Title: Salvation (It Shall Be a Kindness)
Author: DamnSkippy
Email: Click Me!
Rating: PG
Category: Slight angst, but mostly fluff
Content: C/A friendship and implied B/A
Summary: Even a demon needs a little help once in awhile.
Spoilers: S1 after “I Will Remember You” but before Doyle dies. I’ve played with the air dates so it will better fit into our ficathon needs.
Prompt: In spoiler font in case you don’t want to know: The Mary chapel in a Catholic church, peanut butter (and jelly), Cordelia in formal wear
Disclaimer: The characters aren’t mine, the idea wasn’t, and I’m pretty sure all the words I used someone has used before – somewhere. Good enough?
A/N: Thanks as always to my wonderful co-host and beta, Samsmom. I would be lost without her in so many ways.
Dedication: To starlet2367 and her great mind for thinking up the words that were my inspiration.

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He wanted silence. And peace. No matter how low their voices, he could always hear the constant drone of Doyle and Cordelia bickering in the office above. And peace was still an eon away when everything he was, everything he owned had been touched by her hand, her body, her scent.

Even the sheets still creased beside him in the shape of her slight form.

So he had run in search of solitude and answers. Just for a few hours – to clear his mind and stop the noise in his head that told him maybe he had made a mistake.

The stench of the sewers was too much to bear today and before long he was drawn to other familiar scents - candles and incense – the welcome of long ago tugging at his aged soul.

From the basement of St. Timothy’s he ascended the steps barely conscious of what he was doing. The doors to the Mary Chapel were open and he slid into the pew before he could think too long about it.

A girl of about six stared up from beside him. Soft brown waves framed round cheeks that plumped up huge black eyes.

The sun had blinded him and the salt air had burned his nostrils. The child hadn't even flinched when he stood next to her as she built her sandcastle. To her, it had been normal for him to stand there in the sun next to her and not burst into flames. For a short time he had been nearly human.

Another day not that long ago – once more because of Buffy - that had served up for the taking a seemingly normal life. And once again he had chosen to turn it down by smashing the ring and the dream.

Had he been stupid twice or had he been right both times?

The girl who had reminded him of that child on the beach that day smiled shyly before her mother jerked her away. Angel watched as her pink fairy wings fluttered behind her and she turned and waved her wand at him before the doors shuttered close.

His gaze wandered from the doors and roamed the room. He noticed two other families in the smallish chapel, some whispering their devotions while others stared in deep thought or prayer. Twin boys dressed in matching Ninja outfits sat kicking their feet impatiently waiting for their father to finish.

Angel finally realized it must be Halloween. It seemed being human and having everything you thought you ever wanted for one day really made a person lose track of time.

Fortunate, he thought. Maybe the Lord will mistake his demon mask for a costume and let him slide for one night.

He leaned back in the shadow of the statue of Mary, her outstretched arms offering him shade from the late afternoon rays streaking through the stained glass that painted the walls a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors.

Stretching his left arm out, he rested it on the back of the bench. The shiny wood the color of dried blood felt hard and hot against the slow, soft strokes of his palm. The oil they had used for polishing was still wet in places but his dead skin didn’t soak it in. It merely smeared.

Angel swirled his fingers in the residue, rubbed them together then brought them to his nose.

He drew in the nutty scent with a tang of lemon on the end and let his head fall back, eyes shut from the sight of the ceiling beams arching toward a heaven he’d never know.

Mother. Sister. Father. The grace of family. Of life. Of love.

He heaved with the memories of his youth hundreds of years past. Crushed under the weight of the stale sandalwood and sticky wax fog surrounding him, he sighed.

Buffy.

Despite a conscience that begged him to stop, think about where you are, he couldn’t stop seeing…stop feeling…

Velvet skin, dark curves and warm flesh, an open mouth, sweet and tart and heady, tight thighs…hot breaths…two breaths…

“Isn’t this like a no-no for you?” Cordelia plopped next to him in the pew.

He sensed her shift suddenly and thought he heard a soft “crap” before his head snapped forward. His first conscious thought was that his punishment had arrived. “Go away, Cordelia.”

She ignored him. “I bet you’re wondering how I found you.”

“No, I’m not.” He glanced sideways and couldn’t help but drink in her red satin dress and flinch at how starkly inappropriate it was for the venue. Subconsciously, he was grateful for the black shawl glinting with woven silver threads that she clutched around her. If he remembered correctly, that neckline was equally inappropriate. “Besides you look like you were going somewhere else and I don’t want to keep you.”

“Funny story. I was just filling up my bottle with holy water before I headed over to Wilshire for the big Wolfram and Hart shindig. I thought I might thin the demon herd a bit since they’d all be corralled in one place. But then I saw you in here, and I thought this was probably a far more interesting place to be.”

Angel didn’t believe her story even though she had set a bottle next to her, but he also didn’t care to find out the truth. He wanted that silence and peace he’d been searching for which wasn’t going to be here as long as Cordelia was tagging along.

“Cordelia, please just -”

“You probably won’t believe this,” she interrupted, “but I used to go to church."

He sighed and decided the sooner he humored her the sooner she’d leave. "Why wouldn't I believe you?"

She shrugged, "Oh, you know, that whole phase of avarice and worshipping at the temple of Gucci that I went through?"

Angel's lips tugged upward despite his reluctance to be shaken free of his glum mood. "Went through? Are you saying you're cured?"

"I wouldn't say cured, just investigating alternative therapies for now." She smiled and peeked at his profile from the side. He wasn't moving but she could see the crow's feet on the corner of his eye so she trudged on.

"Our church wasn't like this; we were Presbys. But I always thought it would be cool to be Catholic. All that pageantry and ritual – it'd be like every Sunday you were going to visit the queen, which, of course, would have been right up my alley."

Angel dared a look to his side. "Be careful. That sounds pretty sacrilegious and considering where we are..."

"What? I would think if lightening was going to strike, it would have happened the moment you walked in here."

Angel's jaw tightened and the rest of his body hardened like a walled up fortress. He turned his face forward and spoke through clenched teeth, “Cordelia, go. I’d like to be alone.”

She twisted in her seat, her skirt hiking up daringly, and rested her bent leg on the bench next to Angel. Touching his forearm, she said, "That's not what I meant. I just meant that if you were an ordinary demon, I would think the glass would have shattered and all the candles would have flamed up and singed that gelled up mop on your head by now. Obviously, God must think you're a good guy just like I do."

Cordelia felt his muscle unwind beneath her hand and she relaxed her grip. She watched his face for a moment and then turned to see what he was staring at.

The face of the statue was beautiful. Even though she was snow white, the artist had managed to make her expression as soft and warm as fleece and her blank eyes appeared to understand your every thought.

"What I remember about going to church was the silence," she said. "Oh, there was a sermon and singing, but for one hour no one in my family talked. For sixty minutes, once a week, my mom didn't make drunken accusations and my dad didn't lie his ass off denying them. Oops, sorry,” she said lowering her embarrassed eyes from the statue towering over her.

Rude or not, she pushed forward. “I used to think my dad was scared to go. He’d tug at his collar and sweat even in winter.” She chuckled. “Guess that’s what guilt does to you.”

“It does a lot more than that.” Angel finally tilted his chin down and stared at his hands.

“Doyle told me what you did,” she blurted.

Angel suddenly turned and met her gaze, his eyes flaring for a second. "He shouldn’t have.”

“Irish man – malt liquor – yammering idiot. Go fig.”

He looked away then down staring at his entwined fingers for a few moments wondering if he should say it out loud - especially in this place. Angel didn’t usually believe in jinxes, but, then, he also wasn’t one of the luckiest guys either.

He finally inhaled once and sighed. “I think I made a mistake. Again. I’ve had humanity – or almost humanity – in my hands twice and given it up both times. What was I thinking?”

Cordelia chewed on her lip a second before replying. “Well, I think you were thinking with your head and not so much with your heart and, in this case – uh, cases – that was a good thing.”

“Didn’t you and Doyle think smashing the ring was pretty dumb?”

“Well, yeah, at first. I mean what if you had to go save someone during the day? That ring would have been pretty handy.”

“We’ve always managed before -”

She touched his arm to stop him. “But, you were right. It was too much of a risk to have it around. Not just in the tempting you way, but there would have been demons from all over trying to get that thing once word was out. And if one of them got hold of it, the whole world would have been in danger.”

“And this time? Did I give up too soon? Should I have fought harder or thought about it longer? I don’t know. It just feels like maybe I lost my last chance.”

“I don’t think you did. I mean from what Doyle said a lot of people including Buffy were going to die if you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but…”

“It doesn’t seem fair, right? I mean twice you get to be normal and both times it means the end of the world if you do.”

She exhaled wishing the weight of Angel’s plight could vanish on that breath. All she wanted was to help but she had no idea how.

Then, over his shoulder, Cordelia’s eye saw an older woman, hunched and shuffling slowly, as she made her way to a side altar where there stood a smaller version of the Mary sculpture and dozens of votive candles. It was obvious from her worn and tired expression that the woman was being tortured by some personal demons and had come to exorcise them.

Cordelia watched as she lit one of the candles, crossed herself and silently prayed. Minutes later she turned to leave. She stood up straight but with a relaxed and calm air about her. A new sparkle was in her eyes that only moments ago would not have seemed possible as emanating from that tired and lusterless soul.

Angel sat up arching his back and blocked her view. She twisted back around in her seat, her thoughts swirling, but could see him from the corner of her eye just staring at the ceiling.

Finally, he took in a breath and said his real fear. “I’m never going to change, am I? I mean I never thought about it before – being anything other than a vampire – but having something else twice…I began to hope there was more.”

He turned his head to Cordelia. “I guess that’s pretty selfish of me.”

She hesitated only a moment before replying. “Yeah, it kinda is. I mean I get it. You want it all. Everybody does but nobody ever gets it. Look at Mother Theresa. If anyone deserved to have it all, she did. She helped all those people but look what she wore! A dish rag. Every. Day. Tell me that woman didn’t deserve a little Versace in her life.”

“I know that. I don’t expect a perfect life, I just thought…”

“What? That because you’re a demon you’re being punished?”

“Well, aren’t I? I mean it’s not like I don’t deserve it. I do. But…”

Cordelia turned and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “Giving you the one thing you always wanted and taking it away is worse than punishment, huh? It’s torture. And now it’s happened twice.”

Angel nodded, feeling even worse now that he’d expressed his thoughts. He knew he didn’t deserve humanity or Buffy, but it didn’t stop the pain of losing both and the constant ache to have them.

He looked down at the delicate fingers of the all-too-human woman circling his wrist and then up at the statue of Mary. The woman he once believed was the mother of them all, the vessel of all that was holy. She stood before him now and all he saw was cold marble. The only feeling she invoked was equally hard and icy.

Cordelia watched his eyes. One moment they were soft and vulnerable, a veil of hope swirling in a caramel fog. Then the mist cleared and his stare was crisp and focused.

“Did you know," Angel said, his eyes boring into Mary's, "that Gabriel was the angel who brought the message to Mary that she would give life to the son of God. Did you know he is also considered the angel of death?”

“Huh. Weird. Kinda like that two faces of God thing. Ya know, the God that’s all ‘thou shalt not’ and smitey and then there’s the God that loves you no matter what. You think God is manic depressive or just likes to kid around?”

"Sometimes I think God is more evil than any of us."

Cordelia ducked slightly and looked all around. "Okay," she mumbled. "I expected some lightening after that, so I'm guessing maybe he's tied up with something in the Middle East or possibly O.J."

Angel carried on not really listening to her. "And then sometimes...sometimes I wish I could pray.”

“For forgiveness? Do you think that would change anything?”

Angel let out a small laugh. “I don’t think it could make it any worse.”

“Well, why don’t you? I mean surely you wouldn’t burst into flames for just praying?”

“I’m a demon from hell. It would be a sacrilege. Besides, it’s not like I deserve forgiveness.”

“You’re right. You don’t deserve forgiveness.”

Before he had a chance to pull up that drawbridge, she hurried on. “You don’t. You didn’t do all that stuff that you’re always brooding about. But, I know I’ll never convince you of that so…”

The back of her thighs squeaked against the mahogany as she scooted off the pew, knees denting the pad of the rail in front of her. She bowed her head, closed her eyes and steepled her fingers.

“Cordelia, what are doing?”

“What’s it look like? I’m praying for you. Now sit there and take it.” Clearing her throat, she began softly. “Hail Mary, full of grace -”

“Wait. You’re not Catholic. How do you -”

She slumped back on her bent legs and twisted around toward him. “I watched a lot of nun movies as a child. I told you I thought all that Catholic stuff was cool. Not that I wanted to be a nun or anything; I just liked to mock the outfits. Now hush and let me save your wretched soul.”

He smiled and watched a little bewildered by the young woman beside him.

“Where was I? Oh, I’ll just start over. Couldn’t hurt.” She took a deep breath and this time raised her eyes to the statue of Mary, her delivery typical Cordelia - blunt with compliance fully expected. “Hail, Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.”

Breaking the moment, she swiveled her head toward Angel with a toothy grin. “When I was a kid I always thought they were saying ‘blessed is the Fruit of the Loom, Jesus.’ Really put a strange image of the holy guy in my head.”

Angel bowed his shaking head.

Turning back, she continued. “I lost my place again. Oh, yeah, blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, and especially the dark broody one next to me, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” Unfolding her body, she began to rise but stopped. “Oh, and if you could make him a little less broody in the meantime, that would be great. Thanks.”

She sat back on the bench and swiped her hands together as if brushing off the dust from a job well done. “That should do it. Third time’s a charm, right? I’m betting the next time you turn human, it’ll stick.”

“That was…” Angel started.

“I know – you’re touched, yadayadayada. You’re welcome.”

“I was going to say that was truly bizarre. And...," he said making sure to look into her eyes before finishing, "thank you."

His expression widened into a grin to match hers and, as if he found the answer he'd been seeking, the awe was clear in his voice. "Nothing rattles you, does it?”

“Not much," Cordelia shrugged. "Considering what we do every day and what I’ve seen so far, risking a little holy retribution seems a little tame. Besides, I think we’re working with the ‘loves you no matter what’ God and not the smitey one today.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because,” Cordelia tilted her body to the side and reached beneath her, “ever since I sat down on this…eww...” She pulled out the squashed remains of a mostly eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I’ve been cussing like a sailor in my head and no wrath from the big guy yet.” She dropped the mess on the seat between them and tried shaking off the goo that stuck to her fingers. “What is peanut butter and jelly doing in a church anyway?”

Angel couldn’t shake the lopsided smile from his lips. “There were some kids here before you came. And remember, vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, especially when you don’t confess.”

“Confess what?”

Angel stood giving her his you-know-what-you-did look. He could see her mind working and the moment the memory clicked.

Cordelia rose and faced him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. For the last time, I did *not* get peanut butter on your sheets!”

“Cordelia,” he warned, “remember that smitey God you were talking about.”

“Oh, please. Like God is going to...” She stopped and looked at the statue of Mary over his shoulder. Fibbing to Angel was one thing, but having her watch her do it... “Okay,” she relented, “so I *might* have, in the throes of an extreme low blood sugar induced delirium subconsciously rooted around in your cupboard for something so I wouldn’t die in a coma.”

Cordelia turned and walked into the aisle toward the door. Angel followed, his eyes involuntarily drawn to the purple oil stain on her butt.

“And I *might* have wiped a peanut butter covered finger or two on your sheets by mistake, but I hardly think that’s cause for ruining my last designer dress.”

“God can be cruel.” He patted her shoulder and nudged her forward. “Let’s get out of here before He realizes neither one of us belongs here.”

“Speak for yourself. I’ve seen so many Catholic movies I’m almost a card-carrying nun. Or at least a novice.”

Angel whispered over her shoulder as they reached the exit. “Remind me sometime to tell you everything I know about nuns.”

The double doors scissored closed behind them just as the flames on the altar candles flared toward the exposed ceiling beams and a crack severed the wooden pew where they’d sat.

On the sidewalk outside the indigo night loomed clear, the air smelled of crisp burnt pine from anonymous fireplaces, and squeals of children echoed around them.

Angel walked silently beside Cordelia realizing with each step that a little of the ache was gone. He pondered for a moment if that was because he could live without Buffy knowing he’d done the right thing or if Cordelia’s prayer had actually been heard.

He glanced at Cordelia and seeing the dress shimmer in the moonlight he was reminded of her earlier explanation. “By the way, how did you really find me?”

Cordelia hugged herself against the cool night air and said, “I told you I was filling up my bottle with holy water for that party. Which reminds me,” she suddenly stopped and pulled at the hem of her dress to see if she could see the damage the peanut butter had done. “Since I’m missing the party and I just prayed for your salvation under threat of holy damnation, the least you can do is pay for the dry cleaning on this dress.”

Angel still didn’t believe her but he let it go with a smile and nod of agreement. He put his arm around her shoulders to help keep her warm and they resumed their journey home.

Cordelia inwardly sighed with relief when Angel didn't pursue his question.

There were some things a girl had to do when working for a vampire with a soul, especially a soul that wasn’t permanently attached to its owner.

One was trying to keep her foot in the dating pool to keep her mind off how attractive that vampire was. Thus, the party dress which wasn't going to get a workout tonight after all. She'd have to call Sarina and let her know she'd be a no-show to her Halloween bash.

And two, was keeping a supply of holy water in the office at all times in case that soul was jiggled lose. It was a close call this time with Buffy breezing into town. Who knew when that might happen again or when he'd find some other blonde to get all groiny with?

Of course, said vampire with a soul never needed to know any of that. That would be Cordelia's salvation.

~*~*~*~The End~*~*~*~