Author: AbbyCadabra
Title: So...
Spoilers: Through Dad, I guess.
Disclaimer: I don't own Angel or any other character. Joss is the owner.
Comments: Kinda angsty, but let me know what you think! I cherish feedback! Edited to say, sorry Peaches! And to put up a warning: character death involved!
She’s been reduced to simple pronouns. I can’t bear to say her name anymore, so I don’t.
I know this isn’t what she’d have wanted.
"After I die," Cordelia quickly held up her hand to silence Angel's oncoming protest. "Angel, it's inevitable. So, after I die," she repeated, "I want a parade. Oh! And golden, horse drawn chariots and peacocks, accompanied, of course, by a celebration that will be remembered for lifetimes to come."
She nodded in satisfaction. A parade would definitely do.
Angel decided to play along with her, even though he would never let her die. "And what are we celebrating exactly?"
Cordelia looked from the spot on the far wall where she was imagining she could see her parade, nitpicking every detail right down to the assortment of peacocks, to Angel. She smiled and teasingly rolled her eyes as if the answer was so obvious.
"My life, silly."
But I don’t celebrate her life like she wanted. I mourn it.
She wouldn’t have approved of my behavior. She’d have really berated me for treating my family, both the literal and figurative, the way I have. Seeing Connor hurts. More so than saying her name. My beautiful, innocent baby makes me think of her and what we had. We were a family. But without her, what sort of family would a vampire and human baby be? So Connor’s still my son, but we don’t add up to a family.
I locked myself in my room two weeks ago and I haven’t come out since. I’ve eaten only twice. I can’t see myself but I know I’m withering away. I can feel my taunt cheeks and thinning waist but still can’t bring myself to eat. Eating would be to save myself and I don’t deserve to be saved. So I sit in the dark of my hotel suite, slowly dying of starvation.
Gunn and Wes have boarded up my windows from the outside. The day after she died, they found me weeping on the entryway of the Hyperion, waiting for a sun that hadn’t come. May 19, 2002, the day of the famous, unforecasted solar eclipse. The Powers’ way of telling me that I couldn’t die yet. So I haven’t.
I live in the past, now. Reminiscing of her.
“I just needed some time to get away. To think.”
“To remember and brood, you mean.”
A slight chuckle left Angel’s lips and he looked up from his shoes to meet her face. “Something like that.”
"You can’t fool me.”
“I’ve never tried."
“Oh, sure. And then you wake up, Angel,” she joked, rolling her eyes. Then her demeanor changed, she stiffened beside him, and her eyes grew serious. “You and Buffy were special. You just have to remember the good times now that she’s gone.”
“I know.”
Her eyes softened. And she joined his gaze, fixating on the far wall of the lobby. They sat like that, in a comfortable silence that could be offered only by the other, for what could have been minutes, maybe hours. Until she, like always, broke it.
“Will you remember me when I’m gone?”
His head snapped around and he studied her face, confused. How could she not know that he’d always remember her?
“Of course I’ll remember you.” Her question had more than baffled him; it disturbed him.
“No. I mean… I know you’ll remember…But I’m talking about… forever. Like hundreds and hundreds of years later, will you remember me?”
“Cordy…”
“I'm sorry. It’s just a question, Angel. You don’t have to answer. I guess that I just overstepped—“
“I could never forget you,” he said, gently turning her face towards him with his fingertips till he was looking into her eyes. He could see that she was still doubtful, so he clarified once more, “I could never forget you."
That’s my problem. I can’t forget. I want to move on. I do. Everything would be easier if I could just forget. But it’s impossible to just take away my memories of her, which I’m not sure I want to do anyway. So I remember.
________
“We have to do something,” Fred said, exasperated. She could not believe the guys were just going to wait this out!
“There’s nothing we can do, Fred. We just need to let Angel work out his grief for Cordelia on his own. In his own way,” Wes replied. His sympathetic gaze traveled towards that the stairs that led to the vampire’s room.
“I’m with Wes on this one, Fred. He just needs some time. We all do.” Gunn lowered his head in respect, the way he always did when anyone mentioned Cordelia by name. Which was a rare occasion of late.
“I understand that everyone deals with death in their own way, but this just isn’t healthy. He tries to kill himself, then goes up to his room, locks the door, and we never see him again!” Fred looked down at the precious bundle in her arms, “He doesn’t even respond to Connor any more.”
Three pairs of sad eyes focused on Connor.
“Maybe… Maybe Cordy’s death was a mistake from the higher ups! Like her visions, ya know? It coulda been a mistake, so then they’d have to take it back and then—“
“Fred!” Wesley cried, frustrated. “Cordelia was hit by a car while crossing the street! There is nothing mystical about that! She’s gone.” His eyes softened as the permanent implications of his words sunk in. “Cordy’s gone. For good.”
Gunn lowered his head again, and furiously wiped at his eyes with clenched fists. “I gotta get out of here.”
Gunn heaved himself from his chair and quickly strode to the door. He roughly grabbed his denim jacket off the coat hanger and stuffed his arms into the sleeves, as if punching someone.
He crossed the threshold of the front entrance and let the heavy door slam behind him.
He made his way across the street at a furious pace, angry at the world, once again, for taking away an innocent like Cordelia, when he stopped dead in his tracks. He still hadn’t come out of the Hyperion through the front doors since her death. But, in his haste to get out of there, he paid no notice to his exit.
He was crossing the street. The very same one that Cordelia had laid on, dead, exactly two weeks ago. He looked down to his feet and could see, by the dim glow of a lone streetlight, the stain of her blood on the black asphalt.
Fresh, hot tears stung his eyes and his vision became blurry. He tried to will his legs to move, to carry him away from this spot, but his limbs wouldn’t obey.
A small car came barreling down the street and swerved at the last minute, narrowly missing the black man. The driver honked and yelled vulgar obscenities that Gunn could hear even through the car’s instillation.
He let a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding and finally stumbled to the other side of the road.
And, for the first time in weeks, two weeks to be exact, Gunn was thinking clearly. He knew what he had to do and he was confident he could do it. His pace quickened with determination and he soon found himself at his former gang’s warehouse.
He marched directly into the warehouse, ignoring the objections of the gang members. He easily spotted Rondell and approached him.
“Yo, bro! Sup?” Rondell asked, holding out his hand.
Gunn, in no mode for formalities, grabbed his ex-best friend by the collar and threw him up against the nearest wall. Rondell hit the wall with a violent thud and collapsed to the dirt.
The crew advanced on Gunn, but stopped when Rondell’s hand shot up and he shook his head.
Gunn raced up to Rondell and seized him by the lapels once again. He picked Rondell back up and brutally shook him.
“Where do I find Holtz?!”