Title: The Fine Line
Author: onlyann (Anne)
Posted: 01-19-2004
Email:
Rating: NC-17
Category:
Content: C/A
Summary: This is in response to a challenge posted by Psychofilly back in Sept. 2003 on the ‘Hiatus Challenge thread’.
Spoilers: BTVS Season 3
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made. Ryan Chamberlain and Kevin Collins- characters belonging to General Hospital – Jill F. Phelps, Executive Procedure; Port Charles Julie Carrruthers, Executive Procedure.
Distribution:
Notes:
Feedback:
Thanks/Dedication: Becky and Kel. Those lovely talented women have given me nothing but encouragement, help, and support on this story.Part 55
Angel stood stock still in the doorway of the kitchen. Any thoughts he may have had of shaking an answer out of Cordelia were long gone now.
His panicked disbelief battled with a surge of lust as she dripped a small portion of his blood on her wrist. “Cordy, what are you doing?”
She jumped at least six-inches then shot him an innocent smile. “Oh, Hi.”
“That's my blood”
“I didn’t put my finger in it; that would be rude and gross. Eww. I’m ….I just…Oh, okay, maybe I did, but it doesn’t hurt it, does it?” Cordelia braced her shoulders. “I made breakfast.”
Angel’s first instinct was to reassure her, but his shock won out. “You're warming my blood.”
“Yeah, so... Okay, I did -- Hold on.” The microwave beeped. Angel shoved his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight on his feet as he waited for her to explain.
“I think --” She tested the blood on her wrist. "I think it's finally okay.” She titled her head up at him. “Sorry, I have been touching it. I washed my hands. Does it ruin it? I can start over if this is ruined."
Angel couldn’t think of any response except to tell her it was okay.
“Good. Here.” Cordelia pushed the mug to him.
He tentatively moved to take it when suddenly she jerked it and her hand back. “I almost forgot.” She turned, taking the mug with her. “I was going to make French toast, but it didn’t work quite like I planned,” she shot over her shoulder, as she sprinkled cinnamon in the blood along with a splash of vanilla. She stirred in her additions with her finger. “I guess I could’ve done this with the whole egg, milk, and bread combination, but really I wasn’t having much luck with the French toast thing. Here.” She turned back and handed him the mug.
Angel took it, his eyes focused on the clumps of cinnamon that refused to be mixed. He wasn’t sure what to say.
“Well?” Cordelia asked with an expectant smile as she brought her bowl of Fruit Loops to the marble island and gestured him to sit.
“Um, it’s different,” Angel, said diplomatically. He brought the mug to his lips and pretended to drink.
“Well?” Cordelia asked again.
Damn her. He braced his shoulders and took a big swallow.
“It’s…uh, good.” Her answering smile made the peculiar taste of the blood worthwhile.
“Good.” Cordelia scooped up a spoonful of Fruit Loops. “Geez. These are all soggy.” She scrunched her nose as she batted the colored pieces of cereal. “Angel, I did every thing you told me too, so why couldn’t I make French toast?”
Angel licked his lips, surprised at the depth the cinnamon and vanilla added to the blood’s flavor. In a weird way it tasted like he imagined Cordelia did, spicy and feminine. Then again, it could’ve just been the finger she’d poked in it. His mind was still reeling with that sight.
Angel cleared his throat and placed the mug on the marble island. “What did you do?”
“I did exactly what you did.”
Angel smiled at her indignant huff.
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“I got all the ingredients.” Cordelia waved around to the spices, bread, and the milk.
“Where’s the butter?”
“Butter?” Cordelia wrinkled her brow. “What butter?
“To coat the pan, so that the bread won't stick to the pan."
“You didn’t tell me about the butter.” Cordelia said accusingly.
Angel couldn’t help his smile. She wanted so much to blame her failure on him. And as weird as it was he wanted to take it.
“I didn’t,” he said, hanging his head. “I used it before you came in the kitchen.”
“Hmmph.” Angel saw the approval at his apology in her nod.
“That’s okay, I forgive you.” She patted his shoulder.
Angel shook his head. It was ridiculous. Her touch not only assured him that she forgave his perceived neglect, but it also seemed to forgive all of his past sins.
“Hey, you like your blood, don’t you?”
Angel took the last swallow. “It was better than I could’ve ever imagined.”
“Then why do you look so weird?”
“Weird?”
“Yeah, you have a funny look on your face.”
“Oh.” Angel resisted the urge to feel his features to figure out what she saw. Instead, he schooled his expression to one, he hoped, of normality.
“It’s just that no ones ever made my blood before.” Angel shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Well, duh.” Cordelia put her empty bowl in the sink.
“I think I’m going to have to keep you.” Angel tried to make it a joke, but couldn’t hide the dark edge in his voice any more than he’d been able to hide his smile earlier.
Cordy’s back stiffened. “Uh?”
“For your cooking ability,” he deadpanned, grateful that her shoulders had relaxed.
When she turned, she had that “as if” look on her face that drove Angel to distraction and urged him to kiss it off her face.
“Don’t count on it, Bucko. I may be able to handle the microwave, but using the stove may have scarred me for life.”
Angel immediately got to his feet as she passed him. “Where are you going?”
“To shower. You’d better have left some hot water.” She said over her shoulder before leaving.
Angel dropped his hand that had been reaching out to stop her and stilled his feet from following her. He concentrated on tracking her movements as she left.
He finally moved when he heard the bathroom door close. He looked around the kitchen, his gaze settling on his mug. Angel clenched his fist. Cordelia was too far away. This time he didn’t resist his feet’s need to move.
Part 56
Angel ran his hand over the rumpled sheets and closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw Cordy standing in the kitchen, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip as she sprinkled spices in his blood. He took the blood from her, sipping it as he approached. The taste-scent exploded on his tongue and as it did, Cordy eased him into the chair and settled onto his lap. She caught his gaze then dipped her finger in the blood, brushing a trail down the slim column of her neck until finally her finger rested on her pulse point. With a tilt of her head, she invited him to taste.
Angel’s hands gripped at the sheet as his anticipation turned into an urgent ache that jerked him out of his fantasy.
He let go of the twisted sheet. The sound of the shower had stopped. Angel tensed as he realized that he had no idea for how long.
He stepped back from the bed, his eyes glancing around the room, half-hoping to see Cordelia in the doorway so he could end his charade of patiently waiting for the ‘right time’. He wanted her now.
A flash of anger swept over him when he saw the doorway was empty. He shook his head, struggling with his need. Patience was the only way that his fantasy could become a possibility.
He moved back towards the bed, pausing at the dresser, noticing for the first time some tattered envelopes.
Angel ran his fingers over his name, obviously written by Cordelia. His anger returned when he saw the money.
She really thought she owed him. He knew she accepted him, the goodnight kiss and the marvel of her warming his blood, had shown him that. When would she realize that she belonged to him? She didn’t have to give him anything except her body, heart, and soul.
***
Cordelia stood in the middle of the bathroom, toweling her long hair of the excess water. That went better than she had thought. Any unease she may have felt in seeing Angel after her lurid dream was pleasantly absent during breakfast. Granted, she hadn’t really had any time to dwell on it. She had been too busy trying to cook and get over any icky feelings about Angel’s blood. She was quite proud that she had managed the latter so well. It would’ve been a shame to miss Angel’s expression when she handed it to him. Though, it was kind of sad that he would be so surprised and grateful that someone would do something nice for him.
Cordelia twisted the towel around her hair, wrapping it on top of her head and left the bathroom. She would’ve thought that Buffy would’ve had warmed at least one container for Angel. Then again, she sighed, all they ever seemed to do was stare, kiss, argue, and fight demons. Maybe they never had a meal together.
Cordelia entered the bedroom and then jumped when she saw Angel making the bed.
“What are you doing?” Cordelia rolled her eyes at her own statement of the obvious. “Okay, fine, you’re making the bed. Why?”
“Habit.” Angel fluffed the last pillow and put it at the head of the bed.
“Oh.” Cordelia frowned. Obviously, her pointing out what privacy meant had meant nothing.
“Well, okay, but I need to get dressed.”
Instead of leaving, Angel moved closer.
“Cordy, did you sleep well last night?”
The deep timbre of Angel’s question caused goose bumps to pop up along her arms. “Um, yeah, sure.” She pulled the robe tighter around her body.
Angel reached out and fingered the dark terry-clothed knot at her waist. “This is my robe.”
Cordelia couldn’t have moved if she had tried.
“It was, uh…It was hanging on the door.”
“As long as you’re comfortable.” The end of the robe’s belt slipped through Angel’s fingers. “Are you?”
Cordelia gulped. His intense stare was swallowing her whole. Her mind flashed back to the night when Angelus had tackled her to the ground. His body had completely covered hers. Her struggles had been useless against his strength. She was feeling that helplessness again. Except this time, it wasn’t accompanied by fear but a purely feminine thrill at Angel’s closeness and the inherent power of him.
The swiftness and intensity of that rush was scarier than the simple fear she had felt that night in the cemetery.
“I asked -- are you comfortable, Cordelia.”
Cordelia stepped back and wetted her lips. “Um. Yeah. You’re bed is very comfortable. I like being in your bed.” Cordelia jerked back even further as she heard her words and their possible meaning. “I mean…I mean it’s comfortable.”
“And your dreams?” Angel asked softly as he stepped forward, closing the little distance that Cordelia had gained.
Cordelia couldn’t help the flush of heat that rose from her toes to her cheeks. Was she just imagining the knowing glint in Angel’s stare? Cordelia braced her shoulders. There was no way he could know about the dream she had of him. “Fine, good, great.” She pushed at Angel’s chest, silently begging him to just leave.
”That’s good.” Angel titled Cordelia’s chin. “Now, why don’t you get dressed? We’ve a dinner guest tonight.” He tapped her nose before he left.
Cordelia rubbed her nose and stared after him. His flip-flop changes in mood could drive her crazy, if she let them. Cordelia took a determined breath. She just wouldn’t let them.
Part 57
Angel hid his sketchpad when he heard the bedroom door close. By the time Cordelia’s footsteps were on the stairs, he eyes were focused on the book in his hands.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Cordelia tugged on his book.
“It’s not obvious?” Angel raised a brow, silently taking in her appearance.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.” Cordelia smacked harder at the book.
“And I answered.” Angel caught the book before it fell.
“No, you didn’t. My question WAS why are you just sitting here reading. Miss Twittle is coming. There’s no time to read.”
Angel exaggerated the placement of the book on the side table. “Not until 6 o’clock. We have plenty of time.”
“So, says you.” Cordelia huffed. “We’ve got things to do.”
“Cordelia.” Angel drew her name out, “All I have to do is put the sauce on by 4 o’clock. The pasta can wait until she gets here.”
“Uh? No way,” Cordelia snapped. “Miss Twittle has a time fetish. We need to be ready to feed her on the dot. We can’t be diddle-dawdling around watching water boil.”
“Cordelia, I’m not making the pasta now.” Angel’s eyes met her glare, holding it until she huffed and started to pace.
Angel started to pick his book up but froze as her movements caught his attention. His narrow gaze focused on her quick, jerky strides. Each step gave him an excellent view of her swaying curves.
Before Cordelia had come down the stairs, he had been concentrating on drawing her expressions and sleeping form, but now he needed to capture her in motion. She was too beautiful for him to trust that every aspect of her would stay permanently etched in his mind.
“Fine, Mr. Expert.” Cordelia came to a sudden halt in front of him. “But you’re going to be the one doing all the small talk. I’m done with the lies.”
Angel suddenly stood. "It will be fine," he said, closing the distance between them.
Cordelia pushed at his chest. “Right, you can say that, because you are such the entertainer.”
Angel raised his brows.
“Fine. Whatever.” She sighed. “But, if you won’t cook, you can clean. Miss Twittle’s a clean freak. I can’t tell you how many times I had to dust and sweep the store, even when it didn’t need it.”
“Are you saying the mansion’s dirty?” Angel crossed his arms.
She marched to the large wooden cabinet in the corner and took a swipe at the inlaid carvings on the doors. “Hah.” She held up her finger triumphantly.
“And that means what exactly?”
She scowled at her dust-free finger. “That you’re as much of a freak as she is.” She turned to look back at the cabinet.
“What’s in here?” Cordelia opened the door. “Oh, no way.” She glared at Angel. “These have to go, Buster.”
“They’re just weapons.”
“Uhuh,” Cordelia grabbed a long pole with a sharp curved blade attached to the top. “And this is?”
“It’s a scythe. And give it to me before you hurt yourself.” He took the weapon away.
“So what are you now the Grim Reaper?” Cordelia crossed her arms against her chest.
He grunted and shoved the weapon back in the cabinet.
“Angel, Miss Twittle has a great flare of the dramatic. Ands she seems to have made me the center of her drama.”
“No.” Angel said dryly. “How could that be?”
“Don’t give me that.” She arched a brow at Angel. “ You’re just as much to blame as me, if not more and don’t you forget it.”
Angel grasped her hand, stopping her accusing finger from poking his chest again. “I haven’t.”
She glared at his fist. “Let me go,” she said, tugging her hand away.
“Cordy.” Angel held on.
“Angel.” She narrowed her eyes. And then she sighed, moving her hand and his so that they rested on his chest. “She’ll open things. She’ll open the fridge; probably look under the beds, too. After all, she conned you into inviting her to dinner just so she could snoop and make sure I was safe. Geez. You don’t really think her coming over was your idea, do you.”
“I thought it was all my fault.”
“It is,” she said, dropping her hand. “If you hadn’t fallen into her trap so easily, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But that’s beside the point, no time for blame.” She patted his arm.
Angel let out a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll lock it.”
Cordelia fisted her hands on her hips. “Oh, like that wouldn’t make her suspicious. Angel, it would be one thing if this was a cabinet full of things that went boom and pow, Miss Twittle seems to like those. But, I’m not so sure about her reaction to sharp and pointy things.” Cordelia waved back to the weapons in the cabinet. “She’ll probably compare it to some horror movie. Then this becomes a cabinet of death smack in the middle of a haunted mansion. Not the look we’re going for here.” Cordelia tapped her foot.
Angel reached out and cupped her shoulders. “It will be okay.”
“You keep saying that.”
Angel sighed at her stubborn tone and stance. “Cordy, I’ll move the weapons to the basement. Now, tell me what else you think we’ll need to do make this work.”
“Really?”
The catch in her voice caught him unawares. Angel titled her chin up, surprised by the uncertainty and hopeful trust he saw in her eyes. “Anything,” he said soothingly, meaning it with every part of him.
Cordelia gave him a soft smile. “How about flowers. I can bring some in - if that’s okay?”
Angel stepped back amazed that she bothered with asking his permission.
“It’s not okay?” Cordelia fretted on her bottom lip.
Angel smiled. “Of course it is.”
“Good.” Cordelia nodded, then scrunched up her brows. “Do you have any vases?”
“I don’t know about vases, but,” he paused, thinking, "there is a room off the hall.” He jerked his head towards the doorway near the stairwell. “It has a bunch of furniture and things in it - left over from the former owners.”
Angel smiled at Cordelia’s widening eyes.
“Stuff? There is a room with stuff? It’ll be like free-shopping.” She clapped her hands with anticipatory glee. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t - “ Angel paused, realizing that Cordelia was already half way out of the room. He shook his head as he grasped an armful of weapons and headed towards the basement.
Part 58
Angel carried her finds into the living room and patiently held the marble coffee table while Cordelia decided where it should be placed.
Angel stared at its final placement. “That’s where I first put it."
Cordelia rolled her eyes. “No it’s not, Mr. Whiney.” She pointed to a spot on the floor that was an inch to the left. “That’s where you put it. It looks better where it is. Trust me.” Cordelia took a step back, examining the results of their work. “This is perfect. Thank you.” A satisfied smile settled on her face. “Oh,” she said, turning towards Angel. “You’ll get those vases I picked out, right?”
***
Angel looked around the living room. Cordelia had been right - the addition of the bright daffodils and the throw rugs she’d had him bring in made the room cozier.
“Angel, would you look?”
Angel’s gaze turned away from the flowers. “What?”
“Miss Twittle will expect us to dress for dinner. But, she also believes that we are hiding out. So, I need the perfect outfit that says ‘dressy yet a bit thrown together because I’m being stalked, but also comfortable because I’m safe for the time being.’ So, what do you think?”
Angel frowned, trying to follow what she’d said.
“Angel. Pay attention. Geez. How do I look?”
Angel stuffed his hands into his pockets. Now that he’d finally figured out what she’d said, he wasn’t sure Cordelia wanted to hear his true thoughts.
“You don’t think this does it, do you.” She smoothed away non-existent wrinkles. “That’s why you haven’t said anything.” Cordelia’s gaze jerked up to him. “I’ll go change.”
Angel reached out to catch her before she darted towards the stairs. “You look … fine.”
“Really. Are you sure?”
Angel’s gaze lingered over the green turtleneck dress and the chain belt that hung low on her hips. It wasn’t daring or suggestive, but the way it hugged her body fired his imagination.
“It’s the perfect … combination of … thrown together and … lovely.” Angel waited till she looked at him. “True beauty under pressure,” he whispered as he leaned closer, holding Cordelia’s startled gaze.
Angel felt her tense for a moment. And then she smiled. “I knew it was the right outfit.”
Then she frowned. “That’s what you are wearing?”
“Yeah.” Angel looked down at his black sweater.
“You’ve got to have something less thrown together and more lovely.” Angel was too entranced by the sparkle in her eyes to wonder what was wrong with his sweater. He shrugged and let her pull him towards the stairs.
Part 59
Cordelia searched the depths of Angel’s closet and tried to concentrate on choosing a shirt.
She rubbed her arms, thankful for the space that separated her from Angel. The intensity of his stare had made her skin tingle.
Her thoughts were suddenly diverted at the glimpse of color amidst the black and she reached out, holding the long sleeve shirt up to the single bulb that lit the closet. She fingered the brushed silk and studied its deep lavender color.
“Where did this come from?” Cordelia popped out of the closet and held up the shirt. “It’s not flashy enough be a left-over from the evil season.”
She held the shirt up against Angel’s chest. “Not fair. With your pale skin, you should only look good in winter colors, but …” Cordelia grabbed his wrist, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “Ahh, that explains it.”
Angel stared at the underside of his wrist trying to see whatever Cordelia had seen.
“Under the paleness,” she said, trailing a nail down his forearm, “You’ve got an olive tone.” Cordelia stepped back, tapping her forefinger against her chin. “Go, grr.”
Angel was sure that he had never experienced an odder conversation.
“Do it.” Cordelia poked his chest.
“Stop that.” Angel growled, grabbing her hand.
“Good.” Cordelia pulled her hand away.
Angel shifted on his feet, not believing that he actually turned on her demand.
“Whoa.” Cordelia studied him like an artist studied her creation. “When you go ‘grr’ you’re definitely a winter. The gold in your eyes need rich pure colors.” Cordelia shrugged. “Who knew that Angelus really did know fashion?”
“Uh.” Angel’s human face slipped back into place as he grabbed at her wrist, pulling her back towards him. “What?”
“You wore black leather and deep red. Angelus obviously knew that it would look good both in vamp and human mode. Hey, Angelus isn’t gay, is he? I mean, those great colors, not to mention you and Spike …”
“I - you - Spi --?”
Cordelia narrowed her eyes. “Is there something I should know? Or, more to the point, is there something Buffy should know?”
Angel choked.
Cordelia started to laugh. “Oh, calm down. I was just joking. And here. Put this on.” She pushed the lavender shirt towards him. “You won’t be going ‘grr’ on Miss Twittle, so we don’t have to worry about red shirts looking better.”
Angel grabbed the shirt. “Don’t you have flowers to arrange?" he snapped.
Part 60
Cordelia watched as Angel came down the stairs.
“You look great.” She bit her tongue, surprised that the compliment came out of her mouth after he had been such a jerk about changing.
She huffed and changed the subject. “It’s almost six. Should we stand outside and wait or should we wait near the door, or…?”
Angel grabbed her arm. “Everything looks great. Everything.”
Cordelia glanced up at him. She frowned; confused by the certainty of his tone and the needy way he touched her.
Then she saw the contrition in his dark eyes. Probably he was sorry for being an ass earlier.
Nice to know. But she was already over it. “I know.” She patted his cheek. “So are we waiting in or out?”
***
Angel brought his hand up to his cheek as he stared at Cordy’s back. His mind was playing a game of leapfrog - gratefulness that she still didn’t think he was a jerk and smugness that she said he looked good.
“Angel.”
”Oh, um.” Angel gulped.
Cordy shook her head. “Your stuttering is pretty uninformative.”
Angel narrowed his eyes at her. “Uninformative? How about - you stay here. And I’ll go check the sauce.” He smirked, before disappearing into the kitchen.
Cordelia stomped her foot. “Hey, “ she called after him. “ I said WE, not ME.”
”Great,” she grumbled as she paced at the front door.
Her stomach dropped at the loud melodic chiming that pierced the room. She prepared a big smile as she swung the door wide.
“Miss Twittle,” she greeted the older woman. “You shouldn’t have.” Cordelia took the Bundt cake from her hands. “Thank you.”
“Of course I should’ve, dear,” Miss Twittle said.
Cordelia fidgeted under the older woman’s inspection. She couldn’t help the sigh of relief at Miss Twittle’s approving nod. She cringed, however, at Miss Twittle’s continuation of her lecture.
“One must never come empty handed to another’s house for dinner. Surely your mother taught you that.”
“Of course,” Cordelia admitted. “It’s just that you’ve done so much for me - us-already.” Cordelia held up the Bundt cake. “This was unnecessary. I mean you’ve already gone beyond the expected.”
”That’s yet to be seen, dear.”
Miss Twittle put an arm around her in a half hug. “But that’s neither here or there. Still, it’s no reason to forget your manners.”
Cordelia straightened at the slight reprimand and took a quick step away. “I’m so sorry, please come in.” She led Miss Twittle into the mansion.
“Thank you, dear.”
“I’ll just put this in the kitchen,” Cordelia said.
She slipped into the kitchen. “Put this somewhere” She shoved the bundt cake toward Angel.
Angel continued to stir the sauce. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
Cordelia narrowed her eyes. “Take it.”
Angel took the cake from her hands.
“Thanks.” Cordelia darted out the door. “You owe me,” she said over her shoulder.
***
“Miss Twittle,” Cordelia called out, tensing again, as she saw the older woman by the weapons cabinet. She hadn’t checked it after Angel said he would move the weapons.
“Cordelia.” Miss Twittle beckoned her over.
“I’ll kill him,” Cordelia mumbled. “Coming,” she said, not at all liking Miss Twittle’s expression.
Cordelia crossed the room, trying to think of an excuse for the Grim Reaper’s favorite and its friends in the cabinet.
“This is empty.”
“Yeah,” Cordelia said, not really sure what else to say.
“Yeah? Cordelia, Yeah is a comment of one with out the benefit of an education. Is that you?”
“Um…. No. Yes, I mean, Miss Twittle.” Cordelia barely stopped her eyes from crossing. She was going to kill Angel for leaving her to deal with the before dinner entertaining.
“I’ve noticed,” Miss Twittle looked around, “that there’s no television. I’d thought this was an entertainment center. If it’s not in here, where is it?”
“Oh, um, Angel doesn’t have a TV.”
Miss Twittle’s face paled. “He...No Television?”
“He just rented the place.” Cordelia said quickly to defend Angel.
Miss Twittle frowned. “Yes, I see can that maybe a television wouldn’t be his very first priority, but he’s been here for several days.” Her gaze narrowed on Cordelia. “Honey, if you don’t think this is the place for you to stay then just tell me now. Fluffy, remember?”
“What? No, it’s fine. He has a list of things that we still need to get – a TV is on it. It’s just that with finding a safe place, getting it fit with utilities, convincing me and you that he’s a good guy, and cooking dinner tonight, he hasn’t had much time.”
Cordelia watched as Miss Twittle considered her words. She couldn’t help but thinking that Miss Twittle was sweet but insane. And she hadn’t realized that she had been holding her breath, until Miss Twittle finally nodded. “Would you like something to drink? Angel bought a bottle of wine.”
“Wine?” Miss Twittle raised a brow.
"Not for me, of course,” Cordelia said immediately. “For dinner. For you -- and Angel’s over 21, but not me. I get soda,” Cordelia continued, resisting the urge to kick the couch, then herself, and then Angel.
“Well then, yes, a glass of wine would be appreciated. Though, I don’t think it would be proper for you to carry an alcoholic beverage.”
“Of course.” Cordelia turned on her heel towards the kitchen.
Part 61
She stood behind Angel. “Get your butt out there, now.”
“Sauce.” Angel lifted the wooden spoon again.
“Don’t give me that excuse. And you should be careful. This,” she glared grabbing the utensil, “could be used as a weapon. Especially if you don’t get Miss Twittle a glass of wine.”
“And you can’t, why?”
“I’m too young.” Cordelia huffed. “Now, go. I’ll stir the stupid sauce. Oh, and you’re getting me a TV.” Cordelia ignored Angel’s puzzled look. “Don’t ask, just repeat after me, ‘I, Angel, have been too busy making the mansion habitable and protecting Cordy, but next on the list is getting a TV. Got it?”
“Go,” she ordered at Angel’s refusal to move. “And I told you so. The first thing she did was look in the weapon’s cabinet. Maybe if you pretend to be over-the-top charming you can stop her from looking under the beds until after dinner.”
Cordelia sighed as he finally moved to where the wine bottle stood.
Angel poured two glasses. “I can’t believe you’re letting her intimidate you.” He grabbed the two full wine glasses before he left.
Cordelia barely stopped herself from throwing the wooden spoon at Angel’s back. With a huff she turned back towards the stove, jabbing it into the simmering sauce.
***
“Miss Twittle, I’m sorry that I couldn’t welcome you sooner.” Angel held out a glass of wine.
She pursed her lips at the glass. “Angel, you are aware of Cordelia’s age.”
Angel paused, trying to think of the evolving age rules that came as the decades and centuries past and remembered that you had to be twenty-one to drink now. “I can assure you, that Cordelia hasn’t had any alcohol here.”
Miss Twittle nodded. ”I wouldn’t expect anything else.” She circled the room. “I was surprised when I heard the address. West Haven has been condemned for twenty years.”
“So, I heard.” Angel took a sip of his wine, thinking of how to appease her worries. “The structure of this house is solid and I’d hoped that the reputation and the inhabitable conditions of West Hell would make it difficult for Damien to find us, if he happened to come Sunnydale.”
“West Hell?” Miss Twittle turned towards Angel. “So you heard the nickname. You’ve done very well, Angel. People avoid this section of town. I fear that most of the populace believes the outlandish rumors of it being haunted.”
Angel nodded. “The realtor was very surprised that I agreed to rent this place even once she assured me that it wouldn’t sink into the ground like most of the other houses.”
Miss Twittle turned to face him. “Which realtor?”
“I don’t remember the name,” Angel said quickly.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I just hope that you didn’t let your anxiousness put you in a position to be hoodwinked. This area of Sunnydale has been laid to waste for decades. If you paid anywhere near the market price for rentals then the wool was pulled over your eyes.”
“I made a good deal. The realtor was too surprised to haggle.”
“Very good.”
“I’ve tried to make this place as habitable for Cordelia as possible,” Angel said quickly. He stood straighter when Miss Twittle arched a brow. “Of course, it doesn’t have all the amenities, but I had to act quickly and Cordy’s safety had to be my first concern.“
“Of course. But you can’t allow her comfort to suffer. I’ll agree that she is safe here, but her comfort…. Are you thinking about that?” Miss Twittle questioned with a tilt of her head.
Angel was beginning to understand Cordelia’s ramblings about a TV. He found it unbelievable that Miss Twittle would seriously want Cordelia to leave the safety of the mansion just because it didn’t have a TV, but from the frown on her face, it seemed she would. Angel couldn’t let that happen. He needed her on his side. “I was thinking that tomorrow while Cordy was at school, I’d surprise her with a television. What do you think, Miss Twittle?”
“That would be an excellent idea.” Miss Twittle’s frown disappeared.
Angel swallowed his sigh of relief.
“I would be happy to give you my recommendations as to styles, brands and price. I realize that you don’t have the luxury of researching a Consumer Digest.”
“I would appreciate that. What do you recomm-“ Angel stopped when she raised her hand.
“What if Cordy overhears? You can’t ruin her surprise. Is there some where that we can talk in private?”
“The garden.”
“Garden? Is that where all these lovely daffodils came from?”
“Yes.” Angel nodded. “It’s Cordy’s favorite place.” He led Miss Twittle to the side door.
Part 62
“Oh.” Miss Twittle sighed as she looked at the garden. “This is lovely.”
Angel nodded. “Cordy is ready to believe the rumors of West Hell because she can’t understand why anyone who planted this garden would leave.”
“Oh, the Richardsons left--it was that or prison. Besides they didn’t plant this garden. The Fredricks were the original owners. Amelia Fredrick was the president of the Garden Club until she died. The Richardsons bought the estate then."
“You seem to know quite a bit about West Haven.”
“Anyone with any civic pride knows Amelia Fredrick. She designed the Sunnydale Botanical Gardens, as well as, the garden in front of City Hall.”
Angel’s brows rose. “Sunnydale has a Botanical Garden?”
“Not anymore.” Miss Twittle’s disapproval was apparent. “In what can only be described as an act of environmental terrorism, it became the Sunnydale Mall fifteen years ago.”
Angel nodded satisfied as to why he had never seen any signs of such a garden.
“As for the Richardsons.” Miss Twittle coughed. “I’ve worked at the Dress Store since I was younger than Cordelia. And while the clientele as varied over the years, their need to gossip has been consistent. And the Richardsons activities while here garnered quite a bit of it.”
Angel waited as Miss Twittle momentarily frowned and then continued.
“Bart and Stella Richardson were nouveau riche -- truly without class. The first thing they did was put tacky lions at the door. I must say they look better pulverized. Though, I don’t condone vandalism.” Miss Twittle pursed her lips. “I’m pleasantly surprised that Stella didn't turn the garden into an unseemly spectacle.”
She glanced around the garden and then the door leading into the house. “Angel, have you thought about getting Cordelia a cat? I find they are the most excellent companions.” Miss Twittle paused as she looked around again. “An indoor-outdoor cat could be possible -- but you really should make sure that there are no wandering stray dogs or other predators. It takes a lot of thought when you decide to take on a pet. I would be happy to advise you on that as well.”
”Uh -- Okay.” Angel cupped the back of his neck to make sure his head wasn’t spinning at the bizarre change in subject.
Suddenly, he straightened and focused on the door. He stepped closer as Cordelia’s squeal and curse reached his ears from the kitchen.
“Angel?”
Angel turned back to Miss Twittle. “I’m sorry, but I think that -“
“ANGEL, GET IN HERE.” Cordelia’s yell could be heard in the garden.
“-Cordelia needs me.” He finished, going into the house.
Part 63
Cordelia swung around as Angel came into the kitchen. “It’s about time.”
Angel moved around Cordy to get to the stove, ducking the tomato sauce spitting from the pot. He twisted the burner off and shook his head as he turned back to Cordelia. “It was on low when I left.”
Cordelia huffed. “It was taking too long.”
“It’s suppose to simmer,” Angel said, crossing his arms.
“Oh, who cares?” Cordelia shot back. “Look what it did,” she whined, jerking at her dress to show him the red stains that spotted it. “It’s ruined.”
“Cordelia.”
Cordelia’s eyes widened at Miss Twittle’s soft admonishment. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
Miss Twittle moved into the kitchen. “Cordelia, you were screeching in a very unlady-like manner.”
“I - but-my dress….”
“…Is not ruined, dear. I just need some club soda. Angel?”
Angel looked up at Miss Twittle’s questioning gaze.
“Club Soda?” she repeated.
“I don’t have any.” Angel stepped back at Miss Twittle’s disapproving intake of breath.
“It’s okay.” Cordelia patted Miss Twittle’s arm. “It’s on the list.”
Miss Twittle pursed her lips. “Angel, perhaps after dinner I should take a look at your list,” she said, before directing her attention back to Cordelia.
Angel nodded, not having a clue what they were talking about. But, the negative shake of Cordelia’s head told him to remain silent.
He watched as the older woman started to fuss over Cordy. She had grabbed a dishtowel, dampening it, and patting it gently on the stains.
“Miss Twittle.” Cordelia tried to wave away Miss Twittle’s ministrations. “I over-reacted. You don’t have to….”
“Dear, why do I think you’ll just rub it and make it worse?”
Cordelia stared at the floor. “Because, I would,” she said in a small voice.
“That’s why I’m here, dear,” Miss Twittle gave Cordelia a quick smile.
Angel leaned back on the counter his arms firmly crossed against his chest and narrowed his gaze on Miss Twittle. She was there because he wanted her as an ally, not to take care of Cordelia. That was his role and his alone.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” he said, irritated that he hadn’t listened to Cordy earlier. Had he, Miss Twittle would’ve been fed--and away from Cordelia--by 6:30.
“Wonderful.”
Angel forced himself to smile at Miss Twittle.
“Miss Twittle.” Cordelia urged to her one of the stools around the marble island. “I hope you don’t mind, but we decided to eat in here. It’s so much more comfortable than the dining room.”
Angel tensed as Cordelia appeared at his elbow. “Geez, don’t be such a grump. It was my dress that was messed up not your ‘special’ sauce,” she whispered.
Angel stared down at her.
“It wasn’t, was it?” Cordelia gnawed at her lip.
“No,” he sighed softly. He reminded himself that Miss Twittle's attentions to Cordelia were harmless and not an attempt to encroach on what was his. He could remain polite.
Continue on...