Title: Mending Parts and False Starts
Author: DamnSkippy
Email: Click Me!
Posted: 10-08-2008
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Hurt, Comfort, UST
Spoilers: S1 Ats between "Somnambulist" and "Five by Five"
Prompt: Samsmom's truth challenge at CA_Atlast on LJ: "Cordelia gets hurt during a fight and it's Angel's turn to patch her up. Nighttime, alley, wetness."
Disclaimer: Not mine yadayada - entertainment only yadayada.
A/N-1: I'm not sure after reading this that I got the truth part of the challenge. I think it went more AU, but I hope there won't be too many complaints.
A/N-2: If this premise sounds familiar it's because Starlet and I accidentally used the same challenge. I hope no one minds. If you do, complain to Samsmom since it's all her fault.

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Mending Parts and False Starts


Cordelia groaned, the soft sound like tiny machine gun puffs through her chattering teeth. Angel felt her bones rattle and drew her tighter into the sheltering cave of his chest.

If she weren’t soaking wet, she would have felt as light as a down pillow in his arms. She’d lost so much weight since Doyle died. He may not notice her shoes, but her body’s another matter.

Exactly when he began to truly see her was etched on his brain. It wasn’t in Sunnydale even though her obvious beauty hadn’t escaped his notice. Neither was it when she started working for him and was under foot daily. Nor was it when Doyle jumped and her pain piqued his demon’s interest.

It was on the roof - after Penn. All that he’d once been was still fresh under his skin – the highs of the kills, the thrill of the blood - and there she stood, the lights of the city reflecting like fireworks in her eyes. She turned and faced him. Clear. Sure. Strong.

Oh, I’ll kill you dead.

Those simple words said with such confidence with her fearless chin jutted out and brow bowed instantly ignited his baser instincts and his demon howled in the dark. The fact that she had nothing to back it up except a keen intelligence and a will that would not be broken made it the kind of rare courage only legends possessed.

That’s when he actually looked into her and began his study of Cordelia Chase.

But more importantly, that’s when he began to worry about her safety because he knew then that Cordelia had no idea how he might be more dangerous than Angelus.

What are friends for?

He hadn’t had too many friends before, but Angel was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to want to…

“Ow! Stupid Wesley.”

“Sorry…”

He needed to pay attention. Slamming her elbow into the office door wasn’t the best way to keep her from further harm.

“Put me down!”

She held tight to the bloody rag at her neck despite the bumpy ride and the constant harping.

Outside lightening slashed and lit a path across his office painting her skin as pale as his. Twice in one night.

He heard Cordelia’s scream over the thunder clap. The scent of her blood reached him on the wave of ozone and hyped his strength. Simultaneously breaking the Phystral’s neck and twirling, he saw Cordelia stumble and fall as Wesley decapitated the remaining demon, the scene backlit by a lightening strobe like macabre theater.

He flew to her side, his fingers trembling and groping at his shirt as he ripped the hem to make a compress. The icy rain pelted his back and streamed down his face blinding and frustrating him even more than the urge to remove the rag and bend to gather her blood into his mouth instead.

Shaking his head to clear his vision and that impulse, he sensed Wesley splashing toward them through the alley’s black mud puddles. The stirred stench of decayed trash wasn’t strong enough to cover the smell of Wesley’s own fear or detract from his enjoyment of it.

Cordelia kicked again and he almost lost his grip.

“Stop squirming.”

“I can walk!” She arched her back to loosen Angel’s hold, but he just tightened his grip. Despite the fact that they were almost there, she wouldn’t give up which didn’t surprise him. “Argh!”

Head bent to avoid the low overhang, Angel hurried down the last few steps into his apartment. As smooth as Boitano he crossed to the leather chair and lowered her gently. She thrust her leg out in one last obstinate effort as he slipped his arm from beneath her but her aim was off.

“You’re lucky I’m woozy or we’d be calling you Angela from now on - not that Angel isn’t girly enough mind you,” she finished with a smirk.

“Uh-huh. Stay put while I get the first-aid kit.” Angel met her defiant gaze with his until her shoulders finally relaxed into the cushions.

He backed away and turned into the bathroom while she ranted to an empty room.

“Damn, incompetent, arrogant - what good is Wesley anyway? 3-D word puzzles not helping his fighting skills any.”

Angel had to smile despite the circumstances. Wesley had improved since Sunnydale, but perhaps for her sake he should begin training with him. Tonight was too close.

“Unless a giant ‘word for parlor,’” she mimicked in her best hoity British, “‘4 letters, starts with an R’ attacks, I’m thinking we’re screwed. He almost got me killed,” she yelled toward him.

“We,” he bellowed back. “We almost got you killed. Wesley saved you. I should have…”

He should have what? Told her that one day her courage would get her killed? That he might be the one to do it?

He shook his head, a gesture he had become very familiar with of late, and continued his search under the sink for the kit. Cordelia had used it last and she wasn’t one to put things back where they belonged. Ever.

“Don’t start brooding,” she warned loud enough for him to hear. “And he barely saved me. If he hadn’t tripped me in the first place, I wouldn’t have needed saving.”

Angel stepped into the doorway, kit in hand, to make his point. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“I had to be. The vision –”

“Visions can be misinterpreted,” he said as he walked toward her and kneeled at her feet.

“Are you saying I’m incompetent?”

There was a mixture of hurt and threat in that question, a technique he’d only known Cordelia able to master. “No!”

“Maybe you want Wesley to be your seer, and I’ll just sit here and bleed to death. Apparently, I’m very good at that.”

“You’re not going to bleed to death.” He cautiously removed the rag from her wound. Cordelia hissed and wriggled a bit as the skin pulled. “Sit. Still.”

“Humph. Stupid rogue demon hunter. What is that anyway? Aren’t all demons rogue?”

Angel tried to suppress his amusement as he began to measure out a length of gauze. He was doing that far too often he noted – being amused. She was burrowing – like a donkey, he thought, and caught himself smiling again – into his cold heart and making it a cozy hearth. He could feel his demon warming his hands in the heat.

“Or does Wesley actually think he’s a rogue?” she continued. “‘Cause no way does that man-boy possess any roguish qualities - at least on the surface. And I don’t ever want to see what’s underneath those god awful clothes he wears. Eww.”

He coughed to stop the growl that almost erupted at the thought of that possibly happening. “Are you finished? Because I’d really like to stop your bleeding and keep you from ruining my leather. More than you already have anyway,” he finished quietly, head bowed.

“Fine. I’ll shut up for now. But you might want to stay down here in the bat cave a little longer tomorrow because when I see him, I’m gonna – ow!”

“Sorry.” Angel pulled his hand back from her neck and put the cap back on the antiseptic before reaching for the folded gauze.

“What do you mean ‘more than you already have’?” Cordelia’s face pinched in that way that was becoming more beautiful to him than the non-pinched version.

“What? Oh. Wet towel. Remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

She slid on her innocence personified smile like a silk chemise, and he wondered when she began doing “vampire” better than he did.

He hid his admiration by quickly tilting her head away and leaning forward to examine the cut more closely. He quietly forced air into his lungs to capture the tangy mixture of blood and lilac and closed his eyes for a second to savor this rare treat.

“Did you just sniff me?”

Angel tensed and pulled back structuring the muscles on his face to mirror someone suffering an indignity. “No, of course not.”

“Uh-huh,” she said clearly not buying it for a second.

“You’re lucky,” he said trying for deflection. “This could have been much worse.” He let go and picked up the bandage. “Half an inch longer and a little deeper and you would have bled out before we reached the car.”

“Yeah, lucky.” Her tone said she hadn’t been sidetracked.

He lightly cupped the nape of her neck. “Lean forward into me so I can bandage this better.”

She did as he asked though her eyes widened for a moment and she hesitated. As she came closer, the smell of spring rain and tropical forests wafted around them from her damp hair. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck and he fought the craving that surged from his groin to his fangs to take her and make that cut deeper and bloodier and his.

The shaking of his hands jerked him back to reality. He forced them to steady by concentrating on her warm, rhythmic breathing on his clavicle. It didn’t soothe but was, instead, a kind of torture - something he could fight and overcome.

He lowered the bandage onto her neck with the softest touch and then reached for the tape. Counting each breath like a prisoner sweating the seconds until his release, he was almost free as he patted the final corner down.

That’s when Cordelia sucked in a breath and pushed into him – deep, firm, and real. The hard points of her breasts singed his wet chest like a taser. The electricity skittered over his skin and drilled down into his muscles. He involuntarily leaned closer needing more – hungry for the warmth. As her breasts began to flatten against his taut body, he closed his eyes once more and silently let the flames engulf him.

She moaned softly and sighed – a sound like feathers fluttering to earth.

This time he failed to stop the growl in his chest. It had been so long - this need to feel the burn – and now…with Cordelia…suicide was tempting.

“I’m done.” His voice was rough; he swallowed but didn’t move.

He felt her face roll and her cheek slide up his neck as she rose. He clenched his jaw in one last effort to stop his body from betraying him with visible goose bumps.

As she sat back, he could feel her eyes on him as he began putting the first-aid kit back into some order.

Order. Balance. Control. One thing at a time…

“Angel?” Cordelia’s voice was smooth but betrayed a veiled nervousness.

“Yes?” He fumbled with the scissors and they clanked as they hit the metal box.

“Do you ever…wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t fallen for she who shall not be named?”

“You mean Buffy?” He never knew what would come out of Cordelia’s mouth, and he was not disappointed this time.

“What other no-name girl is there?”

Angel's stomach settled and he relaxed enough to put the supplies back in the kit without another mishap. They were going to talk about emotions and his constant brooding and not about the bad touching that just happened with their bodies. This was familiar territory.

“No. I don’t like to think about 'what ifs'. It’s pointless.”

“Oh, like what’s done is done and no use crying over spilt milk kinda thing? ‘Cause you’re so-o-o not the type to do that.” Cordelia crossed her arms beneath her breasts and quirked one eyebrow.

“Point taken.” Angel got up quickly, his knees popping. He crossed to the bathroom and hoped she hadn’t caught his gaze on her breasts when her forearms pushed them forward. The round, dark points pressed against the thin, wet chiffon and cotton layers; the larger shadows around them like deep pools perfect for drowning.

When he returned, he would bring a towel to cover her up and keep his eyes anywhere but her chest.

“So…,” she called after him, “what if you hadn’t fallen under the Slayer’s thrall? I mean, would you still be in Sunnydale or maybe been attracted to someone else?

“Well, I did think Willow was kind of cute.”

“Willow? Really? But, she’s so…”

The confusion and disbelief were clear in her tone. It may have been hopeful thinking, but he thought he caught a little disappointment there as well.

“Nice?” he offered as he came back into the room with the largest towel he could find.

“Boring. I would think a girl would have to…have a little mystery…some intrigue…to keep you interested.”

“Willow is intriguing.” He handed her the towel which she immediately wrapped around her shoulders and began using to dab at her wet hair. Apparently, he should have given her two.

“Well? Go on. Explain to me what Willow has that fells men, demons and geeky Star Trek nerds alike because for the life of me I don’t get it. Oh, wait! Please don’t tell me it’s the little girl vibe because that’s just creepy and perverted.”

Angel figured it best not to share with her that the innocent, childlike quality of some women was indeed a big attraction for him. Buffy and Willow both had that to spare. And Drusilla…well…need to know only.

But his tastes also included the strong, curvy, all woman type. Present company - a major contender.

“Willow is intelligent,” he said without stuttering. “She knows all about computers and…witchcraft…and…umm…” He tried but it was difficult making Willow sound terribly interesting.

“Okay, now you’re just making yourself look like an idiot.” She smiled with that twinkle in her eye that always said she was only teasing. He let go of his pretense with a tiny grin and a conciliatory shrug.

“Well,” he said pulling out a kitchen chair and placing it in front of her. Flinging his leg over it, he straddled it crossing his arms on the backrest and stared at her. “There was a girl. She made me laugh once.”

“You? Laugh? Say it isn’t so.” Cordelia sat back and avoided his eyes playing at drying a clump of hair with the towel.

“And she did intrigue me. I thought there was more to her than she let people see. Something deep and soft but incredibly strong…a quiet storm just waiting for the right guy to get swept away by. But, then…”

When he stopped so did she. She leaned forward a bit. “What?”

Angel bent toward her, almost whispering. “She stopped talking to me.”

“Oh." Cordelia said hushed. "Why do you think she did that?”

“I don’t know.” He sat back giving her more breathing room. “Maybe she thought I didn’t want to be her friend. Or, maybe, she was only interested in me if I could be more than that.”

“Ego much?” Cordelia blew out a tiny humph and began seriously working the towel on her head. “Or,” she began, her irritation rising, “maybe, you were such a dork over whatshername that she thought you totally blew her off.”

“Maybe,” Angel conceded and rested his chin on a propped up palm. “I was pretty single-minded back then.”

“Pfft. I’d call it crazy-minded but back to me…uh…her,” she grinned, embarrassed by her slip. “Um, so you think if there hadn’t been…you know who…this other girl might have…”

“Might have what?”

Cordelia quieted again and picked at a lose thread on the towel, her eyes anywhere but on his face.

“I dunno…been special to you?”

“I think…” Angel leaned forward, hand reaching for her downturned chin.

“Hello! Angel, Cordelia?”

Wesley bent to peek under the overhang as he descended the stairs into the apartment.

Angel quickly brought his hand back and stood, setting the chair right and sliding it back under the table.

“Oh, there you are. Cordelia, how are you?”

“I was great until you showed up,” she said tossing the wet towel on the arm of the chair.

“Really? What did I do now?” Wesley looked to Angel for support.

“Nothing, Wesley,” Angel said giving him a friendly pat on the arm as he passed him walking toward the sofa. “It’s fine. She’s fine. I think it would be best if you take Cordelia home to rest.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to. Are you ready, Cordelia?” Wesley held out his hand to help her up, but she gave him her death stare. He stepped back almost bumping into Angel who was hiding his smile from them both.

Cordelia got up and plodded past Wesley. She stopped and turned toward Angel. “See you tomorrow and thanks for the first aid.”

“My pleasure.”

Their eyes met – a look filled with all the 'what ifs' and regrets that lay between them – then she was leaving and had Wesley not been there, he wouldn't have let her.

She stopped on the second stair and turned, looking over Wesley’s head.

“Angel. That girl? I think she was just afraid.”

Afraid is what she should be now, he thought

“Of what?” he asked instead.

“I dunno. Not measuring up maybe.”

She truly had no idea how beyond measure she was.

“That’s too bad," he said, "because I really thought she was…remarkable.”

“Ya think?”

“To quote the master, ‘I think it, I say it’.”

That smile that made him feel like he was snatched from the abyss of hell and flung into the heavens was the last thing he saw before she about faced and started up the steps again.

“Let’s go, Mr. Two Left Feet," she said to Wesley. "I’m about to pass out from the blood loss.”

“I’m truly sorry, Cordelia,” Wesley whined as he followed. “I don’t know what happened. One minute the Phystral was in my sights and then -”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t know, don’t care. Just get me home without killing me.”

“Cordelia, you don’t really think I would let anything…”

Their voices faded along with Angel's smile as they moved through his office and he heard the click of the front door.

Shuffling to the leather chair, he sat where she had been. The seat was warm and copper flowers still hung in the air.

He let his head loll backward, a sigh slip through his slightly parted lips and his eyes stare at the ceiling wondering what was going to happen tomorrow. The thoughts he allowed were scary and exciting and best of all – hopeful.

Then he felt the wet towel under his arm and he knew the first thing that was going to happen was another lecture about moisture, leather and how they don’t mix.

Usually.

- the end -