Fall On Your Knees by Ignited
Summary: Caught up in the tumultuous tide of Christmas shoppers, Angel wonders about his view on life and most importantly, Cordelia.
Spoilers: Up to "Rain Of Fire," Season Four.
Notes: Answer to the Stranger Things Secret Santa 2002 Challenge.
Thrown,
his body twisted until it slammed face first on the ground, fireworks and
funnels of ice in his wake. Angel, vampire, broken, angry-FUCKING pissed, damn
thing ripped a seam-rolled, but in the nick of time as a pillar of ice lodged
three inches from where the gelled construct of the top of his head was. Feeling
the wind of the Iguion’s claws rake by his face, impossibly cold. The air
seemed to crystallize around it, sending chills and broken shards of ice down
to the ground, it’s back shaking as if it were a dog.
“Puppy’s gonna
get the newspaper,” Angel gritted, nothing but anger furrowing
that ridged brow. Anger that fueled him, more than the usual, to shoot a
hand up while jumping on his heels, cracking and snapping bone. The thing howled,
lurching back and hissing. It was quite comical to Angel’s eyes, fingers
long and spread out for maximum coverage of the ground, a thin layer of water
on it. The cobalt-tinged creature, half lizard, half lion, raised its hind legs,
forelegs down and ready to pounce.
It wasn’t like the
thing knew Angel’s agenda. No one ever did, really.
Though it did rip
through his bag of Christmas gifts-buying for women, something
that took a long, LONG time-leaving Angel more than a little ticked off.
Little. Just a
little.
The screech fell on
dead ears, the air thick with cold moisture. Vampires didn’t
need to breathe, or care much for temperature, but even the moisture in the
area growing made Angel blink his eyes in consternation once or twice. Three,
maybe. For the wind whipped up again, lashing and digging furrows into cold
flesh like needles, scraping. His arm rose up, a shield, boot crunching something
sound and-
He always wondered
if there would be snow in California again. Minus the tragedy aspect.
Angel stopped,
seeing the lumbering ice creature come thundering towards him. Snow
kicked up by furry hind legs sprayed all around. Ice and snow spattered on Angel’s
face as it approached, lurching up fluidly like a snake. A second, and his
fingers closed firmly on a shaft of wood he snatched up near a garbage can. It
penetrated the creature’s back, but not before the Iguion reached out and batted
him away, the frozen skewers on its knuckles tearing into his brow, making
him cry out in pain and fury.
Blood spattered, but
only less than five bloody rubies touched the ground, their master
lunging up and grabbing hold of the last rung of the fire escape above. Angel
kicked back from the wall, the snow demon’s muscles like coils of a spring.
It jumped up, good and worn leather boots plowing into it with force. Falling,
Angel looked up from a crouched position to see the improvised stake dig
deeper into the Iguion’s flesh after hitting the wall with its back. A rag doll
flopping harmlessly to the ground, the creature issued a final mewl-soft like
a kitten, though far from the truth-before taking its last breath.
Pause. Breathe. Not
over.
It’s never over,
Angel thought, picking up the disheveled bag of gifts and straightening
his clothing. An actual gaze of the alley, narrow, garbage cans in brown
and black, the soft blue glow of light falling on bricks. He crossed the alley,
ignoring the soft spurts and splashes of his boots meeting the remaining water
and slush of the Iguion demon, instead heading out into the chilly and yet warmer
night air.
“O, holy night The
stars are brightly shining It
is the night of our dear Savior’s birth...”
Carolers. What luck.
No worries. Should
be home early. It was only half past eleven. Okay, real terms,
not that early, but in Vampire Savings Time, bright and early as a Sunday morning.
On second thought, did it matter if he got there early? Living alone-well,
with Fred and Lorne-something that suited Angel perfectly. Alone.
Alone, alone.
He could lie awake a
thousand nights, back making an indentation on the wall, and
still he’d feel her voice and the hole she’d driven into his heart. Still
his bed would be empty.
Alone.
Digging his hands
further into his pockets, Angel buttoned up his duster to block
the wind. He’d taken up wearing it again, a flowing sheet of black, warm,
and for December, a shield for gifts. Fred, Gunn, and Lorne. That-that was
it.
Angel checked his
bag. Grand Theft Auto for Gunn’s PlayStation, a journal set for
Fred, and cuff links for Lorne. Dice. He’d love it or get all whiny about Vegas
again.
Ah, Vegas.
That was it. That
was all. He would *not* go through it again. He wouldn’t. No.
No. Safe, tucked away, AWAY from him. Bought, useless, not needed. She wasn’t
there. Nor would she be for a long while. No, it was only the allusion, the
allusion of brown and blonde tucked away under silk and satin gauze trimmed with
golden thread. Wrapped up in tissue paper, thrown into the bag that was now ripped,
the crevasse growing wider. He noticed this time, for once, having been oblivious
to the shoppers doing their last minute dashes for trinkets and baubles.
It was this time
that Angel paused at a red light, dark brown eyes looking up at the
soft glow, cars sloshing by on streets slick with rain, that he realized he hated
Christmas.
Everything I touch
turns to ashes...
Slipping through
fingers, burning down, the feeling assaulted his senses, making him
almost stagger to the other side of the street. Walking by the haunted ringing
of bells, pots cold and gleaming, Santas eager to reach home and spend time
with their families.
Families, huh? I had
that once...
I remember. I
remember her touch him-nicely, not... not further-lift him up, put
him on the bed... Between us. And she nursed and coddled him, cooing, singing
a lullaby.
Before she comforted
him with flesh and sorrow-
Rubbing the bridge
of his nose, Angel continued walking. He’d decided to walk, to
drive through the night and grimy streets, to clear his mind. Devoid, ignoring
the bright golden orbs blinking on storefronts, those Christmas ornaments.
A watered down quality to it all, red, pink, blue, and green lights casting
reflections back up at him. Trees for Sale, 25% off. Christmas Ornaments:
$5. Wreaths and Stands.
Mundane, trivial,
black boots carried him, darkness and wind ruffling his duster.
Tired as he was,
Angel could take no joy in the sights. No joy to see the absence
of puffs of smoke coming from his lips-it scarily felt that cold-nor even
pulling the corners of his mouth into a small smile so as to not put off the
atmosphere. The jingle, the jangle, the damn caffeinated carolers kept on with
their constant singing, and if they let ONE more word out, he’d-
Bowing his head,
Angel paused the thoughts tossing and rolling around his mind, wild
dogs snapping for a solution. He shuddered, the flash of red painted on eyelids,
the taste of crimson in the air. Eyes looked up, and he could see quite clearly
someone struggling on the roof two stories above. A scream, grunting, another
roar. Vampire. The stench was unmistakable. He wished it was...
No, no matter. A
brief look cast at his surroundings-the street devoid of vehicles,
the drunk on the corner, the warm glowing lights of a coffee shop opened
late-and he vaulted, a strong hand grabbing the bottom rung of a fire escape
before he clambered his way onto it. Angel ran, ran as fast as his legs could
carry him-from the roof, away, far away from his loft- up the slippery walkway,
so many steps towards the sky. It was then that he came crashing down onto
the roof, letting his bag of gifts fall near him not unlike a familiar red suited
gentleman known by all.
Her scent struck him
blind for moments, eternities, enough for him to hesitate before
vamping out.
“Angel...?”
“Long lay the
world in sin and error pining Till
He appeared and the soul felt its worth...”
Fingernails dug into
flesh, wrenching hard and clawing the vampire off. Cordelia staggered
to her feet, mouth set in a grim line, avoiding the sexual advances of the
grungy vampire on her. The small little trench coat he’d given her so long before,
gave her money, told her he had liked it- which,
by the way, not so big a surprise-was open, expose the flesh, pull away from
the nicety of lace and silk.
Orbs lift, avoid,
and keep away, as the forehead changes, and he lunges.
Angel pummeled the
vampire with a couple of blows, both fast and slow motion making
them hurt more, more, the thing crying out and roaring. He grabbed its jacket,
pulling it up while sending a knee crashing into its midsection. Disoriented,
it could only stumble before Angel plucked a stake from his coat and
dusted the cold demon with an equally horrible face.
So equal...
He imagined her
coming to him, asking if he was all right. Watched her touch his brow
with her fingertips, vampire face be damned, and tell him she was worried. The
ministrations of her hands kneading the flesh of his back, reassuring him, wiping
his brow, patching him up.
Those flashes never,
ever happened.
“Are you all
right?” Angel asked, looking down, right. Avoiding. Avoiding speaking
and letting ‘it’ out. It, the horrible little creature clawing his innards,
scooping the meat from his cold and unbeating heart.
“Guess so. Can’t
even buy a decent handbag for Christmas without running into
a couple of weirdos. Jeez. What is the world coming to?”
Answer her. Answer
HER.
The demon rose,
teetering on the edge of glory and madness. Egging him on, telling
him, damn well explaining that Cordelia, having chosen to live with Connor,
does not care for him. No. She doesn’t. And who could, honestly? He’d
have his heart torn and ripped up more than she could ever mend it. Live longer
than she could ever hope to dream. Did she think about that? Did she ever think
about that? Did she?
He did, sometimes,
to drive thoughts away from flesh and bone...
“We need to get
off this roof,” Angel responded flatly.
“Whoa,” Cordy
blurted, taking a glance left and right before moving to him. She
pulled her coat closer around her, covering the white blouse, a shaky and cold
hand pushing a dark lock of hair behind her ear. “No. You’re not leaving
that easy.”
“...You’re one
to talk.”
Her eyes widened,
stopping from gazing far off, to look at him, nostrils flaring.
“I left the hotel
by my own will.”
And moved in with my
son. “I know.”
“And remember,
wasn’t like you were so eager to protest that decision.”
“I know,” Angel
repeated tiredly.
Eyes at half-mast,
looked down at her shoes, Cordy continued, “...I just couldn’t
stand the way you kept looking at Connor after-”
“Yeah, well, I
couldn’t stand seeing you have sex with my son. Didn’t leave
because of it,” Angel bit off. The dagger cut through cleanly, as he loathed
and wished for, the glimmer of hope and familiarity on Cordelia’s eyes gone,
replaced by a deep aching sadness.
...It’s all my
fault...
“You wanna be like
that? Fine. I’ll play,” Cordelia retorted, regaining the
cruel exterior seen previously in Sunnydale. She was hurt, Angel knew, and all
the more felt worse. What little of her Christmas shopping that remained had been
shot to hell, her trip cut short by a fangy felon. A little Christmas, he could
see in his mind’s eye, the loft decorated with sparse lights, Connor staring
blankly at a small, twelve inch tree Cordelia bought. He did that a lot sometimes.
Stared, and looked at her, her skin, the softness of it under his fingers.
Skin I knew, tainted
and touched...
“You know me,
Cordelia. I could-Just that-You-” Angel fumbled for words
to conveyed something, something human and warm and alive. “...The world was
ending. Couldn’t you have given him a hug instead?”
The stare. The storm
brewing. Wait for it, wait for it...
“I wanted him to
feel something-REAL, okay? Something outside of the pain and
suffering that poor little boy had to go through, all for nothing. No one deserves
that, Angel. No. One. Being whisked away and raised in a hell dimension by
a psychopath? Not too keen on the sanity, got that?” Cordy snapped, crossing
her arms in front of her, looking up at him.
“That still
doesn’t mean you had to go and FUCK Connor!” he growled.
She faltered, but lo
and behold, for after that, her mind made up, Cordelia went over
to Angel and smacked him hard across the face.
“Shut up. Just
shut up.”
Angel turned away
from her, flicking her arm away when she touched his arm. Her posture
relaxed, a soothing quality to her eyes and voice when she nodded, clearing
her throat. “I know I can’t say anything to make it better this time.
Because it won’t. It’ll keep hurting you. Always. Until-”
“Until what?”
He looked at her,
jaw set, eyes glancing briefly at the bag he had dropped. Presents.
For friends. For those he loved and cared about. Would she be on his Christmas
list? Would Connor be there?
“Take your new
boyfriend and get the hell out.”
Cordelia let her
body relax further, slowly, her hand reaching out to stroke his back.
“Until-”
He raised a hand,
indicating for her to be silent. Confused at this, Angel nodded
his head in the direction of the side of the roof, towards south, dark sky
reddened with ominous storm clouds. Red. Red like- Wait. Wait. There was a sound,
skittering, claws scratching stone, sparks sent down. Suction, brief, skittering,
clambering. Fire escape, hollow, melodic sounds of metal and ice. More,
and more, and more-
A hollow scream cut
through the night, a lumbering shadow jumping from the side of
the building only to fall hard onto the roof on all fours. A slam, solid. Then
another, and another. Three. Three echoes into the night. A triad of demons shaking
snow and moisture from their backs, like dogs stretching and mewling. On their
haunches, eyes thin as slits, glaring deeply into the vampire’s soul. Cutting,
digging. They were pretty pissed off.
Great. Just great.
“What are they?”
Cordelia asked, Angel pulling her to stand behind him. She grunted,
pushing his arm away hard to stand near him. A glance at her, then the creatures,
before he took a step back with her, the shopping bag now firm in his hand
again.
“Brothers and
sisters. Not so...good,” Angel answered, looking cautiously around
the roof. General debris near the air conditioner vents, boxes, chicken wire.
Pipes, papers flown up, screws, shards of metal. All the aforementioned lay
near the edges of the roof, tucked and discarded away. He left her side to pick
up a rebar ten feet away, a small twirl before grasping it.
“Cordelia, when I
tell you, get to the edge near the front. Okay?”
“But Angel-”
“Do as I say,”
Angel snapped, all the while taking quick, fluid steps forward.
A low sweep up, catching one Iguion by the chin. The other two leaped as
the stricken one fell, trying to tear a piece out of Angel. He struggled, seeing
Cordelia out of the corner of his eye grab a shaft of wood, smaller than a
two-by-four, but larger than a stake, to slam one of the Iguions in the head.
Fists clenched,
grabbing skin before the other would punch, and she was there, smacking,
slamming, kicking, and yelling. Side by side they fought again, and the
world fell to black, their zone. Ignoring the chills of ice seeping down her spine,
Cordelia shouted, indicating for Angel to duck before slamming another demon
right in the face. She was slowing down, Angel knew, due to the proximity of
these frigid creatures, and soon she would not be able to fight. Every passing
second, and soon they could take her. Take her away.
He couldn’t have
that.
Staggering for a
moment, he pulled away from the scuffle after slamming one down to
the ground, insuring it was out cold. Angel dug into his jacket, pulling out a
book of matches. The flame was small, but soon grew quickly when he called Cordelia
over, fending the demons off to light the plank of wood, a makeshift torch.
Pulling back, the girl winced, seeing the fire catch on, Angel having smacked
the trembling and slathering creatures away.
“Get to the edge,
Cordy!”
Her nickname, so
sweet and caring, sprang from those lips she knew-
Cordelia complied
with Angel’s wish, swiftly grabbing the bag of gifts he had left.
An afterthought. A silly little thing, in comparison with his life, or even
hers, dark and death-
The vampire plowed
into her, startling her, but not before those hazel eyes took in
the sight of bodies twisting from flames. Her nose told her of the smell of gasoline,
cans found amongst the debris. And although he did not ask her, she felt
calm and serene. For he had taken her into his arms-loved her? Was it ready
yet? Ever again?-instructed her to hold onto his neck, and he made a crude
handle from shucking off his duster. Angel grabbed her, a nod of his head and
that... there it was! There it was again! The crooked little smile of his, carefree,
reckless, now daunting.
He jumped over the
side of the roof with her.
The ground rushed up
to meet them, for a fraction of a second, air under her feet,
but then a sharp tug brought her back. Back from the fall, her whole body spasming
tight, to lock her arms ‘round Angel’s neck as he grasped each end of
his duster. The two sailed down the suspended line very quickly, away from the
screeching demons. Cordelia glanced down for a moment before burying her head
in Angel’s neck, fingers gripping the shopping bag on his back. Weightless,
the air beneath her feet, they sailed down the line to the other building
it was connected to. All seemed perfect, exciting, thrilling, air rushing,
adrenaline pumping, but the wall.... The abandoned building’s wall grew
closer, detailed, ominous and unstoppable.
Breath caught in her
throat, hazel orbs snapped shut for impact-
Angel let one hand
loose so as to fall, the other gripping his duster, having gained
enough momentum to carry himself and Cordelia through the gutted window, rolling
and crashing down. Leather providing a shield from debris, he could feel himself
falling and rolling down a couple of steps to land on a mattress, alone and
abandoned.
Dust flew up from
the crash, a thermal of air sending papers, bits and chunks of wood
up and from their setting. Particles of dust hung in the air after the entire
racket grew silent. The tableau was finally set; a burning effigy sending a
funnel of smoke into the sky, never getting other floors, the sky reddened, tinged
with blue for sawn, the abandoned room, a loft once used by vagrants with its
mattress, dust, stray candles here or there.
They never needed
the light. The flames provided enough.
The fall had caused
Angel to land on top of Cordelia, bracing himself with an arm.
His eyes searched her face, and with a gash on his ridged forehead, asked, “Are
you okay?”
He asked her...
Before she knew,
before she could scream and shout and yell at herself, never, ever,
her mouth was on his lips. Her hands were digging into his scalp, pulling him
to her mouth, fingers looping ‘round those ambitious, soft strands. Rough, violent,
her mouth engulfed his own and he responded fervently, almost tearing from
the sheer passionate intensity. He breathed her breath and she stole a sliver
of his soul away.
It was bliss, it was
hell, for a minute.
No.
Soft swirl-
No.
A lick of elongated
canines-
Oh, God...
Angel pulled away,
his human face on, staring at her open mouthed. He stared, getting
a good, long and hard look at her, before proceeding to unbutton her miniature
trench coat. So slowly worked his fingers, so quickly worked her own, walking
down the chest above her, to stop at his waist. To have him reach down, grab
her fingers, her, apprehensive, and all Angel did was kiss them softly, the same
spot again, guiding her there. Cordelia continued to unbuckle his belt, pull
on his zipper, while Angel lifted her up, one hand behind her back to view the
growing expanse of her neck and chest as she leaned her head back.
He kissed her chest,
her neck, then down again, his mind made up while doing so. There
went the tight sweater over his head-gel be damned-there went his trousers,
his boxers, there went sanity and logic out the window.
A kiss deserved
another, and it wasn’t until a minute or two later that Cordelia
found herself wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. Even then, soon
those would be off if the vampire could contain himself...
Those fingers
trailed along her skin, along her thigh. Over her, condescending was
it? Overbearing? Watchful? Protecting? Angel, a champion, had many names and many
attributes, but she’d rather have him known as Best Fucking Masseuse in the
World, as he pulled her up to sit on his lap, kissing her shoulders before kneading
the flesh of her back tenderly. Her own head lolled like a doll, brown and
rare strands of short blonde in her eyes, sucking on his lip for a second or two.
Head turned down, those two hundred and forty something years of experience giving
way to new techniques, new spots she’d never felt this... way...
Angel couldn’t
have perfect happiness but that did not stop him from giving HER
perfection.
When called into the
matter, one could wonder if she deserved this. If she deserved
the tender way he let her lie down on the bed, so gentle, enjoying the soft
strands of hair under his fingers. Or how he mischievously took her underwear
off, there, that crooked grin, only to drape them on the mattress. How he
guided himself into her carefully, so as to not upset her, a woman who proclaimed
her love then slept with someone else. Family. Blood.
Blood didn’t
matter when two people were in love.
Did it?
Crashed into her
again, he did, enough to make her say something unintelligible, something
raw and fierce, feeling his hands over her breasts. Caress, pause, caress,
leaning down. Kissing every inch of her collarbone while studying her skin,
setting up a thrusting rhythm inside of her that made her twist fingers around
handfuls of bed sheets.
Ignore the idea
crawling in the back of the mind. Ignore the yelling, harsh, deliberate,
malice. Her face, crestfallen, his face smug and confident at seeing Angel
react so... Angel-y. Heck, even Connor had picked up on some of Cordy’s vocabulary.
Angel didn’t like
that much.
Small, with the
quality of a little girl, Cordy gasped. So tiny, delicate, her eyes
rapid and rolling back, forward, closing.
It was at this
moment that Angel came at a crossroads. Contrary to her looks, so sweet,
innocent even, he could not help but feel a bubble of rage seep up in him.
The demon from a place deep down did not care for lights or trees or gifts. It
cared for slitting Angel’s stomach with knives, twisting it enough to make him
sick and wanting to hurt her. And he did. Wanted to hurt her. To use her, to pour
all his grief and sorrow into her, to drive her into the mattress until there
was nothing left but a shivering young woman.
A feeling of
loathing came over him, enough to make Angel shudder-another thrust,
areas uncharted-with disgust.
Day-by-day, clawing
at his innards, the demon did its work, remorse and sadness filling
Angel’s heart. It was ironic that such a dark thing could see its demands
met without ever acting out. How many times had he-deeper, down, she bit
a scream in-nearly fallen? Too many now, and being here worried him. Those many
long days, weeks he ignored her, unable to look at Cordelia. To feel that burning
skin and piercing hazel on his back, watching him turn away.
To feel her pluck
his heartstrings, one by one, only to slowly peel and tear each
in half.
Angel wouldn’t let
her hurt him again, not if it meant being away from-his hand
moved past her thigh, took hold of her buttocks to pull her up and sitting-Cordelia.
Up he pulled her, in
her, Angel, shoving himself into her, one hand on her back and
the other on her ass, pulling her to him, up and up...
“A thrill of Hope The
weary world rejoices For
yonder breaks a new and glorious morn...”
Cordelia arched
back, giving Angel a good view of her breasts, only to have him bury
his face in her cleavage, nuzzling and he pulled away, still thrusting. Arms
wrapped around his neck, holding him tight-let him go and your fall from grace
will be complete-only to view a streak of gold on the floor. Another, another,
the window reddened, and soon there it was, a semi-circle of pure, blinding
golden light, soft against the red background. The sun rose, unrelenting,
casting its light upon a tired city and equally tired residents. Home
from parties, work, and one would roll over and pull the shades down, pull the
blanket over, ignoring it. But how could you, Cordelia wondered, ignore such a
beautiful thing?
The answer came to
her in the form of Angel’s thrusting deep within her, again and
again, and another rhythm bubbled up into the form of gasps issuing from her lips,
her mind a million miles and crashing down to earth.
How could you ignore
such a beautiful thing? He’d done it for weeks...
The crescendo rose,
his grip on her thighs firm enough to pick her up, to literally
pull her up and him in deeper. Mouths kissed feverishly, painfully, bittersweet
fire and brimstone. Taking her away from the sunlight, almost reaching,
but their place a few steps down-from grace-prevented him from getting
burned.
Not that way, at
least...
He groans, his
pleasure evident, previously serious and stoic. Now only restraining
the urge to tear her up, so loving, so hateful-calm, ignore it, push
it down-all at once. Only to view that neck, Cordelia’s head rolling back,
her motions building, his thrusts mounting, fire, metal, bullets, wood, flash,
water, blood, so much blood...
Cries were muffled
against his mouth, lost, everything fragmented and shifting. Desperate,
lonely even, lips bitten as if anchors to cling to this mortal world, anything,
something real. Something beyond the fights, the arguments, the blood and
pain and glory. He pushed in deeper, and she responded back, just enough to keep
her sane. Just enough to break her heart, and love him, hate him, all in one.
To cling to a shred
of normality, to ignore his snapped comments, to love him desperately
and truthfully, for he was always there, always.
She shuddered,
trembled, and he fell-
“Fall on your
knees O
hear the angels voices O
night divine O
night when Christ was born.”
An explosion within
her, through her, scintillating. Scorching every cell of her body,
making her cave in, arch back, in and out, and from her mouth the most heavenly
sound issued forth. The vampire could only moan in response, eyes rolled
back, and he collapsed, falling, falling so fast... From grace, from living,
from pleasure and pain. Two sides of a coin, the soul yearning to bestow its
soft embrace on her, the demon willing to tear into her, rip her up deep and drink
her dry. However, there was no time, no time, to go over such notions, having
fallen onto his back on the mattress. The dangerous prickling along his skin
didn’t matter. He’d only pull away from her sweet and soft, deep embrace
to stare, to glare at the malicious ball of fire rising into the sky.
Oh, how it caressed
her lovingly and cast him down into the shadows.
Dark orbs lifted to
view her, her own eyes widening as if realizing the impact of
what she had done. The ferocity of kissing him melted away the pain of losing him,
so close. From her own doing. Her damn decisions based on insecurity and the
end of the world, and god, did he HAVE to keep STARING at her like that?
Angel nodded to the
dilapidated shopping bag. “Open it.”
“For what?”
“...Your
present.”
“You...” A
breathy sigh and she rose from her position, legs this way and that
like a marionette. Soft steps took her to the bag from which she dragged over
to the mattress. Clutching the trench coat to her breast, she pushed away the
other miscellaneous items before stopping at a small box. Perhaps for jewelry,
perhaps not, for it wasn’t covered in velvet nor shaped as that of one
for a necklace, or even a ring. It was square, the size of her fist, glass and
gold, opaque, with antique hinges.
Quietly, Cordelia
opened it, and slowly her eyes widened, disbelieving. Struck blind
by such a sight, she could only let her soft touch fall upon his abdomen, and
he rose to greet her. She would have none of it, instead pushing him down gently
to kiss a trail up his stomach. Ignoring the dread that filled her. Ignoring
logic or reason, or any shred of normality. She kissed a corpse quite truthfully,
lovingly, his touch falling as hard upon her as the compassion in his
eyes.
Cordy would push
away those other thoughts. Connor, the world ending, all didn’t
matter. Only watching the building moisture on his chest-tears-and the
building moisture, coldness of the room. For even if Angel didn’t say anything,
anything at all, she knew his thoughts, read them clearly. It would take
time, Cordelia knew, for old wounds to heal, but he didn’t need to love her
again.
He always had and
always will. So for now, she settled for him brushing away her tears,
to pull him to his chest, feel her skin.
It kept away the
coldness building just as one of the figures in the shadows lunged
to strike.
Thunder crashed, a
shattered piece of glass met her skin, and all the world fell to
black.
End.
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