Title: Perfectly Happy
Author: Anna
Posted: 02-08-2003
Email: niannah@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Category: Angelus/Cordelia
Content: Angelus/Cordelia, W/L
Summary:
Spoilers:
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Shippers United, The Crypt, Sinner and Seer. Others, just let me know.
Notes: I think many people have already read this! But Ando said to post it here, so I post. It's set after the end of AtSs3, but s4 has not begun.
Notes for Part 7 :This has some torture in it. It may not be to everyone’s taste. And if you like fluff, I think maybe look elsewhere!
Feedback: Yes please.
Thanks :A special thanks to my homie Ando who beta read when she could have been writing her own fic and who bugged me… er, inspired me to keep writing! And to Pato, who also inspires me! Thanks guys.Part 1
Angelus strode towards her apartment. He was close. He could scent her from here. She smelled of shower gel, shampoo and expensive conditioner, of moisturizers, body lotion, exfoliators, the face mask she used twice a week. She smelled of clean clothes, carefully ironed, detergent and fabric softener. She smelled of whatever perfume she chose to wear that day.
Underneath all that she smelled of Cordelia. That was the scent that lingered. The smell of her office when she had been working late. The smell of her apartment. The smell of sheets she had slept in. He remembered moments the Soul had stolen, in the dark basement of the Hyperion doing the laundry. His lip curled when he thought about it. He felt shamed. The Soul had brought him, the great, the notorious Angelus, so low. Burying his face in her sheets after those increasingly frequent occasions when she stayed. After a vicious fight, after a hard night’s research. A night watching a movie with him and Connor. Filling his desperate senses with the smell of her.
Though Angelus did have to admit that she was quite a woman. More woman than girl, ten times better than the last leftovers from the Soul. Angelus laid a palm flat on his belly, ran it lightly over his chest. He had become more man than boy since he had been out to play last. The Soul was finally taking care of himself. Though the taste of pig’s blood rankled in his mouth. He had washed it away earlier. And he had left the wrapping in the Hyperion for his faithful Angel Investigations crew.
He had reached her door. He tried to sober up, wiping the smirk off his face. It was not easy. He was filled with glee. He was free again, really free. No drugs that could wear off, no witch with her curses, no ex-girlfriend with a sword to plunge through his belly. Here he was, loose in this city named for him.
And he had a most enjoyable evening planned.
He raised a hand and knocked on her door. A moment of silence, then a rustle of paper, a low thud, and her footsteps coming towards the door. Angelus calmed the excitement in his blood. He berated himself for such immaturity. He was no fledge, far too old to be anything but perfectly poised for the hunt.
But it had been so goddamned long.
She reached the door and opened it. Angelus watched her face spread into a smile when she saw him standing there.
“Angel!” she said. “Come on in.”
He did not need the invitation, but it made him smirk inwardly anyway.
“Hey Cordelia.” He stepped over the threshold. “I hope you don’t mind. Connor’s being… difficult, and you said I could come over whenever, so…”
“Of course I don’t mind, silly!” She hit him playfully on the arm, then pulled him further into the living room. “I was just reading. Can I get you some blood?”
Ugh. Pig’s blood here too.
“No, I’m good,” he replied. He noticed an open wine bottle on the table, her first glass half empty. “Some wine, though, maybe?”
“I thought you vamps didn’t drink… wine.” Cordelia laughed. Angelus laughed too. He reminded himself to stay in character. It would be far less fun otherwise.
Cordelia did not seem to notice anything amiss.
“I guess even a vamp needs a change sometimes,” she said, fetching a glass from the kitchen. “Blood, blood, and hey! More blood! Where’s the fun? Variety is, after all, the spice of unlife.”
Angelus laughed again.
“Yeah,” he agreed, holding out a hand for the full glass. How little she understood. How much the Soul kept from her. He had known her for, what? Five years now? More? Nothing for a vampire, but a considerable time for a young mortal. And he had never once mentioned the subtle nuances of blood. Never explained to her that every human had their own unique flavour. Never told her hers was particularly alluring. And she had never even asked.
Cordelia sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her, indicating that he should sit there. He did so, attempting to look bashful, as the Soul would in such a situation.
“So it’s Connor, huh?” she said, grimacing.
“Yeah.” Angelus attempted an awkward smile. He felt he was getting a grip on this. How off-putting. “Playing his music too loud, and he’s got really big speakers, plus” – he gestured to his ears – “vamp hearing, so I had to get out of there.”
Cordelia grinned.
“Oh my God, I remember going through that.” She laughed, her eyes crinkling. “Couldn’t you ask him to turn it down? Explain about the” – she gestured to his ears.
“I didn’t want to,” said Angelus, putting some kind of mournful, or possibly worried, tone in his voice. He quickly tried to think why the Soul might not want to tell Connor to turn his music down. Or snap the kid’s neck. “We’ve just bonded, you know? So I just wanted to leave him to it.”
Angelus was already tiring of this game. He spent long enough trapped inside the damn Soul to go around pretending for too long. However, he calmed himself. Breathed her in, reminded himself of the rewards of this little piece of duplicity, tedious though it may now seem. Warm, pumping, trusting, aroused blood. Very little he could think of that could be sweeter.
“Sure,” nodded Cordelia. “It hasn’t been easy, has it?” She looked concerned.
“No.” He sighed, and decided to remain silent.
After a moment staring at his saddened face, she reached out a concerned hand and rubbed the length of his arm.
“Hey!” she said. “Silk?”
Angelus looked sheepish. He was getting too damn good at this. Made his stomach turn.
“It was in the back of my wardrobe. I had nothing else clean.”
“Nothing else clean? The guy who’s turning into a laundry freak?”
He had to suppress a laugh. He took a sip of wine to hide it. Tasted like nothing.
“I guess I’m busted.” He looked at her, smiling. “I’m sick of cotton. Variety, you know. Spice of my unlife.”
Cordelia laughed.
“Right! Why not? It suits you.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. It’s funny, I never really thought that before. I guess it’s too like you-know-who.”
Angelus had to take another quick gulp of wine.
“Well,” he said, as soon as he could. “That’s what I always thought, so I never wore it. But it’s kinda nice.”
“Sure it is, it’s silk.” Cordelia smiled shyly. “I love wearing silk,” she said.
He knew what she meant. As would the Soul. But the Soul would pretend not to, and he’d ask a dumb question, then get all embarrassed when she answered.
Here goes.
“What? You don’t wear much silk. You’re wearing cotton now.”
He tried to look flustered when she lowered her chin and looked up at him with smoky, sultry eyes.
“Oh,” he said, and laughed nervously.
Time to take it up a notch. This was pathetic.
“Me too, actually,” he said.
She looked surprised. Shocked, even. He made sure to look anywhere but at her. And fidget with something.
Aw, fuck it.
He looked straight at her, suddenly calm.
She coughed, and took a sip of wine.
“More information than I thought I’d ever have,” she said, a touch too brightly.
Angelus smouldered. His voice became low as an earthquake.
“Really?” he said.
Cordelia paused.
“Well, yeah,” she replied quietly.
He said nothing, just sat, continued to smoulder, his eyes on hers.
She laughed quickly, a single breath.
“Angel!” she said.
He half smiled.
“Cordelia,” he replied, his voice so quiet.
She drank more wine. Angelus had forgotten his. He took her glass and placed it on the table.
“Cordelia?” he said again.
She cleared her throat.
“Yes?”
“What did you want to tell me? After you called me? That night you ascended and that little… Connor, the night Connor locked me in the box?”
“I… Angel, I…” She sagged against a cushion behind her. “You already know. You’d never ask like this unless you already knew.”
He moved closer to her.
“I don’t know. I won’t know till you tell me.” He looked so earnest. He could feel it. He even felt like the Soul. Ugh.
Cordelia looked him straight in the eyes. Angelus enjoyed that. He liked her eyes. He imagined them closed in ecstasy. And horribly open in pain.
She looked away. She examined her fingernails with intense concentration.
“What’s the point?” she whispered. “You left Buffy because you couldn’t be with her. Couldn’t give her what she needed. If you could, you’d go straight back to her. So you can’t be with anybody. You couldn’t even want to be with… me. Be with me.”
Angelus raised her chin with a perfectly-manicured thumb.
“Buffy?” he said, almost laughing. He hoped she would misinterpret it. “Buffy… That’s over, Cordelia, surely you know that?”
“Is it? I don’t know, Angel. You guys were, like, soul mates!” Cordelia’s eyes became glassy with tears. She would not let them fall.
“Cordelia.” He whispered her name, running a finger down her cheek. Such a pretty cheekbone, he thought. Such a mouth. “Cordelia, it’s you I want. You know that.”
Cordelia sniffed, and smiled a brave smile.
“How could I know that, Angel? How can I really believe that? How can I compete with Buffy, and Darla? How could I know?”
Angelus ran a casual fingertip over her lips. She flinched slightly, but did not draw back.
“How could you know, Cordy? Because you’re not stupid. You’re not blind. You’ve known ever since the ballet.”
She said nothing. But something in her face, he could see it, a relaxing of certain muscles, acquiesced. She had known.
“But it changes nothing, Angel.”
He moved even closer now. He could feel her breath on his cool cheek.
“Why not?” His hands were roaming over her extremities. On hand lingered on her foot curled up on the couch. The other played with her fingers. His touch was light, but insistent.
“You know why, Angel! The curse!”
Angelus laughed.
“Oh, Cordelia,” he said. He looked into her eyes, all the time his fingertips caressing her skin. “There is no more curse.”
“What?” He rubbed her frown with his thumb, caressing it away.
“No more curse. It’s gone. I didn’t tell you before because… because I wasn’t sure how you felt, if you felt the same way about me as I do about you.”
Her hand suddenly gripped his.
“But Angel! How?”
“I… I don’t know how. I think it was the night I slept with Darla. I thought my soul was going, I could feel such pain” – oh, he could remember that night, the night he thought he would be free again, only to remain trapped; well, he thought, it did lead to his being free tonight, big picture – “but then, nothing. My soul still with me. I didn’t know exactly what happened then, but since that night I have been more and more sure that it was my soul being anchored, Cordy.” He grasped both her hot little hands in his. “How often have I been happy since then? With Connor, my son, and with you? Think about it! Surely, if I were to lose my soul, it would be gone.”
Cordelia simply stared. Angelus knew what he was saying could be true. If the Soul had not been such a worrier, had he let his problems slide for just a second, then he would have been free months ago.
He saw her melt. He saw his words settle in her mind, make some kind of sense. To his joy, he saw her want them to make sense.
Her breathing became erratic. He knew his moment.
He leaned towards her, and kissed her. His lips rested only lightly on hers until he felt her respond. He moved closer, letting go of her hands, running his fingers up her arms until he lightly held her head. He opened his mouth and gently flicked his tongue against her lips. He felt her mouth open at his suggestion. One of her hands rested palm flat against his chest. The other trailed up his thigh until it held his hip. He felt her heat through her skin, felt her heart beat faster, smelled her arousal.
He pulled her closer, kissing her now more insistently. His tongue plunged into her mouth as his hands roamed again downwards, merely flicking lightly across her breasts before stroking her belly, her waist, and holding her hips firmly.
She pulled back, her lips red, her eyes heavy-lidded with sudden desire. A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth.
“Angel,” she breathed.
“Cordelia,” he replied, his voice full of warmth and lust.
This time she grabbed him, invading his mouth, releasing months, years of pent-up lust. He took her by the hips and sat her on his lap, straddling him. She moaned gently into his ear when she felt his arousal, and began to grind her hips in slow, eager circles against him. Angelus could not help but release a low growl. Her hands worked now at the buttons of his shirt. She opened them quickly and ran her hands over his cool skin. He felt her enjoying his body, revelling in this new freedom. He slid his hands up under the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head.
She did wear silk. Angelus pulled back from her kiss to admire the perfectly toned body astride him. He ran appreciative hands over her skin, watched her move as she continued to grind into his groin. Her breasts were perfect, held in a cream silk bra. She moved them towards him. He glanced into her playful eyes, and clamped his mouth over one of her nipples, soaking the silk immediately with his saliva, his tongue working through the material, his blunt teeth nipping and biting to bring her to a hard peak. She moaned again, rhythmically, as he moved to the other nipple, supple fingers still working on the first. As he soaked the second cup, he snaked his hands around her and unclipped the bra, watching as it fell from her pert, round breasts. She ran her hands through his hair, once again bringing his mouth to her nipples.
He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. Dennis opened the door. Again he suppressed a laugh. It was all too easy. Not that he complained. This one was hot. He had no plans to kill her best friend’s fish. No. He had left a much more special present for her at the Hyperion.
He laid her on the bed, sliding her pants down her legs. He left her panties on, and pressed two fingers against them, right between her legs. Damp and hot. He could feel her pulse under his fingers. He shook his shirt off, and kicked off his own pants. He felt the length of her hot body under him as he kissed her again. She spread her legs around him.
“Oh, Angel!” she moaned repeatedly. He hated that name. But it would have to do for now.
She pushed his silk shorts down with an urgency he exulted in. Not that it had been a tough conquest. But it was him, not the Soul. That thought alone made him tingle.
He swiftly removed the remaining barriers between them.
“Angel! Angel, wait!”
He looked at her.
“What? Cordy, is this okay?” His gut twisted at the simpering words.
“As long as you can promise me… that I’m not going to get pregnant with another miracle child of yours?” She laughed happily.
“I promise,” he said.
He plunged into her.
She was not very experienced, he knew that. So he showed her things, taught her things for hours, bringing her to screaming heights of ecstasy, to whimpering beggings of need, to laughter of sheer delight. Should she escape him, he thought, should she survive him, she would never find pleasure in the arms of another man again.
Not that she would survive.
Part 2
The curtains were carefully closed, not a chink allowing the lethal rays to enter, though indirect light suffused the room with a warm glow.
She lay on her side, facing away from him, her breathing soft and regular. He trailed a fingertip from her neck, over her shoulder, down her side and into the dip of her waist. She was truly beautiful. Her skin was the colour of honey, and her hair a rich mahogany. So full and vibrant, like the sound of her name. Cordelia. He relished the challenge he knew she would be. His triumphant return.
He moved closer to her until he could feel her warmth along the length of his body. He brushed the hair back from her ear.
“Cordelia,” he whispered. “Cordy.”
“Mmmm,” she said, stretching. He watched her wake slowly, climbing into consciousness. Before her eyes opened she smiled. He ran his palms in circles on her skin, bringing tingling life back into her aching muscles.
She sighed and turned over into the cradle of his body. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his unbeating heart.
“You’re warm,” she murmured.
“I’ve got you,” he replied.
“You do,” she said. She looked up into his eyes. “You really do, you know that, right?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. He kissed her forehead. “And now, since I’m the boss, I say you can be late for work this morning.” He kissed her again, this time her mouth, slow and deep.
Cordelia purred.
Angelus smiled. She did not see him. Only the thought of the gift he had left her stopped him from sinking his fangs into her throbbing jugular.
The day was beautiful. Cordelia’s body sang with post-coital joy as she made her way through to the garden entrance to the Hyperion. The door was locked. Fred and Gunn still at home.
She turned the lock and walked into the cool, airy lobby. She looked around. Empty. Her footsteps echoed hollowly as she crossed the marble floor to the reception desk. She left her bag on the desk, and turned. Time to make coffee.
She gasped, startled, then laughed. Connor lay on a couch.
“Connor! You scared me! Lurk much?” she said brightly. “Hey” – she noticed the single red rose in his hands – “who’s the rose for? And the card?”
He lay still.
“Connor?”
He was very pale.
“Connor? You okay?”
She stood beside him. He did not move. She tipped his head to one side.
“Oh, my God.”
Vampire.
Her head spun.
Connor was dead.
Who? Who had a standing invitation? Harmony? No. Not her style, she’d never dare.
Spike? No. He’d never been invited. Connor was not naïve – he would recognize a vampire, soul or no. He would never invite Spike in.
Which left… Obviously not Angel.
Unless – No, Angelus was not back. She had woken up in Angel’s arms, and he was still in her apartment.
Angel! He would be devastated.
She cast her burning eyes along the unnaturally still body. The envelope. It was addressed to her. She ripped it open. The card was tastefully thick, off-white, golden roses embossed on the border.
“My dearest, loveliest Cordelia,” it read, in flowing black script. “If you find this, last night went as I dared to hope. I long for you, Cordelia. I hope you accept this token of my undying love. Rest assured, my darling, that it will not be the last.
“Yours, till death do us part,
“Angelus.”
The card fluttered to the ground. Cordelia watched it. It took an age, tumbling earthwards, flickering, catching the light, landing soundlessly on the floor. She looked again at Connor. His neck was now bent at an awkward angle.
He could not have left her apartment to do this. It was dawn by the time they had stopped making love.
Which left only one possibility.
Cordelia retched. She crumpled to the floor, staring at the card below her. Its golden roses glinted at her as her stomach heaved. She gasped, forcing herself to retain control. Her face felt cold and clammy. Sweat trickled from her temples.
She took a few shuddering breaths.
Breathe.
She stumbled once more to her feet, supporting herself on the couch with her hand as she stood. Connor was still dead.
There were voices outside the door. Fred and Gunn. Cheerfully chatting, she could not hear the words. She watched them come in, laughing, gesticulating. It made no sense. She saw heir faces as they turned to her. Bright smiles fading to puzzlement. To confusion. Eyes dropping to the couch. Horror.
Something snapped inside Cordelia’s head. She bent down and picked up the card.
“Angelus,” she said hoarsely. She cleared her throat. “Angelus.”
Fred and Gunn stared.
“You need to get Connor to the morgue. Please,” she said.
“Cordelia –” Gunn stepped forward.
She held up a hand.
“Get him to the morgue.” She closed her eyes. Opened them. “Before dark.”
Gunn nodded. He glanced at Fred. Fred still stared at the body.
“I’ll call… someone,” he said.
Cordelia nodded.
“I’ll be upstairs.” She looked down at Connor. Laid a hand on his forehead. He was cold. Gone. She turned and walked up the stairs, step by robotic step.
She walked to Angel’s suite. It looked the same. Compulsively neat. A picture of Angel, Connor and Cordelia on the bedside, in a frame she had bought him on the day she had decided was his birthday. The anniversary of the night they first met in Sunnydale. They had worked the date out together. Another picture, this time just the two of them, smiling at each other, oblivious to the camera.
Why did she wait to tell him? She wanted to. Ever since that night they dragged the monstrous metal box from the sea. She thought she had eternity. Or as good as.
She left the suite, and went to the room she had been coming to think of as her own. She took all the clothes from the closet and carried them back to his room. She put them carefully away in the space in his closet. She took some books she had left and placed them beside his bed. Next she carried in her shoes, boots she wore to chase demons, and a pair of tiny Manolo Blahniks. Angel had remained silent for hours after she told him how much they had cost. Cosmetics, toiletries, all the little things that had accumulated there over the past months.
She looked around the suite. She could not go back to her apartment. There was no where else she would rather sleep than here. This was Angel’s room, her Angel, not the monster in her apartment. This was her new home.
She took off her clothes, the clothes he had watched her don that morning with a lascivious smile lop-sided on his mouth. She threw them in the corner to burn later.
The shower scoured her skin. She turned it up hot, until she was red and raw. She scrubbed and scrubbed, washing every inch, her breasts, between her legs, even her tongue. She could still taste him in the back of her throat. She laid her cheek against the tile. It felt cold. Sobs wracked her body. Her tears fell, disguised in the water.
Angelus laid his cheek against the tile. It felt warm. He liked her apartment, once the curtains were closed. He was hungry, but he could wait. For now he stood in the shower, water spilling down his body. He lathered slowly, considering his next move. Not too carefully, though. He was enjoying this spontaneity.
Screw destroying the world. Boring. But destroying one perfect life – now that was fun.
They needed everyone, she told herself. Right now she needed him. She raised her hand and knocked on the door. There was a sudden pregnant silence, the sound of someone making no noise. Then she heard his footsteps come towards the door. He opened it only partially, his body blocking the path into the apartment. His hair was uncharacteristically tousled and his shirt was open to the navel. He must have left his glasses down somewhere.
“Cordelia,” he said. His voice was strained.
“Wesley. I have to talk to you.”
“Now really isn’t the best time. Perhaps you could call back – ”
“Now, Wesley. It’s important.”
A voice came from inside. Female.
“Wesley?” it said. “Who is it?”
Cordelia knew that voice. She pushed past Wesley.
“Cordelia –” he began, but trailed off. There was nothing to say.
Lilah had obviously just come from the office. Her shoes lay by the couch, one on its side. Her jacket hung neatly over a chair.
Cordelia simply stared. Lilah smiled the smile of a reptile.
“Cordelia, right? Nice outfit.”
Cordelia looked down at the baggy shirt and jeans she had put on when she burned her clothes. She raised a supercilious eyebrow.
“Thanks. Nice boyfriend.”
“Please! He’s not my boyfriend.” Lilah laughed, a fake laugh. “We just have sex.”
Wesley seethed.
“Perhaps you had better leave.” His voice was tight.
“Wesley!” said Lilah, a false hurt tone in her voice. “You usually say that after we make love!”
“Lilah.” He held the door open.
She stood, slipping her feet into her shoes.
“Alright, lover,” she said, taking her jacket from the chair. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Can’t wait.” Wesley watched her leave with stony eyes. She trailed her fingertips across his mouth.
“Miss you already,” she whispered.
Wesley closed the door behind her and turned towards Cordelia. He could not look her in the eye. His shoulders hunched as he buttoned his shirt back up to his collarbone.
“Cordelia, I can explain,” he began.
“You don’t have to, Wesley.”
“But I want to, it’s just that I felt so alone, and I know –”
“Wesley, Angelus is back.”
He froze.
“What?”
“Angelus is back. Connor is dead.”
“What can I do?”
“I need a disinvitation for the Hyperion.”
“Immediately, I take it?”
“Yeah. I’ve moved in, I’d like to sleep. Not that I will.” Cordelia sighed.
“You’ve moved in?” Wesley moved towards a bookshelf.
“Yeah. Today. Angelus… came to my apartment. I can’t go back there.” She bit her lip.
“Does… Does Fred still live at the Hyperion?” Wesley opened a book and examined its contents carefully.
“No, she moved in with Gunn a month ago.”
“And you moved in today?”
“Uh-huh. Why, is that important for the disinvitation spell?”
Wesley looked at her intently.
“You live there. Since you moved in, he hasn’t been invited. You don’t need me.” He exhaled, and closed the book.
“Really? That’s, like, enough? I’ve only been there a few hours.”
“Do you feel at home?”
Cordelia’s eyes flicked to the window, the walls, and back.
“Yes,” she replied, certainty in her voice.
“Then he can’t come in.”
Her eyes closed, relief etched on her features.
“Cordelia, is he fixating on you?”
She opened her eyes again, and held out the card.
“I found this with Connor’s body.”
Wesley took his glasses from the coffee table and placed them on his eyes.
“My God,” he said, reading. “In that case, you are safe, for a time at least.”
“Safe?”
“He won’t touch you until everyone else is dead. Fred, Gunn, and me.”
Cordelia leaned back against the wall, her eyes closed again. Her face was blank. It was too much.
“Cordelia,” said Wesley, moving towards her holding out a hand. “Sit down, please.”
Cordelia took his arm and sat down on the couch. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and held her face in her hands. Wesley placed a comforting hand on her back.
“What happened, Cordy?” he said. “How did Angelus get free?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was muffled through her hands.
“Tell me what happened. How did you find Connor?”
Cordelia took a deep breath, lowering her hands.
“I walked into the lobby this morning, and there he was, on the couch, with a rose, and the card.”
“I see.” Wesley paused, and glanced again at the card. “What does he mean by ‘last night went as I dared hope’?”
Cordelia’s face crumpled. Stifled sobs wracked her body.
“Oh God, Wesley,” she whispered, looking away from him.
“Cordelia, whatever it is, I need to know, if we’re going to face him together.” He took her into a half-embrace. “Tell me.”
She looked at him, her eyes wet, tears rolling silently down her cheeks.
“Don’t tell Fred and Gunn. I’m so… oh Wesley, I’m so ashamed.”
“Cordelia! What is it?”
“He came over to my apartment last night. I thought it was Angel. He – we – Wesley, I thought it was Angel!”
Realization dawned on Wesley’s face.
“Oh my God. Cordelia. I’m so sorry.”
“How could I not know, Wesley? How could I not?”
“Was it… like with Buffy?”
“No. He must have killed Connor before, which meant he was Angelus all the time.” Cordelia again covered her face.
“Then, what set him free?”
Cordelia shook her head, her voice too close to tears.
“Perhaps it was something to do with Connor, since he was the only one there.”
“Maybe,” said Cordelia, regaining control. “Wesley, pack. You have to come back to the Hyperion. If what you say is true, then it’s the only safe place for you right now.”
“You’re right.” He stood.
“And Wesley,” she said, her voice soft. “We need you.”
Wesley looked at her, a small but heartfelt smile on his face.
“I’ll be ready straight away.” He left the room quickly.
“One more thing,” called Cordelia.
“What’s that?” came his voice from the next room.
“You dump that bitch pronto!”
His face appeared in the doorway.
“Consider it done,” he said.
Gunn and Fred had gone home, as safe in Gunn’s place as they would be in the Hyperion. They would meet again at Connor’s funeral the next day. For now, Wesley and Cordelia sat in the Hyperion lobby telling each other that they would be better off getting some rest.
Neither could sleep.
It was during this circular conversation that they saw him at the garden door, silhouetted against the moonlight outside.
Cordelia glanced at Wesley.
“Time to test that theory of yours,” she said.
“Are you sure you should speak to him?” he replied, placing a warning hand on her arm.
“Do you think he’ll leave till I do?”
Wesley sighed, acquiescing.
She walked slowly to the door, and heard Wesley get to his feet behind her. She saw Angelus’s eyes glowing a dull amber in the dark.
She opened the door. Angelus ran his eyes over her appraisingly. Even under the shapeless clothes she wore, he could see her body, newly loved. He raised his hand, gingerly testing the barrier.
“Cordelia,” he said. “I’m touched. My home is your home.” He smiled.
“It’s not your home. It’s Angel’s home.”
“Angel, right.” Angelus took a slow breath. “It’s fine. I like your apartment. It reminds me of you, and our night together.”
Cordelia winced.
“What, you don’t like thinking about it?” Angelus laughed. “I still smell us on the sheets. Do you know how much he used to love the smell of your sheets?”
Cordelia’s face turned to stone.
“Leave him out of this.”
“I can’t do that. I am him. But he’s not me.” Angelus rubbed his chin. “I guess that’s his one flaw.”
“Flaw? His one grace.” He saw a softening in her eyes.
“Really? You think so?” He leaned a shoulder nonchalantly against the barrier, studying his fingernails. They were perfect, as usual.
“You disgust me,” she said, her voice low and emotionless.
“Now, Cordelia. That hurts.” Angelus looked at her, turning again to face her. He placed the palms of his hands against the barrier. His shirt rose a little and he knew she could see his skin. She liked his skin. She had told him so.
“Good,” she said. He saw her eyes. They could not help flicking to his bared hip.
“I know you,” he said, his voice lazy. “I know what you crave. And I know that you secretly love it, in places you never knew existed till last night.” His hands trailed over the barrier as if it were her skin. He saw her suppress a shudder. It was not a shudder of fear.
“There is nothing, absolutely nothing to do with you that I could ever love.” Cordelia’s eyes were steel.
“Look in his closet. Where did I find this silk shirt? Leather pants?” Her eyes travelled down his body. “Look in his hidden places. You’ll find me there. And you love it. You love that I am the Scourge, I am the great Angelus, and that I made love to you.”
“You’re sick!” she whispered hoarsely, raising her hand to slam the door.
“I am,” he said. “But I’m not wrong.”
He did not flinch as the door slammed in his face. He watched her walk away through the glass, knew she was waiting until she was out of sight to collapse, shaking, into the comforting arms of the Watcher.
Then he turned and walked away. The smell of her made him hungry.
Part 3
Cordelia looked at the papers strewn around her on the floor. There were many, some new, printed, some typewritten, aging, slightly yellow now, and some handwritten. Most were handwritten. In various styles, from a perfunctory, matter of fact script to flowing handwriting, liberally embellished with loops and curlicues.
All referred to numerous properties in Europe owned and leased by one Angelus.
Angelus had been into futures. Literally.
She sat back against the bed, and stared at the empty drawers in the closet. She had never even noticed them before, and never would had Angelus not led her suspicions to search there. She had found them full of the documents that now carpeted the floor.
And one more thing. Lying over the arm of his armchair. Prosaic, were it not for the inherent irony. Were it not for the fact that they were left for her to find.
Leather pants.
Cordelia almost laughed, looking at them. Could he have left a more obvious message? There they had lain, hidden in blue tissue paper. Angel had kept them. She could not fathom it. It made her stomach turn.
She stood and walked to the door, opening it into the dully lit corridor.
“Wesley!” she called. “Wes?”
She heard his footsteps on the stairs, watched as he walked towards her, his face concerned.
“Cordelia, are you alright?” he said.
“You are not going to believe this,” she replied.
Wesley followed her into the room.
“Good Lord,” he said. “What’s all this?”
“Look.” Cordelia held out some of the older papers.
Wesley examined the documents, shuffling them in his hands as he read.
“Good Lord,” he breathed again, when he had finished. “And these others?” He looked around at the other papers.
“All the same. All reports of the leasing and maintenance of properties in Europe.”
“Houses in Paris, London, Rome, Vienna, Dublin,” read Wesley, as he knelt and shuffled through more letters.
“Estates in Provençe, Lombardy, Ireland, Bavaria,” continued Cordelia. “It all belongs to Angelus.”
“And Angel, one assumes?”
“Yeah. But get this.” Cordelia held out a carbon copy document. “Dated 1999. Look at the signature.”
Wesley took the page in his hand. His eyes opened in shock as he read.
“It’s the same on all of them. Here’s one from a month ago.”
“I… I can’t believe it.” Wesley stood up and began to pace the room, his eyes darting over the sheaves of paper.
“Me either. But there it is.” Cordelia gestured to the papers in his hands. “He signed them all ‘Angelus’”.
Wesley stared again at the signatures.
“There must be a reason!” he exclaimed.
“Sure there’s a reason. Look at these bank statements. Nice discreet Swiss bank. He hasn’t touched this money since 1898.”
“And yet he maintained the accounts, and continued to oversee the properties.”
“Right,” said Cordelia. “He was prepared for this. For Angelus to return.”
“I did always wonder how he came by that mansion,” Wesley said with a puzzled frown.
Cordelia blew hair from her face, placing her hands on her hips.
“Well, he’s wealthy. I mean Bill Gates, David Nabbitt wealthy. He’s had two hundred and fifty years to make a fortune. And he’s back.”
Their eyes locked for one dramatic moment.
Cordelia sighed.
“How are Fred and Gunn holding up?”
Wesley put down the papers and put his hands in his pockets.
“Fred is still crying. She took it rather hard.”
“It was a good service.”
“Yes, Fr O’Neill spoke well.”
“It’s so sad.”
Wesley looked at Cordelia. Her eyes remained dry, her face ashen.
“Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t tell Fred and Gunn about all this.” She spread her hands over the mess of papers.
“Better not,” agreed Wesley. “What will we do with it?”
Cordelia exhaled, a thoughtful frown on her face.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“No,” said Wesley. “Well. Perhaps you should come down? I’ll make tea.”
Cordelia smiled.
“I missed you, Wes,” she said.
It was late. So late it would soon be early. Wesley, Fred and Gunn were all asleep in the Hyperion. Cordelia had made sure of it before making a sound. The documents were all in two boxes, placed carefully on the back seat of Angel’s car. On the passenger seat, carefully folded, were the leather pants. Cordelia started the engine and pulled out.
The lights were on in her apartment. She stopped at the kerb. Inhaled deeply.
“Okay,” she said, under her breath. “Let’s do this.”
She got out of the car and hefted one of the boxes on to her hip. She left it by her door before returning to pick up the other. She placed it on top of the first, laid the leather pants on top of that, took another strengthening breath, then knocked on the door.
She heard his footsteps come towards her.
The door opened.
He stood there, dressed in luxurious black, lit by the light of low lamps, a small fire, and candle flames all around the room.
He smiled. She did not.
“I brought these for you,” she said, her hand flicking towards the boxes.
“Thanks,” he replied. He stood back from the door. “Come in.”
She walked past him, feeling him like a chill on her spine.
He lifted the boxes and brought them inside the door.
“Oh,” he said, smiling and holding the pants. “You found them. Good.”
Cordelia simply stared as he put them down and came towards her. He stood, a mere pace from her, his face uncannily soft. The eyes were the only clue. Hard and black.
“Wine?” he asked.
Cordelia frowned fleetingly.
“Sure,” she said. She could hear the stress in her voice.
Angelus tilted his head towards the sideboard. A bottle was left open to chambré, a single glass, large and round, standing beside it.
Cordelia’s eyes fell.
“You knew I’d come,” she said.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“So I guess you know why.”
“I do.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. She flinched and pulled back. “Please,” he said. “Sit.”
Cordelia sighed, exasperated.
“Stop,” she said, harshly.
“Stop what?”
“Stop pretending to be… nice.”
“I am perfectly nice,” he replied, his voice molten chocolate. “I have had many years to hone my manners. Speaking of which.” He turned to the sideboard and poured her a glass of deep red wine. “I believe it is a good vintage. I cannot taste such things.”
Cordelia took the glass. Her eyes were dark with suspicion.
Angelus ignored it.
“Please,” he said again. “Sit down. It is, after all, your apartment.”
Cordelia sat on the couch.
“I’ll never think of this place as mine again.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Because of me?”
“Of course because of you.”
Angelus nodded, sitting on the edge of the armchair, which he had placed near the fire.
“I guess I understand.”
“That’s big of you.” Cordelia looked around. “Is Dennis still here?”
“Probably,” replied Angelus. “He’s been pretty quiet, though.”
“Must be the company.” Cordelia sipped her wine.
Angelus laughed.
“Of course he would prefer such a beautiful young woman.” His eyes were full of lust.
Cordelia flushed. She tried to ignore it.
“So,” she said. “Tell me why I’m here.”
Angelus sat back, shimmering black against the creamy tones of her décor.
“Today you discovered that there was far more of me in that souled creature than you had ever imagined. You have a faint, twinkling hope that you will curse me again. You know he will never tell you about me. So you want to” – he laughed – “get to know me, before I become Angel again.”
“You don’t think we can curse you again?”
“I think if you can find a single Orb of Thesulah anywhere between here and Romania, you will deserve to curse me.”
“Pfft!” said Cordelia. “You can get Orbs of Thesulah anywhere! They’re sold as paperweights!”
“But you don’t have one.”
“No,” she conceded.
“Ask your Watcher why.”
Cordelia eyed him, but let it pass.
“How were you freed?” she asked.
“The usual. Moment of perfect happiness,” he said with scorn.
“What happened?”
“The kid. Told me he had finally come to think of me as his father. Told me he loved me.”
“And then you killed him.”
Angelus looked her in the eye.
“He killed Darla.”
“Darla killed herself.”
“Because of him, and his soul,” he spat. “I would rather have Darla for one night than a son for a lifetime.”
“You once killed Darla.” Cordelia’s voice was level, all tremors of fear and nervousness gone.
“You think I don’t think of that every day?”
“Do you?”
“I killed my sire. Do you understand that?” He looked intently at her. “My mother, my lover. I owed her everything, and I killed her.” He looked away, staring blackly into the fire.
“Don’t even pretend you actually care about Darla,” replied Cordelia, her voice harsh. “You can’t.”
Angelus inhaled sharply.
“So the Soul would have you believe.”
“I believe Angel sooner than I believe you.”
“Really. Did he mention the clothes? The accounts he quietly took care of, the properties he oversaw?”
Cordelia jutted her jaw, but remained silent.
“No,” continued Angelus. “And there’s so much more he didn’t tell you, Cordelia. Things that I want you to know. We are not so different, Angel and I. Do you want to know these things?”
“Well, I’m thinking Mr. Loves-the-sound-of-his-own-voice won’t shut up till he tells me anyway, so –”
He cut her off.
“Cordelia,” he said. “Do you want to know?”
She sighed, and sat back. She took a sip of wine, her eyes fixed on him over the rim of the glass.
“Yes,” she said finally. “I do.”
“Why? Did your pet Watcher tell you to find out as much as you can?”
Again she regarded him, thinking things he could not see.
She shook her head.
“No,” she said, her voice quiet. “I want to know.”
Angelus smiled slowly, perhaps something other than his usual hard smile.
Cordelia took another sip of wine.
“The first thing you should know is how alluring you are to me.”
Angelus could see her muscles tense, but her breathing remained calm.
“When I say me, I mean both the Soul and I. He found you intoxicating. He tried to convince himself it was love. Maybe it is. In my long life, sometimes I still cannot be sure.”
“You can’t love without a soul.”
“Yes you can. Don’t believe the lies the Watcher’s Council spawns, and that my alter ego perpetuates. I did not stay with Darla for one hundred and fifty years without feeling a love more intense than any human can ever know. Simply because love grows with time, and I have more of it.”
“And yet you killed her.”
“In that moment, I saw Buffy as my… salvation.” He spat the word. “So I killed her. Darla. Soul or no soul, I have never forgiven myself for that, and never will. That is what I mean when I say I cannot be sure what love is. Is it Darla? Always. Buffy? I thought so once, but now, I am not so sure. And now you. Such a confusion of love…” His voice trailed away, growing wistful.
Cordelia looked at him sharply through narrowed eyes.
“And you thought that Connor’s dead body was the gift every girl wants? Here’s a tip. Next time? Think Tiffany’s.”
“I told you. I killed him because he killed Darla. As I would kill anyone who caused harm to you.”
“I thought you were going to kill me?”
“When did I say that?”
“You didn’t. I guess.” Cordelia looked confused. “You wanted to kill Buffy.”
“Buffy is a Slayer. Do you know I’ve never killed a Slayer? Played with them, sure, but never killed.” Angelus looked contemplative. “And young William has two to his name.”
Cordelia’s mouth twisted with distaste.
“It’s just a game to you.”
Angelus was comfortably seated in his armchair, almost slouched, if such a leonine figure can be said to do such an ungraceful thing. He leaned an elbow on the arm and propped his head in his paw-like hand. He smiled a lazy smile.
“Of course.” He tilted his head. The expression in his eyes might almost have been mistaken for fondness. “And I do want to kill you.”
“Well, there goes my relief.”
“That morning, it was all I could do to stop myself. You looked so delectable, lying there in bed beside me, under me…”
“Don’t.” It was not an entreaty.
Angelus ran his eyes over Cordelia’s body. Her shoes lay neatly on the floor where she sat, and her bare feet were curled under her as she reclined against the arm of the couch, wineglass in hand.
So much for never being at home here again.
“I want to. But I won’t. You are far too interesting to kill.”
“Until you lose interest.”
“Of course.”
“Well,” said Cordelia. “It’s lucky I’m such an interesting person.” She gave him her brightest smile.
“Indeed,” he said. “Enough of this talk of death. No one knows when they will be taken, and you’re no different.”
“Wesley, Fred and Gunn?”
“Pawns.”
“Or not.”
“Can I get you more wine?”
“No thanks, I’m good.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah.”
Angelus nodded.
Cordelia looked around. Nothing had changed much in the time since it had been her apartment.
“It feels like a lot more than two days.”
“A lot has happened.”
“Do you still want to kill Buffy?” she asked suddenly.
“No, not really,” he replied gently. “Only insofar as she is the Slayer. Nothing more. Perhaps I should leave her to William.”
“From what I hear, he’s quite enjoying her.”
“Really?” Angelus laughed. “You never told me that before.”
“I cared how you felt before.”
“You worried that I’d care before,” he corrected. “He always had a thing for Slayers, my William.”
“More original than having a thing for blondes.”
“Touché.” Angelus smiled. “Why did you decide to go back to your beautiful natural mahogany?”
Cordelia faltered.
“I wanted to be sure,” she said, “that it was more than the hair. With Angel.”
Angelus laughed again.
“Oh, Cordelia! Even now you doubt your power over me!”
“Excuse me?”
“Power. Over me.”
Angelus gazed at her. She stared back, stunned.
“And now,” he continued. “I hate to appear rude, my Cordelia, but there is little time left till dawn, and I am hungry. You can stay here or return to the Hyperion. Whichever you wish.”
“Hyperion,” said Cordelia quietly, still taken aback.
“Thank you again for my documents. And my favourite pants.” Angelus stood, holding out a hand to help her up. Without thinking, she took it. He stood close to her for a heartbeat, before turning away and leading her to the door.
“I will see you again soon?” he asked, holding her hand in his.
“Is there a choice?”
“There is always a choice.” Angelus kissed her hand, his lips lingering on her skin just long enough to heat her cheeks. “Just as there are always consequences.”
“Then I guess it’s up to you,” she replied.
“See you soon, then. I have much more to tell you.”
He let her hand fall, and closed the door gently. She remained for a moment staring at the wood before turning and walking to the car.
Just as she pulled away from the kerb she saw him leaving, clad in black, coat billowing gently as he adjusted the collar.
Some things never changed.
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