap at her feet, its head rolling across the floor a few feet away.
"Angel! Watch
out!" David yelled.
Wes punched Angel in
the face once, twice, and rolled out from under him. Then, like magic,
a mini crossbow appeared in each hand. He fired rapidly at close
range, and Angel grunted, getting his hand up just in time to stop a
bolt from piercing his heart.
Lilah's body scooted
across the floor. The head's eyes opened and closed, a deafening
shriek coming from the mouth. Cordy grabbed her by the heels and
pulled her to the opposite side of the room. "Keep them apart," she
told David, and she went after Connor.
He lay on the ground,
slowly coming back to consciousness. Wes backed Angel across the room,
and every time Angel feinted, Wes fired. He had a bolt in his
shoulder, one in his chest only inches from his heart, and another in
his throat. But he was still fighting.
She knelt next to
Connor. "You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah. They hit
me with something. Tranquilizer, maybe?" But his eyes were clearing, so she
left his side and went to Gunn. "Wake up," she said, shaking his
shoulder.
Out the corner of her
eye, she saw Angel lunge and Wes dodge. Then Wes pulled a small
shotgun from his jacket and fired a round. Cordy flinched as pellets
ricocheted through the room, but the sound seemed to rouse Gunn.
"Ow," he
said, grabbing his head.
"Stay down. Wes
is shooting at Angel."
He jerked in shock.
"What?" Then he pushed up, watching as Wes pumped another round of
pellets at Angel's back.
Angel grunted, then
fell to his knees. His body was riddled with pellets and bolts,
blood dripping. Wes stalked him, aiming the gun at his head. "I
don't want to kill you," he said, in a cold, tired voice.
"So don't,"
Connor said, finally rising. "Kill me."
Wes swiveled, and now
the gun pointed at Connor's chest. "It would certainly solve a lot
of problems."
"No!" Angel
coughed, and blood spattered the floor beneath him. "Don't.
Don't kill him."
The portal glowed,
brighter, and as Cordy watched, Gunn rolled to his feet. "You go all
rogue on us?" Gunn asked.
Wes glared at him.
"I'm trying to do what's right."
"Well, obviously
that isn't working out so well for you, is it? 'Cause you seem to
have a gun pointed on this kid, who I think might actually be
Angel's son." He looked confused for a second, and then his face smoothed
out. The more time slipped by, the less power the spell held.
"Seems like we've been here before. Once wasn't enough for you?"
Wes stepped back
toward the portal, keeping the gun on Connor. "I'll shoot him."
"Why?" Angel
got to his feet. "What will that solve?"
"Come on, Wes,
don't do it," Cordy said. "I'm not going to sign the contract. The whole
spell is crashing down around us. Everyone's gonna remember sooner
or later, anyway. Let it go."
He stared at them.
"No." And then, all of a sudden, he turned the gun on David. "Let
her go."
David, startled, got
decked by Lilah's swinging fist, and went down. Her body scuttled to
her head and attached itself, and she stood, smoothing out her
scarf and her suit. "Thank you, my sweet."
Angel's head jerked
up, and he stared at Lilah. "Jasmine?"
Then she smiled and
her eyes flashed, bright gold, and Cordy realized that Angel was right.
It wasn't Lilah at all.
She screamed.
The men froze.
Lilah's face and body
trembled, glowed, and morphed. And there she stood, tall and regal,
with her cafe au lait skin and long flowing hair. "Hello,
mother," she said, giving Cordy that brilliant smile.
Rage pumped through
her like a fist. "You bitch."
Jasmine laughed and
held out her hand, like a minister at benediction. Angel, Wes, Gunn and David, fell to
their knees, heads bowed.
Connor and Cordelia
stood, unaffected.
"You can't kill
me, you know." Her smile widened. "I'm a Power--or, I was. I chose
you." She seemed to float toward them, graceful as the wind. But looking into
her eyes was like looking into a pit of writhing snakes.
"Both of you. To be my parents, to make me flesh."
She held out her
hands. "Thank you for making me flesh."
Light flashed out from
her, and Wes rose and knelt before her. "My lady," he said.
"My darling
Wesley. You've been so good to me."
He kissed her hand.
"I could be no other way."
Jasmine smiled, those
creepy eyes warming. "He was so good to give you the scroll."
She leaned forward, and when she spoke, her breath smelled like grave
dirt. "It was my message to you. To let you know I was coming."
"Next time, send
a fruit basket," Cordelia said.
Jasmine laughed.
"Mmm. Fruit. You've reminded me that I haven't eaten in awhile." She
stroked her hand over Wesley's hair, and he smiled at her, that beautiful
face glowing with love for his goddess.
Cordelia screamed, but
it was too late. Jasmine had already latched into him. In one,
great golden gulp, he was drained, his body lying on the floor, pale and
useless.
Jasmine burped
daintily. "I usually like to eat the whole thing, but I thought you might
like something to bury."
"No," Cordy
gasped. She knelt beside Wes. "No! He didn't do anything to you! He--" She
stopped, choking back her tears. Then she saw Jasmine looking at
David.
"Here's one, ripe
with love. I bet he'll be a tasty morsel." She held out her hand.
"David?"
"Yes, my
goddess." He glanced at her, then looked away, as if she was too beautiful to look
at. "I am your humble servant."
Cordy's heart nearly
exploded in her chest. "Stay away from him!"
Connor grabbed
Jasmine's arm. "Leave him alone. Take me if you want someone."
Jasmine pouted.
"But father, you know I would never harm you."
"Because you
can't," Connor said, fists clenched at his sides. "You can't hurt either of
us."
Angel, David and Gunn
still knelt, as if they were paralyzed.
It was just her and
Connor. Who Jasmine couldn't hurt or control.
Jasmine laughed.
"Yes, but you can't hurt me, either. At least, not for long." She
winked at Connor then turned her back on him, and like a playful child, held
her hand out. David stood and stretched out his arms like a
supplicant. Light started glowing, gold and alive, encompassing them
both.
"NO!"
Cordelia shouted. She knocked Jasmine's arm down with her left hand, and with her
right, she swung her fist as hard as she could.
She jerked in surprise
when her hand hit Jasmine's chest and just kept on going.
Through the flesh and
bone, through organs and blood, to the maggots beneath. She screamed
when she felt flesh meet hers, and then, Jasmine's eyes widened
in shock.
"What?"
Jasmine asked. "That's impossible--"
And then she was
melting around Cordelia's hand, like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Dripping flesh, peeling off, puddling on the ground. Maggots wriggling, plopping when they hit
the floor. Cordy's stomach churned, and she breathed through her
mouth as the fetid smell of the grave permeated the room.
As Jasmine's upper
body flowed away, Cordelia saw Connor, standing behind her, his hand
in Jasmine's back.
She realized, then,
that they'd punched through Jasmine at the same time, and they stood,
hands joined, in what was once her heart.
As Jasmine's body
disappeared, a thin haze of gold floated up. It hovered, formed shape,
and for a moment, she thought she saw Wesley reflected there.
She watched, stunned,
as it drifted over its body, then into the portal. The portal
sucked itself shut.
"What?"
Angel was the first one up. "What just happened?"
Connor said, "We
killed her."
Gunn sat up, rubbing
his head, and soon David was moaning, too.
"You wanna tell
us what all that was about?" Gunn said.
Cordy blinked, still
reeling. "I think Connor and I just saved the world." She knelt
next to Wes and closed his staring eyes.
She thought of all the
things that had gone wrong since she'd said those magic words.
"Demonize me." She should have known they'd have consequences; that
people would pay with their lives, with their bodies, with their
hearts.
When she looked up,
Angel and Gunn were staring at her, and at Wes's body. They both wore
the looks of men who had lost a brother, a comrade. Shock, fear,
sadness.
Cordy turned to David.
"Are you hurt?"
He pressed his hand to
his temple. "My head hurts."
"How much do you
remember?"
"Pretty much
everything."
She pulled back,
feeling that rising sense of panic. "Everything?"
He cut his eyes at
Angel. "Did you sleep with him?"
Her heart broke. She
knew, by the look on his face, that she'd just lost him. "We had
sex, yes. Once. After the charity dinner."
Angel looked down at
his shoes. "It was my fault. I--"
David said,
"Stop. I don't want to know." He looked at Connor. "You too?"
"It wasn't her.
It was Jasmine."
David looked pissed.
"You keep talking about Jasmine? Who the hell is Jasmine?"
Connor pointed to the
pile of goo on the floor. "That was Jasmine. We just killed her."
His face twisted. "After she killed Wes."
"She took over my
body," Cordy said. "It's a long story," she said, feeling tears rise up
as she looked at Wes's body. "But yes, she used me to seduce Connor so
she could be born."
She levered herself to
her feet, knowing now that the price she paid was small compared to
what Wes, Lilah and all the other people Jasmine killed had
doled out.
"I'm sorry,
David. I've been-- I've done--" She sighed. " I'm not the easiest person to live
with." She wrapped her arms around her waist. "But I do
love you."
He didn't meet her
eyes. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."
She flinched.
"Okay," she whispered. She stared down at Wes, wondering how much
more they had to lose before everything was finished.
***
"Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust," the minister said. He picked up a handful of dirt and
threw it on the coffin. "May God have mercy on your soul."
Cordelia stared down
at the glossy wood coffin with its brass rails and white satin
interior. She'd picked it out, and had planned the funeral and the
reception after. Wesley wasn't like Doyle; he wouldn't want a wake.
He'd have wanted something simple, and without fuss.
And that's what she
gave him. An Anglican service, which his parents, though invited, didn't
attend. And now, as she walked toward the waiting limos, the
little tea for his closest friends.
In the distance, she
saw Angel, Gunn and Lorne, all dressed in black suits, heading for
Angel's Mercedes. Connor walked in the opposite direction with his mom
and dad, but just before they got in the car, Connor yelled Angel's
name. "I'll call you," he said.
Angel nodded, and even
from here she could see the cautious joy in Angel's eyes.
Behind them was
Cordy's limo, and behind her car was a gap where David's was supposed
to be. He'd come alone, stood by himself during the service.
She let her gaze
travel over the crowd, but she couldn't find him. Her heart twisted.
Most of the other
people were from Wolfram and Hart, here not because they cared about Wes,
but because they were afraid of what Angel would do if he found
out they didn't come.
Fred, dressed in a
black miniskirt and boots, joined her. "Can I ride over with you?"
Cordy looped her arm
through Fred's. "Of course. Does Angel have everyone else?"
"Yeah. I get
tired of being the only girl, you know?" Fred paused, turned to look back
toward the grave, where the casket still sat, waiting to go into the
ground. "He saved me. I always thought it was Angel, but it was
Wes's plan that--" She stopped, voice thick with tears.
The driver opened the
door for them and helped Cordy and Fred into the car. "We all
paid a price," Cordy said. She stared out the window at the sunny June day,
with its perfect California sky and the graveyard dotted with
palm trees.
"Yeah," Fred
said. "Though maybe some of us haven't paid ours yet."
Cordy turned and
watched as Fred shuddered. "What do you mean?"
"Me and Gunn. The
shoe hasn't dropped. And what about Lorne?"
Cordy stared out at
the warm afternoon. "Maybe losing our family was the price."
Fred's lips thinned.
"Maybe so." She closed her eyes. "I remember, one day, I was sitting
under the card table eating Moo Goo Gai Pan with my fingers."
Cordy smiled, a sad
twist of her lips.
"Fork in the
road, fork it over.... Anyway, the guys were researching or something, and you
came out, holding the baby and singing to him." She opened her eyes.
"You can't sing for shit."
"I know,"
Cordy said.
Fred leaned her head
back on the seat cushions. "You were singing to him, and I felt like
you were singing to me. That's the only time since I got back that
I've ever felt truly safe."
Cordy thought about
Connor, his sweet weight in her arms, his milky breath. Those blue,
blue eyes. How safe he'd made her feel. How going to sleep in Angel's
bed, with the baby between them was the best she'd ever felt.
She wondered whether
having a child of her own would be better, or if there was something so
magical about that time, so full of love, of bliss, that it would
remain, forever, the highest, best moment of her life.
"Yeah," she
said, looking out the window. "I know."
Epilogue
David blinked awake,
the pre-dawn light filtering through the half- drawn shades. He
stretched, scratched his chin, and thought, breakfast, shower,
meet with Corporate Giving about the Getty, lunch with the Governor.
Then he rolled over
and put his feet on the floor.
"Hey, where do
you think you're going?"
Smiling, he turned.
Cordelia lay in bed wearing the white Egyptian cotton nightgown he'd
bought her last Christmas. Her hair, long enough to touch the
middle of her back, flowed over the pillows. The gown was unbuttoned,
and at her breast their daughter suckled quietly.
Baby powder, Issey
perfume and milk scented the air. "Sorry, I thought you'd still be
asleep."
She rolled her eyes.
"As if. She got me up half an hour ago."
She looked like a
painting, something done by Vermeer or Degas, "Mother and Child." He felt the
smile she always brought him warm his entire body. "You're so
beautiful."
Cordelia snorted.
"Yeah, right. Tell me that again after I've showered and dressed
and I might believe you."
David felt the pull of
her gravity sucking him in. And, like always, he couldn't resist. He
tucked his feet under the covers and turned to face her. Under his
hand, their daughter's skin was like rice paper, pure and smooth. He
stroked the down of her head, the rosebud mouth where it surrounded
Cordelia's nipple.
Cordy shivered.
"Don't start something you don't plan on finishing."
He smiled. "Who
said I didn't plan on finishing?" He leaned down, closer, closer, and
kissed her.
She arched up to meet
him, moaning against his lips. "Daaaavid," she teased breathlessly.
"We have that meeting with the Getty at ten."
"Coooordy,"
he said back, twining his fingers in her hair. "It's only six-thirty." He
kissed her again, loving the feel of her mouth, the dance of her tongue.
When he pulled back,
she was smiling, one of those mysterious smiles she wore sometimes.
"What?" he
asked, not quite sure if he wanted the answer.
She reached out her
hand and touched his face, then pulled it back and stroked the
baby's. "Nothing," she said. "Just thinking."
Her eyes were so full
of joy, of love, his breath caught. "Good thoughts?"
She nodded. "The
best."
End
Contact
Starlet2367