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 32
Cordelia sat cross-legged on the big bed, with her elbow on her knee and her chin in her palm. She was beginning to think that it would be best just to stay up there and avoid Angel for the rest of the night.
She frowned as her stomach growled. Was he really cooking for her? Cordelia got to her feet and peeked out the bedroom door. She half-expected Angel to be right outside. It was beginning to seem like she couldn’t open a door without running smack into him - like he was lying in wait for her or something.
She wandered closer to the top of the stairs. Her nose twitched as appetizing smells of eggs and bacon wafted up the stairs. Her mouth started to water as her stomach growled again.
Cordelia drew a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. She didn’t need to hide in Angel’s bedroom. She had a plan. Okay, not a plan exactly, but an idea. And she was hungry.
***
Cordelia stood at the foot of the stairs and looked around. Something was different. The flames in the fireplace were obvious, but there was something else. Suddenly she realized that it wasn’t just the glow from the fire that made the room brighter. There were lights. Angel must have put in the light bulbs he had bought.
Questions flickered through her mind, driving away any remnants of nervousness.
Cordelia wandered towards the source of the scent of mouth-watering food.
She paused in the doorway of the kitchen. Part of her mind took note of the expansive well-ordered space, the other part focused on the dark-clothed figure at the stove.
“Angel?” She had to ask, her curiosity becoming even more prevalent at the sight of the gas flame heating the frying pan.
Angel turned, his brow raised.
Cordelia slid into one of two stools around the marble island in the middle of the kitchen. “You don’t work, so how can you afford to buy me food and power this place?” She waved her hand around, “Besides West Hell has been condemned for ages. I can’t see Pac Bell making house calls.”
Angel turned back to the stove, flipping the omelet.
"You didn't kill anyone for the privilege of having lamps and hot showers did you?”
Angel’s back stiffened momentarily, and then he scooped up the omelet, placed it on a plate, and forked a heap of bacon next to it. He set the food, along with a fork and a paper towel, in front of Cordelia.
“I didn’t kill anyone.” He leaned back against the counter and put his hands in his pockets.
Cordelia looked down at the food then back to Angel. “Okay, but did Angelus? I mean that’s when you moved in, right?”
Angel stared at her for a second and then turned to the refrigerator.
“Angel?”
***
Angel stared into the open door of the refrigerator trying to put his thoughts in order. Last he knew Cordelia had been mad at him, but what puzzled him more was her interest in his living arrangements.
Buffy had never asked about the whys and wherefores of how he ended up in the mansion or how he made it habitable. She never wondered how he lived- she just accepted it. Angel frowned. Had she just accepted it or was it that -- she wasn’t interested?
“Angel?”
Angel pulled the milk out of the refrigerator, poured some in a glass, and put it down in front of Cordelia.
“I don’t deny Angelus’ acts, Cordelia. He isn’t an evil twin.” Angel wasn’t sure why that was the answer he gave her. Yet, he felt the need to say it. He sat down in the stool across from her, finding the lines on his hands compelling.
“Okay, you didn’t kill anyone. So how?”
Angel looked up. Cordelia was waving an egg-filled fork at him.
“Eat.”
“Explain.”
Angel held her eyes for a moment, and then looked back at his hands. Was she asking because she didn’t understand that Angelus and he were the same, or was it that she did, accepted it, and brushed it off? Finally, he decided to answer the question she did ask.
“Demon underground.”
“Huh?”
“Erik, he’s a Bandox demon. He’s assimilated. Works for the city and employs demon utility workers on the side. They fix up living spaces for demons who can’t assimilate or who just want to stay under the radar. Usually, only big cities with a significant demon population have that kind of set-up. But, Sunnydale … .”
“Is demon central.” Cordelia nodded as she took a bite of her omelet. ”Oh my.” She swallowed and scooped another forkful. “This tastes wonderful.” She shoved more in her mouth, beaming at Angel.
Angel leaned back in his stool. An unfamiliar feeling of satisfaction welled up in him as he watched Cordelia.
Part 33
Cordelia swallowed the last drop of her milk and pushed back her stool. “I’m stuffed.” She sighed, patting her flat stomach, then stretching as she got up.
“So, you liked it?” Angel turned to watch her carry the plate to the sink. He didn’t understand his need for reassurance. But the atypical feeling of satisfaction was so odd that he needed to see if it was real.
Cordelia took her plate to the sink. “You didn’t get the ‘mmms’ and ‘ahhs’ and stuffing my face as sign of it being the yummiest?” She leaned against the sink. “Geez, so much for ‘dead guy’, I’m calling you ‘dumbass’ from now on,” she teased. “When did you learn to cook? Better yet, why?”
Angel held her gaze. “I’ve been alive a long time, Cordelia. I’ve had time to learn a lot of things.” Angel said, smoothly, with a hint of arrogance. He wasn’t a dumbass.
Cordelia’s eyebrow rose in an elegant arch. “I wouldn’t sound so smug if I were you. Learning doesn’t stop at the turn of the century and knowing the name of ‘other dead guys’ doesn’t make you smart, you know.” She pushed off the counter and headed out of the kitchen.
“What?” Angel scowled as he stumbled to his feet too follow. “What do you mean?”
“New York Times Best Seller list. Ever heard of it?” She stopped in front of the book-laden table. “I don’t think so,” she said, pointing at leather-covered tomes.
“Just because I don’t like tripe--“
“Tripe?” Both of Cordelia’s brows rose. “Don’t let the Pulitzer guys hear you.” Cordelia leaned against the corner of the table, crossing her arms as she narrowed her eyes. “Tell me the name of one ‘tripe’ author that you’ve bothered to read in…oh…the last fifty years.”
Angel wrinkled his brow, thinking back. “Harold Robbins, Carpetbaggers, 1962,” he said, finally, remembering a horrible day when he was trapped in Tulsa, Arizona, at a bus station with nothing to do but read a book he found under the dirty seats.
“Harold Robbins? Really?”
Angel was pleased to see the surprise on Cordelia’s face. “Yes.”
Cordelia scrunched up her face. “My mom told me once that when she was in junior high, she and her girlfriends would sneak his books out of the adult section of the library. Giggling like idiots because he wrote about sex.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, didn’t figure the ‘old guy’ that kept," she tugged a couple of leather bound books to expose their covers, " Dante’s Inferno and Crime and Punishment would want to read Harold Robbins.”
Her brow wrinkled as she studied the book covers again. “Geez, Angel. Trips to hell, literally and figuratively -- " Cordelia’s head snapped up. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean---I’m sorry.” She chewed on her bottom lip.
Angel felt a burgeoning anger at her words, but that feeling disappeared as her expression turned immediately to true regret. “It’s okay, Cordy.” He walked towards her, stopping only inches in front of her. “You’re right. What’s even more pathetic is that I had those books before Buffy sent me to hell.”
Cordelia put her hands on his chest and pushed slightly. “It’s not…. I…” She waved her hand as she stepped to the side, freeing herself from the table and solid form of Angel that squeezed her in. “You were telling me about how you get your money?” She gave a hopeful smile and moved closer to the center of the room.
“I was?” Angel stayed by the table, raising a brow.
“Come on Angel, Eight-hundred thread-count sheets, a silk and wool blend sweater …” Cordelia’s voice was sure again as she pointed to the sweater he was wearing, "and twenty more just like it. You’ve got expensive taste. Not exactly daring, but expensive. So, do you have a buried treasure or an investment portfolio?”
“I don’t have twenty of the same shirt.” Angel shifted towards her.
“Okay, fine. Twenty other black shirts and sweaters, like I said -- not really living on the fashion edge there, bud.”
He shrugged as his gaze traveled along her body. “You’re not wearing any of them.” He moved quickly to Cordelia and reached out a finger to touch the over-sized flannel shirt. It hung off Cordelia’s shoulders and reached her fleece-covered knees. Obviously it at one time belonged to a man. “Who did you steal this from?” It looked too big to have belonged to Xander.
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it from my dad.”
“Oh.” Angel stepped back.
“So, you were telling me about your buried treasure.”
“I was?” Angel raised a brow.
“Yep.” She fisted her hands on her hips.
“Diamonds.”
“Really?” Cordelia's brows shot up.
Angel shook his head, just as surprised as Cordelia. Only his astonishment was centered on the fact that he actually told her.
“Oh, you’ve got to tell,” Cordelia said, grabbing his hand and pushing him on the sofa and settling herself near his feet on the floor. “Spill.”
“Spill?” Angel leaned back against the cushions. Some part of him was asking why he wasn’t sliding off into the shadows but that voice was a whisper and barely audible.
His most prominent thought was that as long as she was near him and talking, she wasn’t spouting nonsense about leaving.
“Come on.” Cordelia leaned in resting her elbow on her knee. “Please,” she said, pouting. “I want to hear the story.” She straightened up. “Wait, do I want to hear the story? Is it gross? I don’t want to hear gross.” Cordelia frowned. “It’s gross isn’t it? Angelus got the diamonds. Right?” Her frown disappeared as an anticipatory gleam sparkled in her gaze. “Can I see them? I like diamonds - they’re a girl’s best friend.” She paused. “Actually, I like emeralds better. So you’re rich then.”
“I….” Angel shifted on the sofa. He knew to keep her there he had to answer, but it was more difficult than it had been earlier. His time without a soul was something he thought about, even desired in times of weakness. But, still, Angelus or his acts weren’t something he wanted to share.
“Well?” Cordelia peered up at him.
“I’m not rich.” He went for the easy answer first as he got up from the couch to stand in front of the fireplace. He didn’t need to see Cordelia to realize that she had turned to watch him. He wondered what her definition of gross was.
“It was 1890. I didn’t even know that the man was a diamond merchant. I just thought he was pre-ballet dinner.” Angel turned to look at Cordelia.
Her arms were wrapped around her knees. Her nose was crinkled up. He really hoped he didn’t have to explain the ‘dinner’ euphemism.
“Ballet? Were you going to the ballet to watch it or to eat dancers?”
Angel shook his head. He would never know what she was thinking or what would come out of her mouth.
“Watch it. I like the ballet.”
He frowned as Cordelia started to giggle.
“What’s so funny about liking the ballet?” Angel scowled.
“It’s-- “ Cordelia waved her hand in the air. “It’s just that I can’t picture Angelus as a ballet aficionado.”
Angel went back to sit on the sofa. “It was the Blinnikov World Ballet. Giselle.”
“Oh, okay, that explains it.” She smiled as she scooted around on the floor to face him. “So, was it a lot of diamonds?”
“Enough.”
“And you saved them, didn’t spend them all at once.” Cordelia leaned on her elbows. “Where are they?”
Angel cocked a brow. “Planning on stealing them?”
Cordelia jerked back as if she had been hit. “I wouldn’t…” She jumped to her feet and glared. “I might be broke but I don’t steal.”
Angel rose to his feet just as quickly, surprised at her reaction. “Cordy, I was just kidding.”
Cordelia crossed her arms. “It was a dumb joke.”
Angel hastily agreed, hoping to appease her. Hell he’d be willing to give her the damn diamonds if it would get the hurt look off her face.
“Cordy--“ He glared at the phone and its shrill ring that interrupted him. Damn. Couldn’t Buffy leave him alone for at least one day?
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Cordelia asked as the phone continued to ring.
“It’s not important.”
“How do you know if you don’t answer it?”
Angel blew out a frustrated breath and crossed the room to pick up the phone. “Hello, Buffy.” He answered keeping his eyes on Cordelia, wishing that she hadn’t turned her back on him.
Part 34
Cordelia stepped closer to the fireplace, watching the flames dance and sparkle. She reached out her hands as if she could cup them and control the display.
No wonder man was fascinated by fire. There was a temptation that was buried deep within to control its beauty and power. Cordelia dropped her hands. It couldn’t be controlled only contained. And that was only at its whim.
It was too powerful, too dangerous.
She stepped back, keeping her eyes focused on the fire as if it held the answers she needed. Did she really think that Angel thought she was a thief? No. So, why did she get so upset?
Why did it hurt?
Daddy issues, she guessed. If Angel knew that her father was no better than a thief, would he think the same of her? Cordelia rocked on her heels, hugging her body. Why did she care what Angel thought? She was Cordelia Chase and wasn’t supposed to care what anyone thought, especially vampires.
Even if they were really nice sometimes and cooked her dinner.
“No. I can’t. No. I can’t meet you later at the Bronze. Good night, Buffy.”
Cordelia turned, hearing the last part of Angel’s conversation. She watched him hang up. Angel had actually told Buffy no. Wow. That had to be a first.
Cordelia bit her lip, studying him. She couldn't tell what he was thinking -- his face was in the shadows, but if his stillness was any indication he was in his stay–in-the-corner mode.
Maybe this was a good time to mention finding another motel.
Cordelia bit her lip as Angel came out of the shadows and turned to towards her, his dark eyes boring into her. Okay. Maybe she wouldn't mention it just then. Her hands tried to brush away the goose bumps that rushed her arms.
She stepped closer to the fire. She would just have to keep Angel brooding and casually mention it tomorrow - after he brought her car back...and she was packed, inside it, and driving away.
"What'd Buffy want?"
"To go patrolling." He shifted closer to her.
Cordelia looked around. One more step back and she would be in the fireplace, "Don’t you think you should go?" She took a quick side-step towards the couch. "She might need your help."
"If it was anything unusual, they would have called me to the library."
Cordelia watched him change direction so that he was right in front of her again and even closer. This was stupid. She straightened her shoulders and darted around him to go sit on the couch. "Something could pop up, anyway. You should go."
Angel stared at her for moment and moved to sit beside her. "Why are you running from me?"
"What?” Cordelia snorted, drawing her knees up close to her chest. "Did you see me run? Am I running? I just sat down, Geez. So, go, help, Buffy." She shooed him away with her hands.
"She doesn't need my help." Angel remained next to her.
Cordelia forced a big smile on her face, wishing he would stop staring at her. "Meet her later at the Bronze. She asked. It could be fun." Cordelia tried to wave him away again.
"The Bronze isn't fun. It's loud and it's crowded.” He settled back in the couch. "Though, listening to you twist 'the sheep' around your finger was pretty entertaining."
"Sheep?” Cordelia shifted towards him. "Where did you hear that?"
"Xander."
"When? Last night? Geez. What were the Scoobies doing - gossiping about me all night?"
"Pretty much. I guess you're just interesting," he said, quirking a brow up.
"Yeah, right." She rolled her eyes, "I'm sure that's why." She flopped back on the sofa, flinging her legs out in front of her. She frowned as her feet hit the floor. "You so need a coffee table," she grumbled, pulling her feet back up into a cross-legged position.
"Why do you want me to leave?" Angel rested his arm on the back of the sofa, angling his body towards Cordelia.
Cordelia eyed his movements - because you're crowding me, making me feel safe, then comfortable, and then nervous- and not in that order, not in any order - she wanted to yell. Instead, she shrugged and said with a small grin, "Why do you think? So, I can search for the diamonds and then steal them. Maybe I'll take your precious car, too. You know, to make my get away."
Angel’s face became impassive as he leaned in closer. “Take the diamonds, but touch my car and there will be problems.”
Cordelia giggled, poking a finger at his chest, pushing him away. “That was almost funny.”
“I’m serious.” Angel said, settling back on the couch.
"Okay, I won't touch your car," she said, smiling.
"Good." He smiled.
Cordelia curled her leg underneath her and faced Angel. "Seriously, why don't you want to go and help Buffy? It's not like you to sit on the sidelines. What if she gets hurt? Won't you feel guilty?”
Cordelia watched as a dark cloud flitted across Angel's face before he turned away to stare back at the fire.
The tick of the clock, echoed each second that passed. Angel hadn't moved. Cordelia wasn't as pleased as she thought she would be at how easy it was to get Angel back to brooding about Buffy. She kind of liked the smiling Angel better. Still, a Buffy-focused Angel was what she had wanted. She slid to her feet, planning to go upstairs, not wanting to take the chance that her presence would distract him.
She froze as Angel's head snapped around. "Where are you going?" he said, sharply.
"Bed." Cordelia took a deep breath, waiting for his answer.
Finally, he nodded and turned back to the fire.
***
Angel watched the flames bounce off the bricked walls of the fireplace, his mind wrapped around Cordelia’s last questions. He should be with Buffy, making sure that she was safe -- he couldn’t-- didn’t want to – imagine -- the guilt and loss he would feel if something happened to her and he could’ve prevented it.
He glanced towards the stairs. Cordy’s car was still at Starbucks she couldn’t go anywhere. Angel frowned, turning back into the fire, thinking back at Buffy’s phone call. She hadn’t asked for his help just his company. She didn’t need him. She would be fine. After all, Buffy was the best Slayer he had ever known. She didn’t need a champion, hell, Angel was pretty sure she didn’t want one, not really.
He frowned again, looking at the fire in a different light. He had lit it because Cordelia had been cold. Thinking about her complaint of being cold in his bedroom last night, he stood. His bedroom had a fireplace that he had never used.
Part 35
Cordelia rinsed out her mouth then placed her toothbrush in the wall-mounted holder. She strained to listen for any movement from downstairs. It was silent. She guessed that meant Angel was still sitting on the couch. She opened the bathroom door.
“Eek.” She jumped, barely avoiding bouncing into Angel. “You’re supposed to be…doing something else. “ Cordelia waved her hand at him, stepping back into the bathroom.
“You’re going to bed.” Angel gaze was all encompassing.
“Um, yeah.” She straightened her shoulders, slipping past his solid form.
“Do you want me to light a fire? There’s a fireplace." Angel tracked her down the hall.
“I’m okay.” She kept moving until she got to the bedroom. “Are you going to meet Buffy?” she asked from inside the doorway.
“She doesn’t need me.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Well, good night.” Cordelia closed the door on Angel. She rested her back on the door for a brief second then eyed the bed. She needed to just go to sleep. Maybe tomorrow she’d be able to understand what the hell was going on with her life.
***
Cordelia punched the pillow, unable to sleep.
Her head jerked up at the knock on the door.
“What?”
Angel opened the door. “Are you sure you don't want me to light a fire?," he asked, pointing to the marble-faced fireplace on the far wall of the room. "You were cold last night."
"I'm okay." She leaned back into the pillow.
"Okay." Angel backed out and closed the door.
Cordelia squirmed around on the mattress, trying to find the optimum spot.
Angel knocked again.
"What?"
Angel entered the bedroom. "If you do get cold, you can,” he waved his fingers towards the closet and dresser,” take any sweater you want.”
“Okay.” Cordelia frowned at him. “Good night.”
Angel nodded and shut the door.
Cordelia fell back on the pillow.
Angel knocked again.
"What now?” Cordelia asked with a groan.
"You're not asleep.” Angel stood at the foot of the bed.
"Really? Did you figure that out?" She slapped the mattress. "What gave it away? Could it be the fact that you just came in 20 seconds ago?"
"I just wanted to tell you that ….” Angel trailed off and glanced around the room. “I put a mirror in," he said, pointing to the long mirror resting against the closet.
Cordelia narrowed her eyes. "Gee, I might not have noticed my own reflection. But thanks."
Angel nodded. "Um..."
"What?"
"What do you want for breakfast? You just had omelets, but I can scramble some eggs or maybe French toast or cereal."
"Now?" Cordelia gaped at him.
"Of course not, you're going to sleep. In the morning.”
"It doesn't seem like I'm going to sleep." She blew out a frustrated breath. "Go away, then maybe I will. As for breakfast, surprise me."
"Okay,” Angel turned towards the door, then back again. "Do you like French toast?"
"I love French toast," she yelled, getting on her knees. "Now get out," she said, throwing a pillow at him.
Angel caught the pillow, clutching it to his chest. "French toast, then." Angel said, turning towards the door.
"My pillow?"
"Actually, it’s mine. Goodnight." Angel left, taking the pillow with him.
"Weirdo,” Cordelia grumbled, pulling the other pillow to her and smacking at it.
***
Angel sat against the headboard hugging Cordelia’s pillow. He rubbed his cheek against the cotton-covered feathers. The tiny quills and fibers captured the whole essence of Cordelia. He squeezed it tighter. He could get lost in it.
He groaned and got up, placing the pillow at the head of the bed. He walked to his bedroom. Cordelia’s steady body rhythms assured him that she was asleep but he wanted to see it.
Sure enough, when he cracked the door, she was curled up on his big bed. Safe. Just like he wanted her.
He went downstairs quickly and rummaged through a drawer in the kitchen until he found the ring of keys shoved in the back of the drawer.
Then he moved quietly up the stairs to his room. The steady rise and fall of her told him she was still sound asleep. He didn’t know if this was necessary but he couldn’t take the chance.
Angel pulled the door closed, slid the skeleton key in the lock, and sealed Cordelia in.
Then he went downstairs and grabbed his coat. He turned the lock hidden on side door, one that hadn’t been used since he lost his soul then locked a similar lock on the front door as he left.
When he first acquired the mansion utilities and security had been his main concern. He hadn’t been worried that someone would get in, but that a victim would get out. He glanced up at the numerous windows of the mansion. He nodded. They were still all sealed. Cordelia couldn’t leave.
He stuffed the extra keys in his pocket alongside his house keys and Cordelia’s car keys. He quickened his pace towards the Starbucks. He wasn’t sure that he wanted Cordelia’s car at the mansion, but pushing the red convertible over a cliff wouldn’t be wise. He would just have to keep her keys.
He ran to retrieve the car before Cordelia woke up.
Part 36
Angel parked Cordelia’s car along side the Plymouth. Grabbing a brown paper bag off the passenger seat, he got out of the car. He rolled his shoulders and kneaded the tense muscle along the side of his neck as he walked into the atrium.
He paused by the stone fountain as he pictured a brunette in the midst of the moonlit garden. Only this time there was no question that Cordelia was the young woman who captured his imagination. He shook his head and moved towards the mansion.
He stopped mid-step as he realized that his boot was about to crush a daffodil that had fought its way through a crack in the stone path. He knelt down and, gently brushed the bright yellow petals with the tip of his finger. He recognized its beauty but it paled in the remembrance of Cordelia’s wide smile when she had first seen the over-grown garden.
He stood, his gaze following the twisted ladder of wisteria up to his bedroom. He concentrated on the young woman hidden behind the darkened window. He could smell her and hear her heartbeat through the brick walls of the mansion. Her scent was mixing with and overwhelming the delicate perfume of the garden. He wetted his lips at the resulting bouquet. He bent down again and freed the flower from the pathway. Angel carried the flower into the house.
***
Angel shoved five out of the six cartons of blood deep onto bottom shelf of the refrigerator; the sixth he gulped down. He hadn’t realized that he had been down to his last until he drank it after Cordelia went to bed.
He tossed the empty carton and bag into the trash and then went to the living room to unlock the front door's hidden bolt.
He studied the odd-shaped keys for a moment and then buried them in his pocket, where, the metal of the keys clanked against his and Cordy’s car keys. It would be better to keep them all together.
Angel strode back into the kitchen, picked up the flower he had taken from the garden and went upstairs.
He reached for the mis-shapened keys and unlocked his bedroom door. Cordelia was still curled in the bedcovers, her hair barely distinguishable from the sable velvet. He slipped in and stood by the head of the bed. His eyes swept over her blanketed form and then traveled back up to her profile. He brushed aside the loose dark strands of hair that hid her face. He brought the flower in his hand to her cheek and brushed it over her smooth skin then he brought the bloom to his face and breathed in the combined flavors. He moistened his lips as he placed it on pillow next to Cordelia.
He stepped back transfixed by the rise and fall of her chest for a long moment before backing away and leaving.
Part 37
Cordelia bolted up in the bed. She squinted at the haze of sunlight that streamed from behind the heavy curtains. Her gaze shot around the room until it rested on a digital bedside clock.
Her burgeoning “Oh crap” stalled in her throat, as she looked around again and thought. Saturday. Yeah.
Cordelia closed her eyes and flopped back on the bed. She punched her pillow and squirmed diagonally across the bed completely unaware of the flower she pummeled and knocked to the floor.
***
Barney sat in his orange and brown recliner and cleaned his .45 for the fifth time that morning, the mantra “a clean weapon is an effective weapon”, repeating in his mind. He looked again at the cheap clock resting on the metal TV tray he used as a table. Eight a.m. Bitch. He hadn’t even bothered to call Gladys last night after he saw her at Starbucks. He knew the batty woman well enough to know that calling after 7:00 p.m. was useless, even with the store closed.
He pushed aside his old issues of “Gun and Ammo” & “American Warrior” and reached for the black rotary phone.
Gladys may be glued to the dramas of daytime and nighttime, but Saturday morning cartoons he knew she didn’t like. She couldn’t keep the real from the unreal on a daily basis, yet the deluge of Japanese cartoons that crowed out the “classics” of Saturday morning offended her sensibilities. If he ever had to listen to her bemoaning the loss of the heroes of “Jonny Quest” one more time he would put a bullet through her eyes.
“Hello?” Miss Twittle answered.
“Gladys, it’s me,” Barney said, fondling his gun.
“Oh, Barney. Isn’t this a bit early for you?”
“I couldn’t sleep. It’s about Cordelia Chase.”
“Cordy? Oh! I need to tell you that Damien’s-- that’s the name of the horrible stalker--well, his brother is here taking care of Cordy, making sure she’s safe. He’s the good twin.”
“Twin?” He took a deep breath. “His twin?”
“Yes, their parents--.“
“I don’t need to hear it,” He snapped.
“Barney!”
“Gladys, this isn’t a damn soap, it’s real. Good and evil twins DO NOT drop from the sky.”
“Don’t use that tone with me, young man. I’ve met Angel and he is a perfectly polite and nice person who is very protective of Cordy. She’s staying with him now, so you can just stop your surveillance of her. I must say I’m quite disappointed that you did not call me and tell me that Cordy had been forced to stay at the Sunnydale Inn. That should’ve never been allowed.”
“The Sunnydale Inn?” Barney frowned at his gun.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Twittle lectured. “Angel told me he saw you there. While I have to commend your zealousness at watching over Cordy, I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me that she was staying in that dangerous place. Shame on you. Now, what is it you wanted? Do hurry, the children want their breakfast.”
He shivered in disgust at the meowing he heard through the phone. “Where is Cordelia? How do you know she’s safe?”
“I told you. She’s with Angel.”
“And?”
“And nothing. He’s shown great concern for her welfare.”
“You don’t know where he has her, do you?” Barney snorted. “And what if he isn’t so wonderful? What then, Gladys?” Barney slammed the phone down.
“Stupid Bitch,” he said out loud in the quiet of the room.
His eyes zoomed in on the photos that littered his fake wood-paneled wall. He lumbered to his feet. His .45 dangled in his right hand as his steel-toe work boots pressed down on the thin tan carpet.
His blunt finger traced the photos of Cordelia Chase. Most were cut from Sunnydale High yearbooks: small class photos, group pictures with the other cheerleaders, candid shots of her cheering at athletic events, candid photos of her at her locker, her amongst other pretty teenagers. The number of pictures he found proved her popularity.
The other photos were ones he had taken himself: snapshots of Cordelia coming and going from the Sunnydale Inn. Cordelia sitting in Starbucks or leaving Starbucks. These photographs sliced so that Cordelia was the only subject.
Fate, he thought, as he brushed her face in the pictures. It was almost time for him to get a new girlfriend. And here she just fell in his lap, the young woman that his cousin had wanted him to protect.
At first he had just thought about the few easy bucks he would get, but then he saw her picture in the high school yearbook that Gladys showed him. She was the prettiest of all the flowers he had picked. He rolled up his shirt and rubbed the empty space over his heart. A spot of pale flesh broke the ring of tattooed roses that circled his massive torso. He had known there was a reason why none of his other girlfriends took that spot.
He grunted at the memory of the man that had come to Starbucks to claim what was meant to be his. Even from a distance, Barney knew that the man was the one who had been with her at the motel and carried her away. He recognized the way his hand touched her, leading her while keeping her close. It pissed Barney off.
Gladys was an idiot. Barney didn't believe that there was a twin or a stalker. The man was her lover. The way he touched her- there was no doubt in his mind. Why, Cordelia lied, he didn't know or really even care.
Barney’s knuckles whitened around the .45. He should’ve shot him that first evening in front of The Dress Place.
Barney took a deep breath to calm down the white rage burning behind his eyelids. Cordelia’s guardian “Angel” didn’t matter. He was a man and his skull could be smashed as easily as that of the interfering bum’s.
He went back to his armchair and placed his gun on the metal table. His hand reached for the red negligee that was hanging over the back of the chair. He sat and pulled the negligee on his lap as he fondled it. It was too enticing for a high school student. It proved that Cordelia was special -- the right choice.
A slow grin slid over his face as he rubbed the silky material against his pale lips. He had wanted to take all of the delicate items in her drawer. But, the single garment would have to do for now. It had been hers; now it was his, just like she would soon be.
He frowned. He would have to be patient, though. The boyfriend had seen him at the motel. Barney would find out where Cordy was and then he would watch. He would know when the time was right to start courting her.
He dropped the silk, cocking his head towards the bound and bruised naked woman in the solid wooden chair across from him, her matted hair partially hiding her bloody face. He raised the woman’s chin and stared into her dull eyes. He smiled at the jerk of her chest that showed she was still breathing.
“You like my courting don’t you, darlin’'?” Barney cupped the woman’s swollen cheek. “I still love you, you know. But your bloom is fading. Soon another flower, a special flower will take your place. But until, then,” Barney stood and unzipped his pants, “you’ll have to do.”
Part 38
Cordelia stretched, peeking at the clock. Wow. Ten o’clock. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of the bed, but she also realized that the unheard - of twelve hours of sleep required her too get up. She grumbled as she rolled off the bed.
She frowned as something soft squished between her toes. She bent down and picked up the bruised daffodil. She didn’t remember dragging the poor flower in from the garden. She sighed. She couldn’t help the twinge of sadness at its damaged beauty. She sniffed at the petals before laying it gently on Angel’s dresser.
***
“Did you sleep okay?”
Cordelia barely even jumped at Angel’s sudden appearance once she left the bedroom. She wondered if she was getting used to him popping out from behind doors.
“Yeah. Excuse me.” She pushed past him to get the bathroom. She paused, her hand on the doorknob and looked over her shoulder. “How come you’re up? I thought vampires slept during the day?”
“There’s no rule, Cordy.”
“There should be,” she mumbled.
“Then who would make you French toast?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Cordelia wrinkled her nose, trying to think of a response. She wanted to tell him that she could feed herself just fine -- except she really did like French toast and she couldn’t cook. Cordelia sighed.
“Cordy, what is it?” Angel said.
“Nothing,” she answered with a frown as she turned to go into the bathroom. She paused again. If she was going to be poor and maid-less from now on she should probably learn. “You can really make French toast?”
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath. “Um. Will you teach me? I mean if you’re going to make some anyway.”
“Yes. Okay,” Angel said with a small nod.
Cordelia nodded in return and went into the bathroom.
***
Angel frowned as he stared at the closed door. Cordelia hadn’t said anything about his gift.
He went into the bedroom and scanned the room. He saw the flower on the dresser immediately. His frown deepened. It looked crumpled. Hadn’t she appreciated it?
A slow irritation started to burn in his chest. He wanted to know why she hadn’t.
***
Cordelia raised her brows. Angel wasn’t in the hall. She shrugged and headed down the stairs. She brushed her hands down her sweats and tugged at the silk long john shirt she had slept in. She pouted a little as she fingered the shirt. She probably would never wear it skiing again. Oh well, it made a great pajama top.
She paused in the middle of the steps as her hand felt her messy ponytail. Maybe she should go take a shower and get dressed? She shrugged. Whatever. It was Saturday. And she had gotten way past the need to impress Angel -- after she found out that under his “salty goodness” he was not only a vampire but also Buffy’s vampire.
Cordelia took another step and paused again. She really wished she had at least brushed her hair. Oh well, at least she’d washed her face and brushed her teeth. Cordelia took another slow step. Maybe she should’ve at least put some lip-gloss on. She took another step as she sighed. Oh where had she gone? Where was the Cordelia Chase that wouldn’t be caught dead without the designer outfit and perfect makeup and hair?
Cordelia shook her head at the loss of the girl that had grown up with every luxury and had expected at least the same, if not more in her future.
“Fuck it,” she grunted as she walked proudly through the living room and into the kitchen wearing her rumpled clothes and ugly gray socks on her feet.
***
Angel knew she was coming before she reached the living room. His frowned deepened when he sensed her stalling on the stairs. He pictured her debating coming down or staying upstairs. He threw the daffodil on the marble island, ready to go drag her down, when he heard her move again.
“Hey.” She tugged at her ponytail as she slid on the stool.
Angel nodded at her smile, his thoughts confused. She didn’t seem like she wanted to hide from him. She was sitting in the kitchen smiling at him. He slowly began to relax.
“So, when does the lesson start Mister Julia Child?” she said in a teasing voice as she pointed to the empty counter and stove.
“Um--“
“Oh, did you drag one in too?” She frowned, picking up the flower. “I think I killed one upstairs. It’s so not right.” She placed the mangled flower back on the marble top. “You should trim the garden. They’re so pretty, they shouldn’t be subjected to us trampling them into the house.” She picked up the flower again. “It’s all rumpled.” She lifted it to her nose. “It still smells heavenly though.” She shrugged, placing it back down.
Angel stared. Cordelia hadn’t rejected his gift, she just hadn’t understood it. “I can cut some and bring them in?”
Cordelia shrugged. “Well, if you’re going to do some landscaping then yeah, bring the poor things in. You can’t just throw them in the trash. But, if you aren’t than don’t bother -- let them grow. We’ll just have to be careful where we step, that’s all.” She looked to the stove, getting off the stool.
“Cooking lesson?” She smiled, then stepped back, biting her lip. “You said you would. I mean, if you don’t want to you don’t have to, I just thought….”
“I was waiting for you.” Angel reached for her arm, gently pulling her towards him, no longer feeling a trace of his earlier irritation or tension. “Get the eggs and milk,” he said, giving her a slight push towards the refrigerator.
Continue on...