Title: Ashes To Ashes
Author: Alex Dollard
Posted: 11-23-2002
Rating: R for language.
Email:
Content: A/C
Summary: Cordelia's response to Buffy's resurrection.
Spoilers: Early AtS season 3.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution:
Notes: This is an odd little fic. Be warned.
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So.
She's back.
Again.
Brought back from the dead by her faithful companions.
Again.
But Angel wasn't there this time. No, he was off in another diamension when she died, and in another city when she lived again.
Again.
Jeez, most people die only once. Maybe you get frequent flyer miles to the afterlife like, "Die twice, get third resurrection free," or something.
That girl just never gets a break. I mean, seriously, SHE NEVER GET A BREAK. No peace, no quiet grave. No, she's yanked back into the land of the living because Willow and the rest of them aren't ready to let her go.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
I often think about dying.
It can't be a surprise. Look at what I do - who I... Nevermind. Death follows me, always has. Almost thought I could escape it by coming to LA. You don't need to tell me how naive that was. Death wears many faces in this city and sometimes the most beguiling can be the most deadly. You-know-who is a case in point.
I know his face now. Not that I didn't before, all those hours of watching, secretly and then not so secretly, turning my head at the last minute, catching him looking back. Unspoken. Dangerous but safe because we'd never do anything about it. Various blond shadows stood between us, shadows and a certain curse. And if he ever went bad again we all know who'd be first on his to do list. I can just see it, Angelus with glasses like Giles has, squinting at a piece of paper, "Number one: Torture and turn Cordelia," Maybe not so funny. I guess you have to be here. After all, what's one more mad seer to him?
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
I know his face now. Know the softness of his eyelashes, the smoothness of his skin, cool, but not cold. Not when his body lays over mine. I know the heat of his mouth when he kisses me; throat, breast, belly, thigh. Not mouth-to-mouth. We don't need resurrection. I'm not sure there's anything to bring back. I'm not... that is... well, I want to live. I do. I want to escape this strange, pain filled half life. I don't want to be the girl in his bed, but not in his heart, but I am. I guess, be careful what you wish for... You'd have thought I'd have learnt that now, after the whole Anya thing. And I guess I know first hand why they don't want to live in a Sunnydale without the Slayer, but...
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
He loves me. He Loves Me. But the girl he fucks is faceless.
I live, unliving, unchanging, in his eyes. I could live to be a hundred - we both know I won't - and still, all he would see is the untouched girl who so rudely insinuated herself into his life.
Unlife.
Whatever.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
When I look - not into a mirror, please, of all people, I know how mirrors lie. When I look, and see myself in their eyes - Wesley and Gunn, of course, who else Sees me as I am - when I look at them, I see... Not me. Not my conception of me, all healthy tanned skin and thick dark hair and bright eyes.
I spy with my little eye... Unearthly pale, she rises from their eye mirror. Hollow eyes caught starlight, antique frame of smoky curls, mouth bared in wolfish grin. Whispering shadows fall across her perfect face.
Do I see her, and see myself?
The inner me who has no name.
Or am I a dream of what she was, long ago, in another place.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
I'm in his bed.
I'm in his bed right now.
Buffy is back - again - and he sleeps in this soft, wide bed with me. Looks like an angel, innocent and pure. Sleeps like, well, like the dead. It didn't take long for the brooding to kick in. I still don't know why he didn't go to Sunnydale but I guess he didn't want to run into Spike. Bit of a volatile situation there, if I translated Willow-speak right. Spike in love with Buffy. God, what is it with vampires and that girl. Actually, what is it with demons and the Sunnydale crew? Can't help wondering what would have happened if the PTB had chosen Spike instead of Angel. Soul or chip, take your pick. And Spike never left the woman he loves... Angel did it to Darla, he did it to Buffy and sooner or later, he'll do it to me. Sooner or later, he'll step from loving me, loving Cordelia, best friend and seer, to being in love with me. Us fucking is really incidental to that. The curse was never about sex, it was about Angel being happy, the terrible burden he carries being lifted for a moment. Perfect happiness.
And when, not if, when that happens, I know I'll have the strength to do what has to be done.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
What I do afterwards is my own business.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
End.