Spark by Queen Mab
Summary: Cordelia walks.
Spoilers: Rain Of Fire, Season Four.
Notes: I didn't walk alone on this. Many thanks to Anni for helping to flesh this out. Kelley helped me find my voice and gave me the courage and confidence to do this (and to do it again), so this story is dedicated to her. * Thanks a million, Kelmit! * The song "Spark" belongs to Tori Amos.
The
road before her was dusty and barren of life, as was the road behind her. Well, barren except for the horned
donkey following her. Barren was good, she thought to herself. Let's keep
everything barren.
There was no sound,
not even her footsteps. As for the weather, well, there really wasn't any. After all, how can you
have weather when there was no sky? The terrain was flat and the sand
silky beneath her bare feet.
She had been walking
for some time now. She had somewhere she had to be, things she had to fix.
She stopped for a
moment to admire the way her toenails shimmered in the sun. Yes, she decided, I like this polish.
*Stop it*, she admonished herself. She didn't have time for this.
Distract her; confuse her, that's what *they* wanted to do to her.
Well, they wouldn't succeed. She felt strong and confident that
she would get there on time and everyone would be happy again. She
had to; the alternative was unbearable. She turned her head and
looked over her shoulder-yes, that damn donkey was still following her.
She supposed she should be worried. She shook her head with a slight
smile; no one could harm her. Not here.
"Nope, ya can't
hurt me here, stupid donkey!" Yelling at the donkey probably wouldn't solve anything, but she thought
she should let him know that this was her turf. Just in case.
Still, she picked up
the pace. Just in case.
For seven days and
seven nights she walked, all the while assaulted with images of *there*. Images of herself. Images
of him. Oftentimes she wept at the utter despair and desolation she saw.
*How could it be? How could she be that lonely girl?* She began to
doubt herself as she walked. No time for doubt though, doubt would only
slow her down. *Buck up, Chase. There are worse things than being
alone.* She understands that now.
She understands what
it's like to have your innards removed and replaced with nothing. She understands despair,
beginning with the soft shadow cast over your soul, to the rain of fire
destroying everything in its wake. She understands that something
is very, very wrong and somehow it's all her fault. She could-
*would* -fix it. If only she could get there in time.
She stopped, turned
around and yelled at the donkey, "I'm gonna fix it! I didn't come all this way to fail!"
No response, nothing
indicating that the donkey understood her. Undiscouraged, she continued walking.
Just ahead, a
loggerhead turtle was making its way to her, swimming across the sand. She wasn't at all surprised;
she'd been talking to animals quite frequently during her journey.
"You're a long
way from home, aren't you?" she asked, her head slightly tilted.
The turtle, sporting a
fuchsia bandanna, shook his head at her in annoyance and replied in a familiar voice,
"This *is* home, and princess you're running very late."
"I know. I'm
walking as fast as I can."
"Well, you're
gonna have to walk a lot faster than that honey bun. It may be too late; it's already starting to rain.
And when it rains it pours. You walked out on the Powers. Can't believe ya
did it, kiddo. No one walks out on the Powers. And while we're on the
topic of walking, did you
*have* to pick a turtle as your dream manifestation of me?
The turtle's presence
was already starting to irritate her, eating steadily away at her nerves. Was he here to help
or to distract her? No matter. He walked too slowly and talked too much.
She should have gone with the March Hare.
"Sugar Lump, I
get the whole green thing, but a *turtle*? Why not something quick and spry? Seriously sweetness,
there are frogs and grasshoppers and cute little lizards, but a tur--?"
~Agreed~. The turtle
said no more after her sword purposefully pierced his head. She would make her apologies
later; right now she didn't have time. She resumed her pace until she
realized she didn't have to walk at all. She was moving without moving and
she was almost *there*.
~6:58 are you sure
where my spark is...~
~here, here, here~
*There* has become
*here* and she sees the damage. Feels the damage, her belly swollen with bits of him. Her baby, her
boy. Twisted around her and inside her. Too late. She was too fucking late.
The cards had been dealt and her hand was littered with despair. Her
eyes opened. She found herself in Connor's bed, her sword still in
hand. She whispered a name.
" Skip. "
As if on command, the
Powers horned lapdog appeared. "Hey, there! Didn't think you'd get here so soon."
"I got here too
late." She replied, rubbing her hands on her stomach. She swore she could already feel the new life
inside of her.
"You're lucky you
got here at all."
"Really? Did they
think you could stop me?"
"We tried.
Unsuccessfully, but hey-it's the thought that counts. Besides, you couldn't really kill an innocent
baby, could you?"
"Wanna bet? You
don't know me, Skip. Not really."
"I know that
you're not capable of taking an innocent life."
"Unless that
"innocent" life is prophesied to kill Angel's son."
"Cordelia, Connor
is the destroyer. Do you know what that means?
"Yes, and I don't
care. Don't you get that? I. Don't. Care. He's been through too much."
"Again, Connor
is-"
"I'm not talking
about Connor, Skip"
"Ah, Angel."
"He knows. You
made sure of that, didn't you?" Her stomach twisted-- the baby or uncoiled rage? It really didn't
matter, as long as it kept her standing. She rose from the bed, her hand
still gripping her sword. Rage it was and it was quickly replacing
despair.
"He knows
alright. Didn't take it too well, though. Not that we expected him to, I mean you did have sex with his
son."
"Not me.
Her."
"Cordelia, it was
you. Through all of it, it was you."
Cordelia approached
Skip slowly, shaking her head. "How can you say that, Skip? You took away all that was me--my
spark--and left me hollow. It wasn't me. I couldn't do that, I wouldn't-no
matter what was at stake."
Skip took half a step
back as Cordelia approached. "We knew that. But it still had to be your decision, free will and
all. We had to make sure that the Tro-clan would be conceived and there was
only one way to do it and it still be your decision. So we meddled a
bit." Skip shrugged as he said this, as if what they did was okay.
"Funny how vital
memories are to humans," Skip continued. "Have to admit, we were kinda worried that you still had
some of that infamous Cordelia Chase constitution left in you, but then you
came through for us like you always do. You gave up just like we
predicted you would and in your despair you turned to Connor. And
here we are."
"Here we
are." She echoed. "Well, you've accomplished your goal. Taking away my memories then giving them back.
Oh, and let's not forget making me afraid of Angel by showing me his evil
past, a surefire way to achieve perfect despair. But don't you
for one friggin' minute think
that it was "free will". Your idea of free will is a perversion."
As she spoke she held
her sword in front of her, its steel blade pointing at Skip. Not without a small measure of
pride, she noticed that her hand was hardly shaking. Skip didn't seem to
take notice of her stance, and instead continued with his "what a
GREAT plan it was" speech.
"Perfect despair
was the only way we could get you to do what you did. And the Angel visions weren't our fault. You
did that yourself when you helped him get his destiny back. Everything
has a price. You had to see who you really saved."
She stood silently,
lowering her eyes and her sword, absorbing what he was telling her.
"And Cordelia,
that wasn't his evil past. It was his evil future."
Her head snapped up,
her eyes coldly meeting his. She understood.
~If the Divine master
plan is perfection maybe next I'll give Judas a try.~
Cordelia knew what she
had to do. Knew that there could be no more "meddling." Knew that this was war
and she would be the one declaring it. She also knew that she might have
to fight this one alone. But, as she had previously concluded, there were
worse things than being alone. Would she have a chance to atone, to
be forgiven?
Swiftly she swung her
sword and expertly sliced off his smiling head. Forgiveness was overrated.
"Smug bastard. I
liked you better when you were a donkey."
End.
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