Title: Per Me Si Va (Through Me One Goes)
Author: DamnSkippy
Email: Click Here
Posted: 02-22-2008
Rating: R for language
Category: Angst, Dark, AU
Content: C/A, but not happy
Summary: Cordy comes out of the coma after Jasmine is killed and there is no W&H deal. She's not snapping back like we'd hope and Angel does something about Connor that throws them in a tailspin.
Warning: This is not a happy fic. I was very, very intrigued by the Halloween Ficathon prompt given by Samsmom that no one took. It made a great vehicle for me to try my muscles at writing a realistic (I think) Dark!Cordy. I hope you agree that Cordy's character might have gone this way if "some people" had wanted to explore the repercussions of S4.
Disclaimer: Nothing's mine except the order of the words I wrote.
Dedication: To Samsmom for the challenge and for encouraging me even after she saw the first part. I will post her wonderful challenge at the end.
Part 1 - "Shiny Happy People"
Cordy blinks quickly. The smell of singed hair, dark and oily, stings her nostrils.
"Enough." Stepping between Gunn's taser and Connor's purpling forearm, she digs her nails into her own and sighs.
"I know you're strong." The boy who could have been her son stares through her, the muscles of his jaws rippling under his skin.
Before he can refuse again, she cups his chin jerking his face up, forcing him to read the truth in her eyes. "But we're stronger."
It is the eleventh hour since Connor walked through the doors alone, a Plymouth covered in dust at the curb.
The thought that some of that gray mist might be the only part of Angel left in this world snaps her jaw and fingers tighter.
"Know that, Connor. If you never believe anything else, believe that." She sees a flicker of resignation, maybe respect, in his steel eyes before he spits.
She doesn't flinch as his cold resistance slides down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it off, isn't shocked or appalled.
She accepts it like a penitent sinner accepts a cast stone.
He needs this moment of retribution on the face that deceived him. She understands and loves the baby he once was enough to allow him a tiny victory.
But she can't control the hot scrape of her own rage. Her fingertips remember the feel of his face, too smooth – not nearly man enough, not the man she wanted. She hears her own screams as his body covers hers.
The bile rises at the back of her throat like the shores of the Styx and she doesn't resist it.
She spits and watches his eyes shut and mouth clench. She focuses on the air being sucked into his lungs through his nose and held as if letting it go would mean surrender.
God, she hates that she can still smell talc and formula when she's near him.
Pushing his face away, she backs off furiously running her fingers through her hair, tugging at the blonde roots hoping it will all come off in her hands so that she can start over.
"Go. Get some rest. We'll keep at him." Fred pulls at Cordy's wrists and she jerks them from her grip.
"I've slept too much. I'm supposed to keep my eyes open. I'm the seer."
She chokes back the laugh. A seer is something she hasn't been in maybe a year. She can't remember the last real vision she had. It was before her birthday, before she believed the lie that she was something special.
If only she'd stayed suspended between worlds and remained true to herself. Followed her natural avarice for riches and fame instead of pretending she was something else – someone more...
Then Angel would be there with an infant son who'd never touched hell and Gunn, Fred and Wesley would be by his side.
And she wouldn't be this shell – gutted, boneless – dry on the inside. The last months' events leaving nothing but an itch for death that she is too cowardly to scratch.
"You couldn't have known." Fred says it but her tone isn't sure.
"Yeah, right. We don't even know if I'm...if I've still got -"
"Let's talk." Cordy doesn't sense Wes before he's behind her even though his sackcloth is almost as black and heavy as hers. He smells of dark woods and deep pools, and part of her wants to sink into him and disappear.
The thought doesn't bother her like it should which makes her even more sure she's fucked up.
Fred nods at her but averts her eyes from Wesley's before she goes back to the office where Gunn is showing Connor the pointy end of everything in the room.
Wes watches Fred leave unable to hide his disappointment.
"You two need to get over your crap quick. We've got more important things to deal with."
His eyes stare into Fred's wake. "Our crap is fine, thank you." He turns. "How's yours?"
She thinks he's better at denial since the whole throat slicing incident. He's definitely less funny.
"We could stand here and out bitch each other until you grow enough facial hair to play both Tubbs and Crocket, or you could just tell me what you have."
"Right. Back to normal it is then."
Normal? He's right. This is normal now.
She knows he misses the old Cordy. They all do. And, there's a small part of her brain that feels guilty for not snapping back like she did the last few times she was stripped of all control and raped.
This is different. This has changed her at a cellular level, her blood running thick and cold in stiff veins.
They think it's Jasmine and the embarrassment of what happened with Connor that keeps her at a distance. That she doesn't hug them or laugh with them because she still remembers being touched, defiled without her consent.
What they don't realize is that Jasmine is nothing - means nothing to her. She doesn't hate evil for being evil. Jasmine and even Skip only did what was natural for them.
No. They don't know that what keeps her up most nights are thoughts of them. That the nightmares that wake her with shivers and sweat when she does manage to sleep are images of their betrayal and the bone wracking loneliness.
She has lost her family, and she can't tell them that they sliced and bled her more effectively than a renegade all powerful being ever could. Cordelia had faith in them – a brighter, truer faith than she had in the PTBs, in the mission, and even Angel's redemption.
They were her religion and her God left her behind to die.
Angel – her body shakes just thinking his name – was the ultimate treachery. He betrayed her with a kiss. Slit her wrist so her blood could redeem the world and then walked away as she howled in agony.
Cordy knows she still loves Angel more than life. But she also knows that love is what finally destroyed her.
But she will not abandon him. She will not leave him to fight alone whatever power is keeping him from his home.
She will never leave him alone with only his own screams for company like he left her.
The strange feel of Wesley's hand skimming her elbow makes her jump. He drops his hand quickly and nods toward the garden door.
"We may have stumbled into some luck." Wes leads the way, the sounds of zapping electricity and Connor's curses fading as the doors close behind them.
"Stumbling into it would be the only way we'd have any. Did your contacts know anything?" Cordy slumps onto the cold stone ledge of the useless fountain, water lines cut by the roots of now dead vines.
Pacing a few feet from her, she has to squint to make out Wesley's form. He reminds her of a brooding vampire she knew years ago - almost blending into the decomposing backdrop. "No. Angel, it seems, has vanished and most of the people I know aren't in any hurry to find him or help anyone else do so."
"Imagine that. Ungrateful demons."
"However, in examining the car, I found a small bit of vegetation wedged in the undercarriage." She hears the slightest hint of excitement in his voice and she wishes she could share it.
"Vegetation? Like a radish?" She tries for snark, but it feels false.
"Like an endangered species of carex latebracteata."
"Wesley," she conveys her impatience with one word.
He sits next to her. She shifts her knees to the left before his get too near.
"It's called Waterfall's Sedge. The lucky part for us is that it's only found in a small portion of southeast Oklahoma and southwest Arkansas in the Ouachita Mountains."
"That's great, Wes," she can hear the mocking tone in her voice and knows he can. This is where the old Cordy would have patted his hand and smiled but she doesn't even have to stop herself. It's just not in her anymore.
"That narrows it down from, say, the universe to this planet. What the hell were they doing in the middle of the country? Going to a craft's fair?"
"That, I'm afraid, we'll have to get from Connor."
"And he's been so cooperative so far." Her palm wipes the sticky perspiration off the back of her neck as she arches her exhausted spine.
"There's still Dinza, the demi-goddess of the lost."
"And we're still short one dead guy who can actually talk to her and no," she slaps her thighs and stands, "I'm not pulling Spike into this."
She looks up for the answer – a habit she needs to break.
Her eyes are met with the pitch of a cloudless, starless sky. The moon hides behind mountains and the silence suggests that even the insects know to keep away from this small patch of LA. Cordy finds comfort in the lifeless night. Better that than shooting stars and hope.
She sighs and turns back to Wesley. She doesn't trust him – any of them – with her life. Not anymore. But she thinks they'll at least try to save Angel and that's her mission now.
"Well, it looks like we're going to have to use a little of that magic we're so famous for. I just wish we were good at it."
*********************
The sky is pinking behind the scalloped edge of the mountains as they near Albuquerque. Driving for almost twelve hours, the New Mexico sunrise greets them unaware of their complete disinterest in its natural beauty.
Cordy's head lolls against the passenger door, her body numb but her mind whirring with synapses crackling like burning tumbleweed. She can't stop thinking about Connor's words, about what they might be facing. She feels like she'll never sleep again.
More than half a day before, Wesley's mojo, a tiny truth spell, not surprisingly, fails almost completely. He does, however, find out why Connor cannot tell them what they need to know.
His memory is blocked not by trauma but by supernatural forces.
Finding that out, Cordy doesn't feel so much as imagine, like a sense of deja vu, the urge to comfort Connor and tell them all to back off and leave him alone. But it passes and she tightens the ropes securing him to the chair.
It takes another few hours for a new spell to be written, runes interpreted, and salt poured before a fissure in that wall is created and they get a clue as to where Angel might be.
"Are we stopping for breakfast?" Fred's voice is raspy and soft beneath the blanket in the back seat.
"Per mi si va." The words are whiskey dark and old. Not Connor's.
Cordy pulls the jeans jacket tighter around her to ward off the chill of the memory. Connor's eyes sparking red, his lips twisting into a snarl.
"Yeah, man. We're all starving." Gunn doesn't ask.
Cordy can feel Wesley's head turn toward her, waiting for her response as if she is in charge.
She doesn't understand why they can't see who she is now. Why they haven't tied her to a chair and passed thousands of volts of electricity through her until she bursts into flames. But, then, she isn't surprised either. They missed the change the first time around, too.
Her silence is taken as assent. "We'll stop long enough for the restroom and some take out," Wesley tells them.
"We shouldn't stop." Connor's first words since they left jolt Cordy from the edge. His voice is weak but determined.
"Leo e Lucia. Un'anima per un altro." The words are barely distinguishable behind the sound coming from his throat like claws on a blackboard. Then the mocking, pompous laugh...
Cordy twists around in the seat to face him. His eyes immediately find hers in the shadows.
"Why?" She knows the answer but the others need to hear.
"There's no hope." He speaks like a robot – mechanical, cold.
"What does that mean, Connor?" His odd tone stirs Fred fully awake. "There's no hope in finding him or –"
"It means we don't stop." Cordelia exchanges an imperceptible nod with him before turning and facing forward. Her gaze is straight ahead, into the rising sun, the gold rays exposing her paling skin.
Wesley glances at her stony profile before focusing on the highway again.
"We'll grab something when we get gas." He feels the scar on his throat before he presses the accelerator to the floor.
Part 2
"Conviction"
The Plymouth breaks down in Shawnee, Oklahoma. It's just past 2:00 p.m. on October 30th. Jake, the tow guy, recommends they take a load off at the Motel 8 since it's going to be about six hours to get the piece from Tulsa, the only place in the state that carries the car's rare parts, and make the repairs.
They take his word for it because none of them ever bothered to study auto maintenance for 1967 Plymouths.
Everyone takes the chance to sleep. Even Connor is unable to resist the soft cushion of a mattress on his back despite his uncharacteristic desire to find his father, and within twenty minutes he is as deceptively peaceful looking as the others.
Cordy can't lie on a bed with them. She takes the key and leaves.
Shawnee isn't the smallest town she's ever seen, but it's one of the dustiest. She walks for hours, her feet kicking up the dirt sidewalk as she passes home after home with unpaved driveways. She wonders how much time the women spend dusting every day and becomes more tired just imagining it.
Even the pumpkins and scarecrows propped against stacks of hay are discolored with a film of beige.
She is surprised by how much a smile can hurt when she sees an especially nasty cardboard skeleton with "wash me" etched in the coating and right below that "+ new skin."
It's a nice distraction. She senses a tiny bit of her body's poison leech away with the awareness that she is surrounded by absolute normalness.
It is the most relaxed she has felt in the last thirty-four hours when the first vision hits.
Without warning, she clutches her chest feeling the pull of what she is sure is Angel's soul. She swoons as the essence of him consumes her. The ground that was hard as granite becomes like quicksand beneath her and she falls to her knees.
Her nails break and split as she claws at the ground that, in her mind, is a muddy pit. She can sense him drifting further away but she's stuck, mired up to her neck unable to reach out to him.
As quickly as the feeling came, it releases her and she flails to suck a sliver of cool breath from the suffocating, dirt-filled air.
The panic that had been slowly building since Connor showed up is now a boulder on her back. She has no idea how close or far away he remains but what she does know is that she must reach him. Soon.
She pounds on the earth and wails at fate for keeping her in this shithole of a town.
If not for Connor, though, they would still be in LA and she is grateful for that at least.
As soon as Wesley cracked the wall around his memory, Connor was instantly anxious to lead them to Angel, although he wasn't able to articulate why they needed to reach him. Just that they must and Cordy sensed it was true.
How Connor could possibly know the way is still a puzzle to her, but she has never doubted that boy's tracking abilities. He isn't able to draw them a map or tell them exactly how much further they have to go, but she knows he will get them there eventually.
For the first time, she has proof that she is right in that belief. Angel is close but where?
It's now a waiting game and Cordelia sucks at games.
She stands with difficulty – hearing every tendon in her body pop - and brushes the dirt off her knees. Her breathing finally steadies as she checks her watch and sees it's a quarter to six. She's been gone almost three hours and the sun is setting quickly.
Stretching her torso, determined to jog back and push the car if she has to, she looks up and sees the stone covered First Church of the Nazarene. Her head tilts like a curious bird since moments before she would've sworn it wasn't there.
"Great, Cordelia. Hallucinate much?"
Large, stained glass windows surround the structure from earth to ceiling. Each panel glistens with rich, gem colored mosaics of lions and lambs, penitent sinners receiving absolution, martyrs in rapture, and – in the center of them all – Mary, full of grace, her eyes sapphires of redemption.
The doors are open wide, a brilliant light streaming through like the tunnel leading directly to heaven.
It's warm and welcoming and Cordy feels prickles underneath her skin – the melting of frozen bones.
A thought zigzags through her dark, clouded mind like a lightening strike. Her nostrils flare and she breaths deep to catch the crisp ozone trail.
Maybe her faith isn't gone just misplaced. Maybe God is benevolent. Maybe…
"Better hurry."
Cordy jerks her eyes to the arthritic hand on her shoulder. Turning her head further, she looks into the black eyes of an age-spotted, leather skinned woman. The deep winkles, the cataracts, the gnarled joints attest to a woman over a hundred years old except she stands ramrod straight. That spine is ageless.
"What?"
"Three strikes and you're out." Her cracked lips split revealing a toothless, rubbery grin. Cordy winces at the rotten stench coming from her mouth.
"I don't know what –"
"Sure ya do, honey. God and baseball - same thing."
Cordy hates baseball. She stares again at the house of dualities - love and grace, judgment and perdition. The warm yellow glow ebbs into ice blue and back to gold again. She shivers as she feels the feathery, understanding pat of the woman's hand on her shoulder.
"Ow!" Nails drag down her back and she arches as she shifts her weight to her toes. Spinning and kicking her leg meets the nothingness of the night air.
Quickly she twirls around and around but the woman is nowhere to be seen.
Her breath catches as she checks for the church and sighs relieved that at least she's not imagining that.
One foot inches toward the light and beneath her the ground trembles. She hears her name, a deep rumbling bass, rolling from below, calling out. It vibrates inside her like agony.
"Better hurry."
To where? Her instincts tell her sanctuary but is that in front of her or three miles behind?
A loud whip crack sounds and a dry branch flies at her slicing her thigh. She screams and pivots but sees nothing but darkness behind her.
She circles in place, eyes glued for what might come next.
"That all ya got, bitch?" she screams into the void. "Dennis's mother was scarier."
The air is heavy and stagnant like a nursing home's waiting for its next death.
Cordy glances toward the church again. A beacon. A shelter. She wonders if she can make it and if she should try.
She tilts slightly forward and instantly a whirlwind of dust, dead leaves and pebbles fly in her face, choking and pelting her.
Move. Now!
Cordy doesn't waste another moment for a longing look at the church. She runs into the dark the way she came.
*********************
"Where the hell you been, girl? We were about to leave your ass."
"Stuff it, Gunn. Where's Connor?"
"Bathroom. He's the last one. The car's ready in case you're interested." Gunn snatches up the bag of groceries and Cordy hears him mumble something about women, fuckin' PMS and turning gay as he tucks a stake in the waist of his pants.
He's almost at the door when she says, "Gunn, wait." Her back still to him, it seems unnatural but she softens her voice and says, "Sorry."
He nods. She doesn't see it, but she feels it, before he opens the door and leaves.
Cordy's shoulders sag with her exhale. The bathroom door hinges squeak as Connor enters but stops realizing he's alone with her.
"You ready?" Cordy asks.
He mumbles a yeah and crosses to leave.
"Connor, we're close, aren't we?"
He knows she means close to wherever Angel is and not as family. "Yes."
She grabs his arm as he turns. "When we get there – no matter what – you stay back. You understand? No heroics."
"No," he says, jerking away.
"I'm not asking. If it means tying you up again or putting a bolt through your leg, I won't hesitate. Got it?"
He looks like he wants to spit at her again. Cordy prepares for it but it never comes. He doesn't say yes but he doesn't say no. She knows he'll decide when the time comes and so will she.
*********************
It's another three hours through curving, mountainous roads and walls of green black forests before Connor sits up straight and says, "There. Turn there."
Cordy has no idea where they are. Since they retrieved the Plymouth and began the drive east again, she has pulled deeper and deeper into herself searching for the clue that would lead her to the answer.
She knows it has to be her that saves Angel. That has always been her mission on a spiritual level but now it's literal. She just doesn't know how.
The sign says 59 S.
As soon as they nose south, Cordy gets her second vision.
She names it vision because that's the most familiar and closest description, but she knows it's not. It's an invasion of pure evil. A coiled snake that strikes and takes bites of her brain, learning her weaknesses and infecting her strengths.
When it leaves, she knows better what lies ahead but only in an abstract way. She has no face for the enemy and that bothers her.
"You all right?" Wesley asks from the driver's seat.
"Yeah. Wes, do you remember the paranoia demon in the hotel?"
Wes glances sideways for a second but he doesn't detect any nostalgia in the question.
"Yes, what about it?"
"It really had a thing for you."
He slowly turns and looks at her. In the pale dashboard light he can see her expression doesn't change, but he is sure it was in her voice. Just for a moment he heard her. Cordy. He looks back at the road and smiles - it's small but it's there.
Cordy thinks it may be the last one for a long time.
*********************
It's another thirty minutes in silence before the Plymouth turns left onto 246. The cabin suddenly brightens as the headlights bounce off a wall of dense fog. Connor's back straightens again – his eyes darting left and right.
"We're close," he says.
"Me and my Adrienne Barbeau man boobs are feelin' that," Gunn says, unable to stop the goose bumps racing up his arms. "John Carpenter would be lovin' this."
Fred stares out the side window looking for anything beyond the mist that will ground her in reality and not the scary fantasies she has swirling in her brain. "I prefer full moons, clear skies and big spotlights myself. Never did care for snipe huntin' blindfolded."
Cordy thinks this is anything but a snipe hunt. A fool's errand for sure, but the snipe is real this time.
"Hey, Fred," Cordy keeps her eyes ahead as she speaks.
"Yeah?"
"You still have that dress you wore to the ballet?"
Fred looks across to Gunn, her confusion by the question clear. "Yeah. It was too messed up to return, remember?"
"You should put it on when you get home. Go out again. Have a really good time."
"Oh? O-okay." Gunn looks at her and she shrugs still puzzled.
Cordy senses Wesley's shoulders tense next to her. She isn't sure if it's because of the ballet mention or his concentration on the road.
"Go with her," she mumbles to him.
Wesley's eyes concentrate on the task before him but his head tilts slightly, his salt and pepper stubbled chin angled toward her acknowledging he's heard. He nods once.
"Good. That's good," she trails off turning her head to stare into the wall of gray fog. She says to herself, "Somebody better end up damn happy around here."
"Right. There's a right turn up ahead." Connor's arm juts out into the front seat pointing next to her.
Wesley slows the car to a crawl so he doesn't miss the turn. Within seconds the veil opens enough to make out a dirt road.
Massive primeval oaks coated with dried and dripping red leaves stand sentinel at the entrance. The jagged shadows of pines cut across the trail painting the illusion of an exploded mine field.
He pulls off the road but doesn't turn in.
Gunn studies the area, glad to have a moment to assess his surroundings. "Could've just put a sign sayin' 'Evil this way.' I'm really tired of the creepy melodramatic build up."
"I always liked that about you, Gunn. No bullshit." Cordy's voice is almost dreamy.
Gunn notices. "Hey, Barbie. You still protectin' me?"
Cordy is surprised to feel something at the nickname. She was sure that girl died a year ago. "Never stopped," she says even though she knows it's a lie. But she also knows Gunn will believe it.
Being at a standstill, the air in the crowded car is too stifling for Fred. She rolls down her window and they are bombarded by a deafening pounding, staccato knockknockknocks on hardwood.
"What is it?" She asks, her hands pillowing her ears.
Thousands of beaks ricocheting faster – louder – unforgiving.
"I'm thinking The Welcome Wagon knows we're here," Cordy deadpans. "Think there'll be cheese?"
Gunn reaches in front of Fred and rolls up the window muffling but not entirely quieting the noise.
"Okay, what the fuck's going on? We've been following the human bloodhound for a couple thousand miles now, and I think I've followed our psychotic leader pretty well until now. But that? That shit out there is a little more creep than my creep meter can stand."
"I agree."
Gunn turns to Connor, always surprised to hear anything come from the boy's mouth. "You agree you're psychotic?"
"I agree that shit is creepy. But there'll be more. Lots more."
The unemotional tone of his prediction gives the rest of them an unneeded extra jolt of adrenaline. But Cordy doesn't think it's dire or frightening. She laughs – just one loud burst that makes them all jump in their seats.
"Sorry," she says. "It sounded funny to me."
"It's good to hear you laugh, but perhaps you could hold it until after we kill whatever this is and get Angel back," Wesley says sounding almost like the leader they once had.
Cordy wants to bust a gut again, but she resists. "Sure, Wes. Not a problem." She takes a big breath and pushes back the hair that has fallen in her face. "Well, shall we? I don't think the boogieman is coming to us this time."
"Right," Wes says. "Let's do it." He turns the wheel toward the abyss and edges forward.
As they pass the gateway, the third vision slides behind her eyes and the how is no longer a mystery. A song weaves in her brain, the minor key drugging and hypnotizing like a mother's lullaby.
She smiles. It feels like going home.
Part 3
"You're Welcome"
They hit another pothole and Gunn's swearing gets more colorful. But it distracts them from the thunderous pecking of what must be thousands of woodpeckers in the forest around them.
"Oh, my, God!" Fred covers her thumping chest as a bird slams into her window.
"Okay, I know I sound like a five year old, but are we there yet because I need to kill something now." Gunn twists the stake in his hand, any splinters finding it impossible to penetrate the one big callous that makes up this man's palm.
"We'll be there soon," Connor's voice is calm. "Killing sounds good to me."
"No!" Cordy twists in her seat to face them, her eyes true and fierce. "Connor, you will stay in the car. Gunn, you will make sure he stays put."
Cordy breaks from Connor's glare during Gunn's objection.
"What? You want me to baby sit? Huh-uh. I didn't ride in this lumpy back seat without the necessary and legally required rest stops this long to stand by and watch."
"You rode all this way to save Angel and you will be doing that if you keep Connor safe."
For a moment she thinks Gunn will give in. Be the soldier he's always been and take his orders. She begins to turn back around when he proves her wrong.
"I don't know who put you in charge, but I didn't have a vote."
She settles back in her seat and faces forward before she speaks.
"Neither did I." She hears a small derisive snort from the back but nothing more. Maybe he remembers the involuntary Jasmine possession and feels guilty or maybe he remembers all the years she suffered as a seer. It doesn't matter what triggers it – guilt or respect – but she knows Gunn will do what she asks.
It's not that she has faith in him or any of them; they're just predictable.
They make one more right turn at Connor's instructions driving another mile or two into a forest that feels as thick as the sap from the pines surrounding them. The car slips and grinds as if the dirt road has absorbed the blackness and morphed into hot tar.
The air inside the Plymouth is heavy with sweat and silence, everyone busy peering into the dark looking for a sign.
It comes at a crossroads.
A wolf – stark white in the pitch – faces them unflinching. Gold eyes flash red and they stop.
"This is it." They expect the words from Connor but it is Cordy who sounds sure.
"How do you know?" Wes's gaze remains fixed on the wolf.
For the first time since her return, she looks at Wes as she speaks. "I'm Cordelia." Her old voice surprises even herself and she smiles. It's that picture – one from a past almost forgotten - that Wesley sees as he finally turns.
"Of course," his smile almost creaks from neglect as it widens. "You don't think –"
"I know," She finishes for him. For a moment, their eyes lock and dance with memories of the people they were. People they liked and loved. People they would have both died for.
Then Connor speaks and the present crashes back.
"What happens now?"
Cordy dips her head, breaking the contact with Wesley, and clears her throat.
"Well, what happens now is that you all stay here and don't follow me."
At once, the car is filled with voices, one over the other with protests and questions.
Finally, Wesley hushes them all with his straightforward manner. "Cordelia, you can't seriously expect us to sit back and do nothing."
Cordy can't believe he left himself wide open with that one. She wants to say something like "Why not, it's what you do best," or "It's what you did all last month, you should be experts at it by now." But even though these people are not her family anymore, she doesn't want what could be her last words to them to be cruel.
For old time's sake. For the people they all once were.
"Listen, I know what I'm doing. I've had some visions, okay? I know what needs to be done, and, lucky me, I'm the only one that can do it. It's a piece of cake. As creepy as this place seems, it's all show, guys. Kind of like the Wizard behind the curtain."
She hopes that her old Cordy voice will assure them. And it does, except for Connor. He doesn't really know the old Cordy so she isn't that successful at pulling one over on him.
"You're lying," he says.
Part of her wants to smile and tell him, "Smart boy. Don't trust anybody." But it's too late for motherly lessons and reassuring praise. It's just too late.
"I'm not lying. It's a test for one and I'm the lucky one. If anyone else interferes, Angel could be lost forever. Now everyone just stay here. If everything goes as it should...well, you'll be heading home with a full load very soon."
"And if it doesn't?" Fred asks.
Cordy knows that Fred really doesn't want the truth. She wants the kindness of a lie so she doesn't have to feel guilty about surviving. She knows a thing or two about survivor's guilt so Cordy does the kind thing.
"That's not an option."
*********************
The moment she opens the car door the earsplitting pecking stops. One second the woods are alive with a noise so loud it could wake the dead and the next it as silent as a tomb.
Cordy finds the large stone sitting off the road past the crossroads just as her vision said it would be. As she approaches the fork in the road, the wolf leads her and pauses by the rock just before disappearing into the vapor to make sure she doesn't miss it.
Now she can barely make out the shadow of the Plymouth down the road but only because there's an occasional thinning of the fog. Most of the time, there's nothing but an inky spot in the already dense black night.
"Okay, here goes. But I warn you, I can't sing."
She begins to hum the music that was burned into her brain during the last vision. Even to her almost tone deaf ears, it sounds like the saddest song ever created. It feels like the music of lovers who will never be allowed to touch or kiss or even know how much they're loved.
She closes her eyes and concentrates. Her body begins to rock side to side to the lazy rhythm. A wind gusts through her insides, hallowing out anything left. Without knowing it, she begins to cry from the loss of something she never had.
"Enough already. My ears are bleeding."
Cordy's eyes open and she blinks repeatedly. "Angel?"
He smiles. No. Not Angel. Just another false god.
"Oops, sorry to disappoint. I just thought you might want something nice to look at while we negotiate."
Still, she wishes it hadn't taken Angel's form. But she should have guessed. It did slink around in her brain seeking her weaknesses and found her biggest one.
"Thanks for that. I wouldn't want to embarrass myself by vomiting all over your cloven hoofs."
"Ha!" It cackles, throwing back Angel's head and bearing Angel's teeth. It really has his fake laugh down pat.
"Good one, Cor."
"Word of advice, Beelzebubba. Don't use that name again," she grinds out.
"Oh, touchy." Instantly, the form hardens, the eyes shifting from Angel's warm brown to hot red. "But maybe you should remember who you're dealing with, Lucia, and why you came. I think it's you who wants something from me."
"Now who's touchy? And what's with the Lucia crap? The name's Cordelia Chase."
"Yes, I know. Forgive my waxing poetic with the 'Lucia crap' as you put it. Comparing you to the saint of visions was a huge error on my part."
"Damn skippy. I'm no saint and apparently never really meant to be a seer. So strike two for you."
Fred had told her the yarn Skip wove about her life basically not being her own from who knows when. But she doesn't buy it. She knows that even if she was somehow manipulated to be in the right place at the right time, she remembers making the decisions. She blames no one but herself for the course her life took.
But she's not sure it knows this. How deep did it go inside her mind?
It is beginning to look less and less like Angel and more like Angelus as the smile becomes slimy and contemptuous. "Yes, that whole hijacking your life thing really sucked for you. But look on the bright side. It all led you here to me and you finally get to do what you've always wanted – save Angel's soul."
Disdain colors its voice and she's glad the words make him a little sick. She's happier still to find out it doesn't know everything about her.
"Saving Angel's soul is a perk. But you should know better than that. What I've always wanted is to be rich and famous. You planning on helping me out with that?"
A course tongue licks the lips she has longed to kiss for what seems like years, but this thing isn't preparing for an emotional reunion. Avarice obviously appeals. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. One bargain at a time and the one on the table is your soul for Angel's."
"I thought that one was already done. I'm here aren't I? Although I've got to ask why you'd want me in place of Angel. He's a champion of The Powers. Gotta be a coup for you."
"Pfft."
That noise coming from Angel's face almost makes her laugh, but she's determined not to give this thing an inch in its favor.
"Angel's a demon, soul or no soul. He'll be back. The Powers," it says mocking their name, "have no intention of granting him humanity. He's a sucker."
"So why take him at all?"
"I didn't plan it. Just a happy little coinkydink. His son goes bonkers over killing his own daughter and losing all that 'love and acceptance'" it air quotes, "and daddy dearest comes to me with an offer. Take all the anger and pain from the boy, make him forget it all, and he'll gladly join me in hell."
Cordy isn't surprised by this. She had pretty much figured out why Angel had come once she saw that Connor truly seemed concerned about his father. It was too much of a personality change to be natural.
"I gotta tell ya, at first I didn't see any advantage for me," it continued. "But I imagined the natural progression of events and voila! Here you are!"
It almost claps its hands in glee which is a disturbing image coming from Angel's body.
"I'm still not following. How am I a better catch than Angel? I'm nothing."
"Oh, you really are down on yourself, aren't you? Tsk, tsk. You're a former higher power! Think about it. I get a higher power who happens to be a seer and the champion of The Powers – eventually – without even lifting a finger. I call that a homerun."
It's right. She really had forgotten all about the higher planes. Well, not so much forgotten as passed it off as not real. Just a way to get her into Jasmine's world so she could hitch a ride. That made her a fool but nothing resembling a higher power as far as she could tell.
But if this thing valued her stupidity that highly, she wouldn't argue with him since that seemed to be the only thing she had to negotiate with.
"Well, aren't you the lucky little devil? Since I'm so valuable, I don't guess you'll object to a few conditions of my own."
"I think I just said too much, didn't I?” It feigns a sigh and flicks a limp wrist. "Oh, well. Go ahead, make your demands. But..."
It circles slowly coming to a stop close behind her and lays Angel's hands on her shoulders. She feels its fingers begin to clamp and dig into her bones. Her knees shake as it leans in, Angel's mass like an anvil on her back, to whisper in her ear.
"...Be careful what you wish for."
*********************
Cordy immediately regrets making this request. She hadn't wanted to remember Angel like the beast she's just been bargaining with. She wanted to see the man she knew – the person she loved more than she hated herself - one last time.
She thinks she must be desensitized to the body that was a moment ago inhabited by evil or maybe she realizes only at that instant just how much loving him has destroyed her, because all she can muster up for the man who stands in front of her now is rage.
"Cordy?" Angel's voice is weak and matches the sag of his shoulders and sunken chest. He reaches for her but she stops him with a slap across his shocked face so hard he staggers back.
"This, Angel?" Her arms sweep over the deserted road as her eyes scan the vast darkness around them. "Really? Stupid doesn't begin to cover it. Moronic, retarded, the actions of an imbecile? Still not even close."
"Wha…why? I'm…I don't remember." He tries to shake off her hit as well as his muddled thoughts.
"Oh, that old gem! I think we're all up to here with the 'amnesia' excuse."
When all he does is look at her with that wet, glazed stare that says he's truly as ignorant as he looks, she crumbles and falls back limply onto the rock behind her. Her body finally feels as tired as her soul.
"God, Angel. I know why you did it, but damn it! There were other options. And I thought you'd learned with Darla that you aren't alone. You have us! You have…me."
He can only shake his head, still confused, and her chest fills with dank air tinged with sulfur as she heaves a sigh and drops her head in her hands.
A lone woodpecker machine guns its beak into a pine somewhere out there - in the dark.
He moves forward slowly, a kicked puppy with its nose and tail down begging forgiveness. For what, he's not sure at the moment, but he trusts Cordy enough to know whatever he's done probably wasn't the best idea he's ever had.
"I…I'm sorry. I really don't know what happened. Cor…" His arm stretches toward her once more, tentative, still weak and shaking. He straightens suddenly and stops. "Connor," the word gasped as if his final dying one.
The forest stills and she tilts her head up at the sound of the name that blasts at her as if from a bullhorn.
Funny, she thinks, how much it hurts that Connor is the first thing he remembers. Not her. Not what he did to her. Not that he abandoned and bled her or that he even for a second believed she could betray him like that thing did.
No matter what she ever was or ever could be to him, she would never come close to the place in his heart he has for that boy.
Connor – the son who tossed him in an ocean to live an eternity alone and insane. The child who has done nothing but revile and curse his father since he stepped out of hell. A being whose every waking thought for the past 18 years has been revenge upon the man who gave him life.
Cordy laugh-grunts low in her throat. It amazes her that she is only now realizing something so fundamental.
No matter what he does, Angel will always put Connor above all others – even her. She knows this intellectually. His child should be first and last in his thoughts always. And once upon a time, that deep, unconditional love Angel had for his son made her go soft in her belly. To see someone so strong be made weak by that love was beautiful and, she thought, proof of Angel's growing humanity. What she'd always wanted for him.
But now, she admits to herself, she's not a person who can stand coming in second. She doesn't like watching the man she is willing to die for not look at her with even half the desperate love she sees in his eyes as he franticly seeks a glimpse of his son
No, she isn't cut out to be a second love or a second thought.
She fleetingly wonders if that's the real Cordy in her surging forward or remnants of Jasmine still sleeping in her veins.
It doesn't matter. It's who she is now.
Watching Angel twirl around in place, she feels a jealousy so strong she has to fight the urge to rush at him and pull the stake from her back and split him open with it.
Her mind and body are ice cold hard – like the stone beneath her.
"Cor, where is he? Is he here? Is he okay?" Angel touches her arm.
Nothing. She feels nothing. His touch used to make her spin inside - used to set her on fire. Make her feel like a jumbled up puppet of a woman hungry for his arms to hold her up on wobbly knees and pull her close. His massive hands to steady her while he torched her mouth with those lips.
The same lips that she once ached for are now mumbling the name Connor over and over again, worried and anxious, and not her name with the passion and need she craves.
Then it hits. The epiphany she wasn't aware she needed courses throughout her body. The frigid layer holding her blood still cracks - like a marble left out in the desert sun suddenly tossed into ice water - and the truth flows through her flushing her skin pink.
And with the transformation comes the peace of acceptance. This is right. She has no desire to be this pseudo Cordelia and she also knows there's no going back. She is beyond the point of returning to the life they had – the people they were.
But even still, there is a niggling hope – a tiny flicker of light and heat as she looks at the man she once imagined spending the rest of her life with and knows she loves even now somewhere in her core.
She has to know for sure or squash it forever.
She stands and speaks loudly, not wanting to ever wonder if he heard her or not. "Angel? Do you ever wonder...do you ever think about that night...?"
Angel stops his motion but doesn't look at her. His eyes remain focused on the edge of the darkness – seeking his son. "What? What are you talking about? Where's Connor?"
That's it then. She has no regrets and the evil below was wrong. She wished for the right things after all - to see Angel one more time and as for the rest...
"Connor's in the car, Angel. Straight down the road about 30 yards." She points him in the right direction. "The rest of the guys are waiting for you, too."
He hesitates for a moment, as if it's too good to be true. And then he begins to run.
Cordy watches him and feels the pain lessen with each step he takes away from her. He stops after a few seconds and turns around.
"Come on. Let's go home." He waves her forward. The last thing she sees is that smile.
"Go ahead. I'm right behind you." She smiles back and he believes her.
He hesitates one more time but only to say, "Thank you." Then he turns and before she can blink he disappears past the knife's edge between dark and light.
She whispers, "You're welcome," and closes her eyes.
*********************
"Connor!" Angel can see a glint off the Plymouth's bumper and speeds up.
The passenger door opens. A large bulk of a man unfolds from the back. Instantly Angel knows it must be Gunn. Behind him, Connor - agile and fluid - steps out and faces him. Even from a distance in this pitch darkness, Angel recognizes the blue of his son's eyes.
It only takes a few seconds before he is there. He stops inches away, aching to wrap his arms around him, but knowing it's not what they do – yet.
Angel sees the hesitation in his son's awkward shuffle. There's always a pain in his chest at the sight of his child so unsure. But his heart lifts along with the quirk of Connor's lips as they turn up slowly and he says softly, "Dad."
Connor says the word as if each time they meet he has to avow their relationship to make it real.
"Son," Angel returns, to confirm and assure Connor of his place in this world and his life.
"Great!" Gunn claps his hands once and pushes Connor into the backseat. "Now that the touching family reunion is over, let's blow this burg. Angel, you get in the back with Connor. I'm shotgun."
For once Angel has no complaints - even when he sees Wesley driving. He simply nods and settles next to Connor as Gunn jumps in and slams the door.
"Pump it, English. I'm hungry, dirty, cold and I've gotta pee."
Wesley turns the key. The Plymouth's engine roars to life waking up every living creature in the forest around them. Flickering lightening bugs, croaking tree frogs and the whishing wings of crows surround them as the car slowly begins to turn around.
"Wait!" Wesley instinctively brakes at Connor's voice.
"What now, kid?" Gunn swivels in his seat to face him. "We came, we rescued, time for the leaving portion of the mission."
"What about Cordy?"
Gunn looks questioningly at Angel and Fred on either side of Connor and lastly at Wes. In sequence they all shake their heads just as confused.
"Who's Cordy?" Angel asks Connor. "Did you get a concussion or something in the fight?"
Gunn lets out a puff of air and turns back around in his seat. "Let's go. The kid must be losin' it."
Wesley sagely agrees and turns the wheel sharply and eases them back on the road home.
In the back, Connor twists around and peers out the window toward the crossroads as it fades in the dirt and gravel swirling from their tires.
A part of him wants to scream at them to stop and turn around. They're leaving the best part of them in all that dust and they don't even know it.
But something bigger – something that says he has all he's supposed to have – all he deserves – makes him turn back around and away from the empty road behind.
He feels a hand squeeze his knee and looks to his right at his father's strong profile. He knows he can't give him up again. Not one more time. Not even for Cordy.
He bites his lip and concentrates on the one-way path ahead.
*********************
The moment Angel disappears from her sight, its presence sneaks into her brain like a sidewinder.
And the wolf is back.
It's time.
She is suddenly scared. It's so quiet except for the hiss in her brain.
She's been on her own for so long now, this desolation should feel like snuggling under an electric blanket at bedtime.
But she doesn't want to be by herself. Not really. Not for eternity.
"Will there be others like me there? Is there a place in hell for people who loved too much?"
It laughs the same ominous rattle that she heard not long ago from Connor. The sound should give her chills, but all she feels is redeemed.
"Trust me. You won't be alone."
– The End –
Thanks, once more, to Samsmom for the wonderful prompt that inspired me to write.
Angel’s soul is taken from him and Cordelia must find the devil to get it back. So she goes to the crossroads at midnight in some dusty little county in Oklahoma or Arkansas (because it wouldn’t be the same as California) on Halloween and makes a bargain.
