just fic
Title: Auspices
Author: Helen
Posted: 6-30-2005
Email: helen_taft@msn.com
Rating: PG-15 this part again. Overall a definite NC-17
Pairing: C/A
Summary & notes: AU S4 from scratch. Cordelia didn’t ascend and the FG search for Angel. The problem is they find him.
Feedback: Yup, feeding is good, or my muse will sulk. Also, feel free to include criticism if you feel the urge, so long as it’s constructive.
Posted: AO & ST
Distribution: Go team, Angel’s Archive, Just fic
Notes: Huge smoochey thanks to Susi (SpikesSire) for the fabulous fic-pic.



Part two

The Hyperion Hotel was dark and silent. During the dead of night like now, Angel felt at peace in a way he couldn’t when the humans were awake. He liked it this way. This was his time and he wandered the unlit corridors in a silent prowl, restless and yet appeased at the same time.

After two weeks he was able to shrug off his antipathy for this hotel and accept its shelter. More than that, he could even admit it had a lot going for it given its sheer size. Angel liked space. He also liked a territory that was his own to guard.

With the Thesulac demon gone the only fly in his ointment was the humans. Unfortunately, they were big, persistent flies, too. As usual with that line of thinking a dark frown settled low over his eyes.

Coming to the end of the hall, Angel stepped into the rectangular blocks of silvery moonlight patterning the floor from the window. About to turn the corner he stopped when movement outside caught his attention. One fluid step and he was stood at the side of the window. Angel found them within seconds. With vampire eye-sight it wasn’t difficult to locate dark shadows that moved furtively and without the excuse of a breeze.

Irritation spiked and the frown became a glower. Great, more humans. Did they not even have the sense to avoid danger these days?

These had cameras and strange looking goggles strapped around their heads. He’d seen them before and toyed with the idea of going out there and knocking a few heads together as a deterrent for the future. It was obvious they were up to no good, but as before he decided that so long as they stayed on top of the perimeter wall Angel was willing to let them spend an uncomfortable and fruitless few hours.

His peace ruined for the moment, Angel heard her and hated how the miniscule sounds she made in slumber reached him no matter where he was. Having finished his circuit of this floor, Angel was back to where he’d started. His room was down at the bottom of the corridor with the Texan and her hulking boyfriend only a few doors away from where he stood. Cordelia Chase, the current bane of his life, occupied a room in-between.

Every night Angel swore he was going to find another room, one much further away, and yet as hard as he looked there was always something wrong with each prospect. Angel was starting to suspect there was a part of him satisfied with the current arrangements. You’re attracted to her. The thought caught him as he was about to resist temptation and go back the way he’d come, perhaps taking a flight of stairs up a level.

Enveloped in darkness, Angel froze again. When hell freezes over, maybe, he mentally retorted; denying that inner voice. I’ve never met a more aggravating, foolish and stubborn woman in my life. Does that sound like attraction to you? Or, the fact that whenever I’m around her, I want to throttle her just to shut her up?

That should have been the end of that inner debate, except Angel could feel the hollow ring in those denials. He got moving before the voice came back and pointed out that while getting hands-on was definitely a part of that craving, throttling was not top of the list. Deciding it was safer to retreat and head for another part of the hotel, it only took a muffled yelp to have him spinning around again and sprinting for Cordelia’s room.

Striding inside and leaving the door open, Angel's first priority was checking that she lay safely on the bed. Spotting a lump under the covers with dark hair peeking over the top, he turned his attention to the rest of the small space and scanned every corner and crevice as a precaution.

There was nothing untoward and aware he’d just been driven to panic by likely nothing more than an unpleasant dream, he tipped back his head and sucked in a breath, reaching for patience. God dammit, she’d done it to him again. He wanted to howl and smash things with his fists. Without even trying she’d made him break his vow not to come in here when she was asleep.

Baffled rage suffused him. Rounding the bed until he could see her face, Angel stood and stared with his fists clenched tight. How could she look so peaceful and still tear his willpower to shreds? Tense as a bowstring and against the odds, he wished she’d wake up and start yakking at him. At least then she’d stop looking so damned…tempting. Angel's head reared back as if struck and dark eyes burned with helpless fury at the realisation that he did want her.

Maybe it was simply the way she seemed to accept him, doing her utmost to convince him that he belonged here with them- with her. Angrily, Angel had to admit Machiavelli couldn’t have dream up a better torment. It was like being handed everything he’d craved in one beautiful package. His knuckles turned bone white. She was a convincing actress, too, damn her!

Shaking his head and not for the first time since waking up to find her underneath him, Angel wanted to rail at whatever sadistic fates insisted on toying with him. Other vampires did horrific things every day and yet they weren’t put through the torture of wanting what they dared not take. As he watched she sighed and stretched out. The move revealed more of her face and Angel willed himself to step back, turn away or simply lift his gaze and yet still he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Whatever unpleasantness that caused her to cry out must have dissipated and she lay boneless and deeply asleep. Why did she trust him? he wondered a little desperately Charade or not. He was a monster and she was his prey. That was the natural order of things. He should be able to sense some fear in her.

Confusion over a lot of things still lay heavily over him, but that was the biggest paradox of all. She knew what he was, they all did, and yet they fell over themselves to keep him here. Deeply suspicious, Angel kept waiting for the punchline only so far it hadn’t arrived.

Among other things photographs of himself in group shots with them had been dug up and dumped in his lap. Playing the game he’d looked at them while they stood around hoping for something Angel couldn’t give. It made no difference, he didn’t remember them and couldn’t relate to the images on the snaps. He recognised himself but felt no kinship with that smiling face. The dark clothed figure in the photos didn’t doubt he belonged. Outside of them, Angel doubted he could stay much longer.

None of it made sense and his frustration with them all sometimes threatened to tip him over the edge. When it got too much, he retreated to the basement and pounded the leather bags hung there until his hands throbbed and body ached with exertion.

With thought suspended, except for throwing punch after punch, there was one thing clear. No matter how many stories they bombarded him with Angel didn’t trust them- any of them. Cordelia might confound him with her quicksilver moods; blunt and to the point one moment and the next sheepish with winning smiles bright enough to light up a room, but he wasn’t falling for any of it.

That begged a question he couldn’t answer. Why am I sticking around?

~

Cordelia fell asleep with her head filled with memories. As if revolting against Angel’s amnesia, her subconscious insisted on nightly reruns that predictably invaded her dreams.

It was the small moments that packed the hardest punch; waking up in a hospital from the nightmare of endless visions to find Angel holding her hand, coming into the office after her brush with demon pregnancy to find him and Wesley fussing and bickering around her desk, hugging him when Doyle died and feeling him hug back as every bit as hard, making him pancakes which he ate just for her.

In the wake if an endless procession of painful recollection, Cordelia struggled to reconcile that vampire with the one she was now living with.

She’d pored over books on Amnesia until her eyes crossed the lines blurred and still felt helpless. So-called experts say that the mind can heal itself. She didn’t know about Angel, but in her case her mind insisted on denying this new Angel and substituting it for the old one. Instead of Angel waking up, running away and threatening his family, Cordelia fantasised about how it should have been.

In her make-believe world she was lying nestled against him when his eyes opened. Wide-eyed with confusion he searched the room before those demon senses kicked in and Angel felt her presence next to him. Then his dazed gaze settled on her.

“Hey there,” her dream self said softly while he adjusted his head on the pillow to see her better, “Welcome back. We missed you.” A flashback of harshly drawn features with hard eyes boring into hers intruded and Cordelia shoved it away.

“I missed you, too,” Angel whispered back, and then confessed roughly, “I’ve dreamt this so many times, I’m not even sure it’s real. Is it real?”

The pleading note in his deep voice had her breath hitching and eyes watering, she reassured him, “It’s real. It took us a while, but we found you and brought you back.”

He still didn’t look convinced and Cordelia could only guess how real some of his own fantasies must have seemed. The mind didn’t just heal, it also played tricks.

A little more forcefully she said, “We never gave up. I knew if we kept trying we’d find you and I was right. I swear this is real.”

Then injecting a little lightness because she was uncomfortable knowing they’d not got to the point of discussing their feelings, she added, “Besides, if I thought getting away from you was going to be that easy, I’d have tipped you into the ocean a long time ago.” She quirked a brow, “Face facts- we’re stuck with one another, champ.”

Being Angel and a dork he didn’t realise straight away she was kidding and he searched her face with a frown before it cleared as the penny dropped. His smile was brief but brimming with relief, “I can live with that. Being stuck with you is kind of nice.”

“Glad you think so.”

In the pause, Angel’s face returned to solemn lines, “Thanks for not giving up on me, Cordy.”

In most moods; good or bad, Angel’s eyes were proof positive that they really were the windows to the soul. In her dream his eyes were like swirls of velvet gazing at her with a mixture of sadness and…love.

“I really did think-“

The sadness was for Connor and she only hoped she was reading him right in assuming the love was for her. Welling up again, Cordelia pressed a finger to his lips to shush him, “Forget what might have been…and you’re welcome.”

That settled him down and during the quiet spell, Cordelia toyed with idea of bringing up Connor and their aborted meeting at the bluff alone; then discarded both ideas as too soon. Angel looked exhausted, worried about wearing him out, Cordelia decided to leave him in peace. Leaning down to kiss his cheek, she lingered and felt him stiffen in surprise- then melt.

His hand gripped hers with surprising strength. “Don’t leave me, please.”

Lifting up to see his face, she knew then that any questions about how he felt could wait. Angel loved her. It was written all over his face along with a debilitating fear. Happy tears pricked and when she sat up, her voice was husky with them, too, “You need to take it easy and rest. You’ve been through a lot, big guy.”

“Cordy…” he faltered and it didn’t take a genius to guess he hated being so weak.

Giving his hand another squeeze, Cordelia soothed him, “I’ll only be gone a few minutes. The others have been just as worried as me. They’ll want to know you’re awake and okay, too.”

~

Being pulled from that tender fantasy by the thud of a closing door was disorienting. Rolling onto her back, Cordelia listened intently before sitting up. A glance at the alarm clock revealed it was 4.35. “What the-“ Reaching over to snap on the bedside light, she checked the room and found nothing amiss and nobody there. Had she dreamt that thud?

She was on her feet and padding barefoot over to the door before the thought had time to be answered. She had not dreamt it. Somebody had opened and closed her door. Pulling it open and peering left, Cordelia’s gaze clashed with narrowed and distinctly unfriendly brown. Surrounded by darkness and little more than a broad shouldered silhouette except for his coldly impassive face, she sucked in a stunned breath thinking, nope, no velvet there.

As she watched the real Angel pushed open his door, stepped inside and closed it with finality. He hadn’t said a word or acknowledged her in any way. The message was loud and clear; he may as well have slammed that door in her face.

She shoved the hurt behind a surge of red-hot anger. “Son of a bitch!”

Slamming her own door, Cordelia leant back against it with her head tipped up, glaring hotly at the ceiling. It was impossible not feel bitter that reality didn’t compare to fantasy. Not anymore anyway. “Oh who cares, it was a crappy dream anyway.”

Knowing going back to sleep was impossible at this point, Cordelia headed for a cleansing shower. Feeling a fool and pushing away to stomp over to the bathroom, she snarled, “God! How pathetic was that?”

Inside the tiny bathroom she yanked her sleep shirt up and off. “Okay, lesson learned. That’s it! I am *done* dreaming fairytale endings.” The sounds of the shower spurting to life failed to drown out the rest. “Fairytales are for little kids who don’t know that the wolf was actually a vampire who really did eat grandma; Little Red Riding Hood and any other innocent person that crossed his path.”

It was only when the pounding spray soothed away some of the raw edges that Cordelia remembered the certainty that he’d been in her room. Wondering why came a distant second to the decision to start locking her door every night.

~

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Dancing back from the swinging bag, Angel didn’t look at her, “I’m working out.”

Cordelia had to raise her voice over the pummelling of the heavy bag, “You’ve been down here for hours. How much working out does a vampire need?”

“As much as I want.” Shoulders pumping and fists flying in a furious rhythm, Angel knew he was being rude in not taking a break. Perversely that only made him more determined not to be interrupted.

“If that’s all you wanted,” he said pointedly, “I’m busy here.”

His knuckles were raw and his back and shoulders were screaming for him to cease. However, used to levels of pain far greater than pushing himself too hard could cause, Angel tuned the pain out. He’d been on the verge of that white haze he needed to blank everything out. Cordelia arriving had just tossed that out of the window, so being polite was beyond him.

Sweat cooled on his shoulders and dripped down his chest. The undershirt he’d been wearing at the start was sodden and had been tossed into a corner. Cordelia’s death-glare bored into his back. Until she suddenly appeared behind the bag and grabbed it before it could swing back.

Pulling back his latest punch, Angel growled, “Hey!” and swiped away the irritating moisture from his brow, “Don’t you have any sense-“

“We haven’t seen you at since yesterday,” interrupted Cordelia, stepping around the now still bag, “If you aren’t hiding in your room doing…” she waved a dismissive hand, “…God only knows what. You’re down here beating the ever livin’ crap out of a stuffed dead cow. What’s with you recently?”

I want to know why you’ve started locking your door at night? “Nothing,” Angel bit out, glaring, “Except for you getting in my way.”

Swinging away before she could respond, Angel stalked angrily over to the nearby chair and swiping up the towel, rubbed it over his head and neck. He was glad she’d locked her door, he told himself. It meant he had no choice but to leave her be and helped him resist whatever pull she had on him. I should have just left he thought when a wall of warmth on his front warned him of her approach. Heat prickled along his skin. She’d be a distant memory if I’d just followed my instincts and got out.

Starting at an angrily tapping sandal with open toes, Angel’s gaze travelled up long legs encased in denim and topped with a fitted, button-down shirt that was open at the neck. They were casual work clothes that should have left him cold. He blamed the tumbling mass of mahogany curls and sultry lips for the lust shimmering in his belly.

The look on her face turned that shimmer into lead. “What?” he prodded, hiding a sudden wariness.

“You don’t talk or interact with us in any way.” Cordelia crossed her arms and visibly steeled herself, “It’s upsetting the others and being the boss now, I can’t let that continue. We have a job to do and you’re making it harder- not easier.”

She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. Charles Gunn was looking ready to explode and start staking because of how upset his girlfriend was getting at being consistently ignored or coldly rebuffed.

“Really,” Angel said insolently, hooking the towel around his neck, “and what exactly do you plan to do about it.”

Going stiff, Cordelia dropped her arms and that honeyed gaze turned coldly unwavering. “If things don’t change within the next few days, I’m looking for a new office. You want to be left alone- you got it, asshole.”

Halfway towards the stairs leading back up; having left him stunned by a wave of furious denial, Cordelia spun back and threw up her hands in helplessness. “I thought we could work this out, even without your memory, but I’m starting to get the idea I was wrong. I’m tired of trying to get through that thick…dumb head of yours.”

Pausing, she looked him straight in the eye. “As much as I want my friend back, I refuse to keep beating my head against a brick wall to do it. The same goes for the others.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” Angel retorted, the ice in his gaze slicing deep, “did you think about that before storming down here?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she shot back every bit as cool, “And we both know that’s a lie.” Just like that the gloves came off. With her hair tossed out of the way, Angel couldn’t miss the arch, knowing expression on her face, “You might skulk around the edges like we’re trespassing, pretending you want to be all alone, but I know deep down you want in. You’ve spent a century alone because you had no choice, and now you have an offer of true friendship- you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

“Basically, you’re afraid, and if you screw this up you’re nothing but a stinking coward, Angel.”

~

Since Angel didn’t have a clue where they were going, Wesley drove the Plymouth. During the journey there was mostly silence between the two one-time friends. Of all of them, Angel felt the most comfortable with the ex-watcher, as ridiculous as that sounded.

Unshaven and dressed in rumpled khaki pants, navy tee and denim overshirt, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce gave off the impression that he expected nothing from nobody and consequently expected the same lack of pressure applied to himself. Angel was happy to oblige.

He knew the story of how the Englishman had stolen his son to save Angel from himself, and a prophesy that declared he would kill the child. But like the other stories it felt unreal, as if he were hearing a story about somebody else’s life. He didn’t hold a grudge because he didn’t feel any connection to the child, or this man.

The constant stream of headlights irritated his eyes, rubbing them to clear the resulting coloured spots, Angel almost missed the question tossed casually his way.

“Did you let Cordelia and the others know you were going out?”

That would have rankled even before ‘the’ ultimatum and everything else she’d tossed his way. Now it set his teeth on edge. Angel’s reply was bitten out, “I don’t need a keeper, or permission to do what I want when I want.”

Wisely, Wesley opted not to respond past a brief raising of his brows, “Fine- as you say- you are your own man.”

Despite the neutral tone, Angel sensed an admonishment which he promptly ignored. However, since Wesley had opened the lines of communication, Angel took advantage, “So, where are we going, or is still a state secret?” They were headed towards West Hollywood, that much he could tell, but beyond that he was lost with all of the changes that happened in the last fifty years.

“It’s not so much a state secret, as I don’t want you going in there with preconceived ideas,” explained Wesley unapologetically. “We’ll be there in a moment. Hold onto your curiosity a little longer will you?”

It took a moment for it to sink in that he’d just been rebuffed. “Fine- holding, but whatever this is, it better be worth it,” he warned gruffly and then scowling blackly, Angel the silence swallow them again.

If getting out of the hotel for a purpose other than prowling the streets hadn’t been such an appealing prospect he wouldn’t be here, but here he was. Besides the human had piqued his interest and back at the hotel, Cordelia had been burning a hole between his shoulder-blades. Ever since the confrontation in the basement yesterday, avoiding her hadn’t been enough to halt the seething build-up of tension.

Yanking his wandering thoughts back from that particular topic, Angel took a quick glance at the side mirror as they exited off the freeway. Another car took the same exit; a fact which by itself was hardly surprising except he recognised the car from back at the hotel. “We’re being followed,” he advised crisply and waited for them to take a corner before turning in his seat for a better look.

“Ignore them,” said Wesley, every bit as no nonsense, “From what I’ve gathered over the last few days they’re remit is purely surveillance, not interference.”

“You know them I take it,” said Angel. It wasn’t a question. He gave his full attention to the man driving his car and asked softly, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t assume you’re the reason behind all of the spying and break your neck?”

Wesley shrugged and spared only a brief unimpressed glance, “Why would I want to spy on you? What I don’t already know about what goes on inside that hotel isn’t worth knowing,” he replied shortly. If he was intimidated by the low voiced threat, he didn’t show it. “I know who they work for from bitter experience. As would any of the others if you asked them. They’re from Wolfram & Hart.”

Angel had heard a lot about that particular law firm and didn’t like what he’d heard. “You know that for certain?”

“There aren’t really any other candidates,” said Wesley, refraining from mentioning he was screwing their boss and had questioned her during a crucial moment. It had been entertaining watching her try and evade his questions and fail when he threatened to halt the proceedings.

A few minutes later, Wesley pulled up inside a small chain link fenced parking area complete with rusted out wrecks. “Nice neighbourhood,” commented Angel dryly when the engine died.

“This the picturesque part,” said Wesley sardonically getting out of the car, “You should see the rest.”

“I’ll settle for getting where we’re going.”

The single remaining streetlight gave off a strong electric hum that was far noisier than the meagre light it offered would seem to justify. Dressed head-to-toe in familiar black, Angel all but merged with the encompassing darkness.

Wesley jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the way to go, “Follow me then.”

Then building Wesley led him inside was predictably derelict and in a serious case of disrepair. The basement was in decent shape though. It had also been used by a large group of people not long ago judged Angel. Wesley stood aside and let him look around. Soon enough Angel’s gaze settled on a girl chained to the wall. There was a whole rack of them, but she was the single occupant. Feral green eyes glared undiluted hatred through dirty strings of red hair.

Hiding uneasy surprise, Angel cocked his head assessingly and then said, “If she’s supposed to be a present for me. I probably should have mentioned I gave up red-heads for lent.”

Silence greeted that remark and Angel was a little shocked himself at the uncharacteristic comment, putting it down to the instant dislike she brought out in him that was truly rare. Going off her expression the feeling was mutual. Curious, Angel levelled a pointed look at Wesley, “I think its past time you told me what this is all about, don’t you?”

Pushing away from the doorjamb, Wesley smiled ironically, “Certainly, why don’t I start off with some re-introductions?” Strolling over to the woman, he pulled down the gag from around her mouth, saying, “Angel meet Justine. She already knows you thanks to her brief and brainwashing relationship with Daniel Holtz.”

“Bastards!” screwing up her face, she spat at Wesley, missing thankfully, and then demanded hoarsely, “Let me go. You have no right to keep me here.” Underneath the stained moss green shirt her chest heaved with emotion, all of it bad. Threadbare jeans and combat boots completed the ensemble.

“I’ll decide that.” Stated Wesley, sliding her a warning look that spoke volumes about recent unpleasant encounters. “And keep your bile to yourself. Unless of course you like those chains enough you would prefer me to leave you here after we’re done?”

“Fuck you!” Justine shot back venomously, “I’ve taken all the crap I’m going to off you.” The chains rattled when she jerked a chin towards Angel, “I paid my dues when I helped you find him. Let-me-go!”

“Confessing where you dumped him was hardly what I would call ‘help’, so no.” Wesley said firmly and then explained for Angel’s benefit. “Among her many recent endeavours, Justine here helped Holtz frame you for his murder, and then assisted Connor in tossing you into the sea.”

Angel was still struggling with the mention of one of the darkest parts of his history, so he kept it simple, “Busy girl.”

Through the frame of her arms, Justine’s lip curled, “You’re free aren’t you.”

He met her hostile gaze and let his lips kick up into an unpleasant smile, “Unlike you.”

Kicking some debris aside, Wesley made himself comfortable on an upside down box. Memories of his last visit here flashed before his eyes as he continued his mini exposition. “This is where Holtz and Justine ran their little vampire fighting operation. Concentrating, as I’m sure you know, on us at Angel Investigations.”

The concept of his single human nemesis having himself frozen so he could reach out beyond the grave to extract revenge had been one of the hardest to swallow. Now Angel couldn’t repress a shudder as the undeniable if faded scent of Daniel Holtz pervaded his senses. He could feel the vampire hunter’s malevolent presence. The ramifications of accepting that part of Cordelia’s story he couldn’t deal with right now, so he shoved that aside.

Angel was starting to get an idea, but he wanted to hear it from the man himself, “Tell me why we’re here, Wesley,” he asked, aware of a growing sensation of being hemmed in.

Suspicious brown met piercing blue. “You wouldn’t listen to your friends, so I thought I’d give hearing it from your enemies a whirl,” Wesley admitted bluntly. Turning his attention back to the seething red-head, he demanded, “Tell him about you, Holtz and Conner. Leaving out the foul language if you please.”

~

Angel was pacing restlessly by the time the woman was through with her grudgingly told story. With some probing and prodding off Wesley the story that unfolded matched the one he’d heard from Cordelia. Why it made a difference that this girl hated him, Angel didn’t stop to analyse. Against the odds his conviction that it was all lies began to waver.

With a look at his watch, Wesley cut the interrogation short. While Angel was still struggling to digest what he’d heard and what it meant, Justine was freed and ushered out. Feeling his return, Angel looked up from his dazed contemplation of the pitted concrete floor to see Wesley settle back onto his make shift-seat.

For some reason, Angel got the impression they weren’t done here. “Not what?” he asked sharply, “You got another witness lined up for me?”

“Now we wait,” said Wesley with another glance at his watch.

Annoyed, Angel spread his hands and asked, “Wait for what?”

With immaculate timing a thud from upstairs followed by bellows of laughter went someway towards answering his question. Getting to his feet, Wesley said unnecessarily, “That.”

‘That’ was a bunch of vampires who were soon clattering down the stairs, joking and taunting one another about being scared at coming inside the ‘House of Horrors’.

Flicking his wrist until a foot long blade shot out form his wrist, Wesley finally confessed, “After Holtz disappeared his team disbanded. The local vampires now use this as a sort of twisted tourist attraction for the undead. They come around here at about the same time every night. I had thought I may have got Justine out too late, but she was in luck.”

“And the reason you’re only telling me this now?” growled Angel with a wary eye on the open doorway.

“This is the other reason I brought you here. It’s my last demonstration- sort of.”

“Demonstration of what?” snapped the irritated vampire, “That you’re crazy and have a death wish?”

“You’ll see,” replied Wesley cryptically.

That was all they had time for before half a dozen vampires in full fang face filled the doorway and blocked the only escape route. Spotting the two tall dark haired men stood waiting for them the vampires froze. The silence stretched. Angel and Wesley didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. Then recognition entered topaz eyes and one muttered, “Isn’t that Angel?!”

The tension built to screaming point and violence charged the atmosphere. Feeling it and guessing what was coming, Angel slid Wesley a filthy look and spoke up, “Whatever your thinking forget it. I didn’t come here for a fight. We’re leaving now.”

They mulled that over for perhaps a second. “He’s lying,” said one, “It’s a trick and as soon as we relax, he’s gonna dust us.”

“There’ll be no dusting,” interrupted Angel. “I don’t care what you’re doing here.”

“Bullshit, you dust your own kind wherever you find ‘em. Everybody knows that.”

“Not anymore,” growled Angel frustrated that everybody insisted on slapping this noble defender mantle on him.

“It’s useless, Angel. They won’t believe you,” hissed Wesley, aware he was audible to all.

Angel’s harsh, “Shut-up!” was cut short by one vampire stepping forward, shoulders hunched and face reflecting menace.

“All I know is you’ve killed at least three of my oldest friends,” he said and rolled massive shoulders, “I don’t aim to get added to that list. You’re human pet is right, I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t keep pets and I don’t want a fight,” repeated Angel, uselessly. Two of the vamps must have agreed with him because they whirled and fled back up the stairs. But that still left four of them to fight off.

Hands loose at his sides, Angel gave up on the hope of convincing these vampires he didn’t want to get involved and waited for the first one to charge. The largest of them; the one with the dusted buddies, leapt at him and Angel waited until the last moment before twisting aside and reaching up to catch him by the shoulders. Spinning on the balls of his feet, Angel flung the vampire aside to crash into the rack of chains and then carried on the momentum of the spin to deliver an arcing kick at the one following up behind.

Wesley had already decapitated a third and was ducking under a swinging punch from another. With only a few seconds before his two recovered, Angel searched for a weapon and spying the remains of a wooden table, stamped down on it. That done he picked out one piece that was long and sharp enough to act as a stake.

Too late he felt the rush of air that warned of an assault and wasn’t able to dive away from the stamping boot that slammed heavily into his back. Rammed onto the wrecked table, Angel felt a sharp pain into his abdomen and realised he’d nearly got himself staked by his own tactic.

Rolling with a leading elbow, Angel dislodged his opponent and thrusting up on his shoulder-blades leapt to his feet. Deflecting a punch with his right, he slashed at the vampire’s middle with the pointed stake and forced it to retreat. Then dropping to his haunches he swept out a foot intending to knock him off his feet. The vampire saw it coming though and jumped out of the way. Grinning and gaining confidence with every second, he attacked again, crowing, “You’ve grown slow and weak under the sea, Angelus.”

Upright again and feinting to his right, Angel caught the flying fist aiming for his face in one palm and the grinning face with the other. Tightening his fingers and mangling the lips, he drew the not so amused face closer and warned, “First rule of battle, don’t get cocky.” Then with a mighty heave he sent it staggering back into its buddy, bring both vampires down in a tangle of limbs.

Striding over before they could untangle themselves, he finished, “Second rule- don’t piss off your opponent.” The stake was rammed home into the topmost vampire and it disintegrated with a scream of agony; leaving the smaller of the two vampires cringing on the floor with its forearms crossed to protect its chest.

This one was much weaker and obviously a coward without its hefty protector. “Hey man, why don’t we forget all of this and do what you suggested. You know- just leave?” the vampire wheedled, looking pathetic being half curled into a foetal position.

Angel didn’t even have to think about it, “Because it’s too late for that.” Raising the stake high over his head for the second time, Angel didn’t wait to watch the vampire’s terrified face explode into dust before searching out Wesley.

Seeing the human standing and watching with his arms casually crossed only strengthened his towering rage. Lunging and catching him by the throat, Angel slammed him against the wall and snarled, “You set me up.”

It was a good thing Wesley wasn’t the type to deny it because he didn’t have time for a debate. Stiffly and with some difficulty he got out, “You needed it proved to you that the past clings.”

“Ya think,” retorted Angel, eyes narrowed into slits and tightening his hold, “I knew that already, genius.”

“That includes the last five years,” managed Wesley with his last air. The message was clear. If the stories he’d heard was true, Angel was marked by all demon-kind as the enemy. Not wanting to get involved wouldn’t help him escape that fact.

Wesley was running out of breath fast. Frustratedly aware that he wouldn’t kill him, Angel opened his hand and let him slide to the floor. “I don’t like the way you make your points. From now on stay away from me- and the hotel,” he warned low, dangerous and meaning every word.

“You’ve said that to me before,” replied Wesley in a voice raw from the abuse, “What makes you think I’ll listen this time? You and I have unfinished business; until that’s completed, you’ll just have to put up with me.” Slumped on the floor and holding his throat, he still managed to look both dangerous and unpredictable.

There wasn’t much Angel could say or do in response to that unless he really was willing kill him. Except perhaps to walk away and snap, “I don’t care about before. I only care about now. You’ve been warned.” At the door he swivelled on one heel, an evil smile curving mobile lips, “Oh last thing…you can find your own way home.”


Part Three

Cordelia grasped the box by its plastic lid and dragged it out from under the bed, then wrinkled her nose and thought again about how much she despised cleaning. Dust zeroed in on her nasal passages and mouth no matter how careful she was. Pausing to swipe her face over her sleeve, she scowled. “Gross!”

“That’s it I’m convinced this hotel is cursed with dust.” How else do you explain the fact that it coated everything no matter how much you cleaned, or didn’t in her case.

“Okay, okay” she grumbled, “Question answered and for once it’s not supernatural.”

With the box free Cordy risked getting her face close to the floor to check she’d pulled everything out. Spying a wrinkled, lonely sock lying amidst the dust, she sighed heavily, wished she hadn’t with the resulting storm of dust bunnies, and gingerly reached under to pick it up between thumb and index finger.

Task done she tossed it atop the box and sitting back on her heels disconsolately surveyed the mess. She’d made the dumb decision to occupy her time with some cleaning only about five minutes ago and was regretting it already.

“Cordy,” she said out-loud, “Next time you need a distraction from those ever increasing problems- try a massage parlour, hmm?” A quick check of her hands and nails had her changing her mind, “Or, better yet a manicure. Yeesh! *Look* at these hands.”

Still it needed doing.

Getting to sneaker covered feet, Cordy snatched up the brush with both hands, scowled deeper and said, “I’m still here aren’t I? Do you see me making a beeline for the exit and nails’r’us?”

A minute of energetic brushing convinced her to open both of windows as wide as they would go. As she did her gaze swept over the hotels perimeter wall and the drive out to the street. For about the hundredth time she paused, hoping to see the sweep of headlights that would herald Angel’s return from wherever he’d gone with Wesley.

The old King of Brood and his protégé out on a trip together. Wasn’t that just great? Except somehow team building didn’t spring to mind. She hoped to hell Wesley knew what he was doing.

What really bugged her was that they only knew he’d gone out with him because Gunn had found Wesley’s bike propped up where the Plymouth should have been. Gee, thanks, Angel, it was nice of you to leave a note saying where you going- not! She was seriously temped to take Fred up on her offer of rigging up a tracking device for the arrogant asshole.

What stopped her was the knowledge it might not be their business for much longer if he didn’t get his act together pretty damned quick. That realisation was also a big part of the reason for the spring-cleaning gig she was currently and mistakenly engaged in. Turning back to get back to it, Cordy couldn’t help comparing the last few weeks to living in a war camp. She hadn’t been just blowing off steam when she’d snapped at that they were sick and tired of banging their heads against a brick wall. Angel was a fortress of stubborn solitude with her, Fred and Gunn camped outside.

Picking up the brush again, she tracked a few cobwebs from the ceiling rose all the way to the left hand corner of the ceiling. “Kinda reminds me of Troy only without a bronzed Brad Pitt to brighten up the gloom and doom.” Up on tiptoe and expression full of distaste she swiped at the stringy mass, adding dryly, “And there’s me losing my copy of the Iliad.”

Or more accurately, Angel’s copy. Oops When or if he got her memory back, she’d have to think up a good excuse for the missing and unfortunately rare copy.

If Angel got his memory back. Frustration churned in her gut; which, when added to the jittery anxious feeing already set up shop there made for a seriously angsty Cordelia Chase. Hardly surprising in the circumstances.

The hotel was tense and way too quiet. Every day it seemed more energy was sucked out of it. It reminded Cordy of one of Fred’s mysterious black holes and she kept on expecting a dark, swirly circle to open up and suck them all in.

Cordelia hated tiptoeing around anyone but found herself doing it with Angel. Until his crappy attitude of the other day sent her temper skyrocketing. Then all she’d been able to think was screw this, if he didn’t want to be a part of them anymore, they were better of leaving him to stew in his own juices again.

She’d meant what she’d said. But, damn, Cordy needed him to come around before she was forced to carry out her threat.

As much as he pissed her off, she couldn’t forget this was a kind of sickness. Angel had lost his memory; not just gone loco like the last time. If this was her and she got her memory back only to find her friends had abandoned her because she was too much ‘trouble’ – there’d be hell to pay. The real Angel deserved better than that. Hadn’t he gone berserk and not rested until he could rescue her from that impromptu inter-dimensional trip to Pylea. Sure, this was different…and not-

Damn it! Now she was wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. Plus with Wolfram & Hart hovering around there was always the chance they’d use them leaving him as a window of opportunity to do…something. Something equating to unimaginably bad.

At that, Cordelia stopped the half-hearted swipes at the ceiling and closed her eyes, swept by an exhaustion that had more to do with stress than activity. Before they’d found Angel being boss had been relatively easy with no moral quandary’s to plague her about whether they were doing the right thing. Ever since he’d woken up, she’d been stuck in no-mans-land with no clear objective or measure to guess if she was just making everything so much worse.

Jesus, could it even get worse?! Hazel eyes opened to glare upwards. “Before anyone up there gets any ideas,“ she said, “That was *not* me tempting fate, okay?! I have enough stress thank you very much.”

Stress lines and bags the size of suitcases were the least of her problems. They needed Angel back and the way she felt right now; drained, uncertain and alone, he could have the driver’s seat back with her blessing. She might even leave off making snide comments about his leadership style for a few weeks.

Put simply and on a scale of 1-10 the situation was a drastic 20 and getting worse. Something Cordy was losing the battle to halt. All of them were on their last nerves and the last time Fred did a probabilities analysis of Angel getting his memory back anytime soon, Cordelia had bitten her head off so hard the Texan had retreated to her room.

It was after that when she’d tackled Angel. Cordelia called that her last stand and she was still waiting for his return salvo to see who was left standing. Afterwards, locked tight with a seething anger that had her wanting to hurl and smash things, Cordelia had stormed past an agog Gunn, stonewalling his questions and followed Fred’s example in retreating to her room.

A few hours later she got over it and went back down and after tossing out a few apologies, tried to settle back down to work. Not that they had any to settle down to. That was another problem. Cos you can never have too many of those, she tacked on snidely. The complete lack of visions had been a plus when they were searching for Angel, and God knows she’d been grateful to be able to focus on finding him. Now though it was getting to be a constant worry.

It was almost like the PTB’s were sulking, or waiting for the champ to get his faculties back. Which of that was the case, pissed her off, too, since they were doing jack to help out in that respect.

They were getting by thanks to a few bones tossed their way by David Nabbit and some of Gunn’s old contacts, but nothing solid enough to pay their way for much longer. They needed an honest-to-goodness paying job- pronto.

Rapid movement over Cordelia’s head snagged her wandering attention. Coming too to find the spider who owned the impressive web had come out to investigate, she managed not to jump back in alarm at the big, hairy and black arachnid that was gracing the spot directly over her bed. Recovering her wits, Cordelia backed away a little and lifting her chin, she eyed it balefully.

“Don’t give me that stony ‘how dare you touch my stuff’ look,” she huffed, “this is *my* room, damn it!”

Illogical or not, the spiders responding scuttle along the ceiling held a strong hint of arrogant swagger. Cordy’s eyes narrowed to furious slits and she planted her free hand on her hip. “Cocky much? Wanna know something? Back at my place your ass wouldn’t have lasted five minutes,” she informed it, “I have my very own phantom who gets rids of you guys.”

Not that Dennis could help her now. The spider just hung upside down and stared impassively back at her. There was no doubt about it; this one was definitely of the evil spider variety. Analysing her chances of getting rid of it without someway managing to get it tangled up in her sheets and disappearing to gain revenge later, Cordelia backtracked and tried reason first.

“Look we can’t both live in this room. And as much as I don’t want to mess with you- you *really* don’t want to mess with me either. So, what say you pack up your sticky little bags and skedaddle and we’ll call it quits, okay?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch of a leg. “Fine,” she said tightly, raising the brush back up, “You want to get squished that’s peachy by me.”

Braced and wielding it as if it really was a deadly weapon, Cordy was ready to attack when her door opened without warning and startled her. Framed in the doorway, Fred stopped and stared at the unusual tableau greeting her. Swinging about, Cordelia could only wince and guess what the other girl was thinking.

Trying to intimidate a spider as if it could actually understand; while wearing no cosmetics, hair up in a pony, old jeans with holes in the knees and a t-shirt that had seen better days wasn’t what you’d call a great way to come off as a strong, confident and in-charge kind of gal.

Brown eyes blinked, “Cor, whatcha doin?”

About to point out the monstrous spider, Cordelia heaved a defeated sigh at seeing it had used her distraction to make its escape. Irritated, she tossed the brush aside and said, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“A middle of the night spring clean?” hazarded the petite Texan with disarming innocence; visibly struggling not to linger on the smudges of dirt gracing classical cheekbones.

“Trying to,” inserted Cordy, sitting disconsolately on the end of the bed, “before I got distracted by a spider the size of a puppy that somehow managed to remind me of Angel.”

Only Fred could follow that line of reasoning, her look was sympathetic, “Wouldn’t listen to you, huh?”

That brought out a tiny helpless smile that still managed to light up her whole face. “Yup, you got it and thanks for not pointing out the ridiculousness of trying to reason with an insect.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Fred, “Here let me help with that.” Picking up the fallen brush, she went on to admit, “I don’t like killin ‘em either, but getting close enough to scoop them up-“

“Oh God! Don’t!”

Without being asked, Fred began to sweep up the debris from under the bed, “Did you know they’re not insects?”

“Yeah, I caught that in a biology class featuring our very own man-eating spider woman as teacher.”

Fred’s head came back up, “Really?”

“Don’t ask. Long boring story.” Cordelia waved it off and pointed out, “You don’t have to help me you know. I probably need all the practice I can get. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I like cleaning” delicate shoulders shrugged, “it helps blow the cobwebs out of my mind,” Fred grinned.

Groaning and rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Cordy got back up and moving over to the dresser; began clearing some space. “In that case you brush and I’ll polish. We can toss for the mopping.”

A little while later and taking a break, Fred looked up at Cordy lying spread-eagled on the bed. She was comfortable sitting on the floor with her chin on her knees. “So, how did you get from a spider to Angel? I’ve been trying to figure out the relationship.”

Cordy didn’t even have to think about it. “Think emotionless, and so completely impassive he’d probably still reflect back nothing even if you stripped off and did a dying swan act on his bed.”

That gave Fred pause, “Thought about it have you?”

“Among other things,” said Cordy tiredly. “In case you hadn’t noticed I’m running out of ideas…and time.”

They both knew she was referring to the ultimatum hanging over their heads. Wisely, Fred moved on. “I know what you mean about the empty shell,” she said sadly, and twisted her lips, “My parents took me to New England on vacation once when I was fourteen. There was this castle that had been imported all the way from Scotland, brick by brick.”

Wondering where this was going, Cordy curled up on one side with her head on her left palm. Experience had taught her that you had to get comfortable for one of Winifred Burkle’s rambles, and since she was feeling grateful for the help, evasion wasn’t an option.

“You could tell as soon as you got close that it was seriously pissed off at being moved. It had this creepy menacing air as if it would like nothing better than to let you inside and than coming crashing down on top of your head.”

“Nasty,” offered Cordy with a shiver that wasn’t entirely faked.

“The sky over it was all heavy sullen clouds and the air so oppressive, I could hardly breathe with the weight of it.”

“You went inside?” asked Cordy in the pause.

“Only as far as the Great Hall,” confessed Fred with a blush, “I stayed by the fireplace as somewhere to duck into if the roof really did come down. I had an active imagination as a teenager.”

Hugging her knees tighter, Fred finally got to the point of the story. “Angel reminds me of that castle,” she finished slowly and flicked a glance up at Cordelia, “Charles says he might as well be Angelus.”

Coming out of the blue as that did, Cordy went from semi-relaxed to tense in a heartbeat. “Gunn’s wrong,” she shot back and swung her legs around to sit up, “He’s never met Angelus for one thing and believe me none of us want to.” Her gaze was uncompromisingly steady on Fred’s pale face, “There’s no halfway with Angelus and you’d know the second you met him who he was. Then you’d die.”

~


Unaware of the discussion taking place regarding his alter-ego, Angel kept the black jeep that had been following them in his sights. Vaulting from one roof-top to the next, he bided his time and wait for the street to be clear enough of other traffic before making his move. Then leaping high and hard into the air, he plummeted to crash on the gleaming hood; half obliterating the windscreen made of toughened glass.

Instinct had the driver braking heavily. Barely fazed by the impact, Angel punched out more of the shattered glass so he could lean in and knock the man unconscious before he could take evasive action. Driverless and veering towards the sidewalk, the jeep came to a rough, untidy stop at the curb with its rear at a drunken angle. Sliding off the dented hood, Angel strode around to the passenger side. There he yanked open the door and hauled the second stunned human onto the sidewalk. A pistol clattered to the floor, dropped by fumbling hands.

A swift shake later and gripping his lapels, Angel snarled in the terrified man’s face, “I want to set-up a meeting with whoever your boss is, and just so you know, I don’t have much time.”

The demand had even stronger terror flooding bland features. The man dressed all in black and wearing a radio headset, gibbered, “I can’t do that. It’s late and they won’t be expecting-“

A blast of garbled speech came from the earphone, ripping them off and tossing them away, Angel stared and stated too quietly, “You can if you want to live.”

There was a dead silence while that was digested. Lifting the human higher in the single handed grip, Angel searched his few pockets and found a cell phone. “Make the call,” he suggested and held it before the waxen face, “Since they have you following me all over town, I have a feeling your boss might make an exception for me.”

He wasn’t wrong. Ten minutes later, Angel was following the jeep towards the meeting he’d requested. He had no real plan beyond finding out everything that was going on around him. He was tired of being dangled on the end of ignorance. These humans wanted something from him and until he found out what that was, he had no way of knowing if he wanted to give it.

~

Heading downtown towards Bunker Hill, Angel recognised Pershing Square as they passed it on the left. Following the jeep, he turned in at the main gates and round into an almost empty car park. At this time of night the huge city park was deserted with the possible exception of a warden or two. The only vehicles present where a passionately steamed up sedan and a streamlined, glossy black limousine. Angel went with the limo and swung in to park next to it, leaving a good gap as a precaution.

Getting out, he didn’t move towards it but instead leant back against the Plymouth with his arms crossed. The message was clear- nothing was going to persuade him to get inside the blacked out vehicle. A few seconds later the rear door opened and a stunning looking woman in a business suit got out with an impatient sigh. He couldn’t be sure but if he had to place a bet he’d wager she was the bitch Lilah Morgan he’d heard about.

“Hello, Angel, how was your cruise, relaxing?” She greeted, her twisted smile mocking.

“Oh the usual; lots of water and fish,” he replied after a beat, adding as if an afterthought, “The view could have been better.”

She might be beautiful, but Angel didn’t need the snippets he’d been told to warn him she was rotten to the core. Worse, she knew him, giving her the advantage. Deciding not to give her anymore, he kept his face wiped free of expression.

“Yeah, I hear those cabins are getting smaller and smaller.” Sham empathy couldn’t hide the lurking amusement at his expense, “Hardly better than a metal box in fact.”

She was a tall woman, and high heeled pumps brought her up to roughly eye level. More interestingly, there wasn’t a shred of wariness in that sharp gaze. She didn’t intimidate easily. Angel recognised the type; arrogant, diamond hard and convinced they were inviolate because they were the most ruthlessly immoral person they knew. His smile was grim. People like her were dangerous no matter what species you were. Unless you had something they couldn’t take.

Angel’s curiosity hiked up. “How about we cut the pleasantries and get down to business?” he suggested.

“By all means let’s cut the crap,” she said expansively, mimicking his casual stance by leaning into the limo. The agreeable tone didn’t last long before the thin veneer cracked. “I’m on a clock myself and have so many other more…important things to do.”

“Good. I’ll go first,” Angel quirked a brow, “Who the hell are you for a start?”

If he was aiming to knock her off stride, and he was, he succeeded with that question. Nevertheless, Angel was impressed with how quickly she shut down her stunned response; her stare became cool rather than stunned and she lifted her jaw and smiled disbelievingly after only a few seconds.

“What are you saying” she asked searching his face with piercing thoroughness, as if looking for the punchline, “You don’t remember me- seriously?”

“I don’t remember you,” confirmed Angel, “what little I know about your firm comes from other people.”

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I bet that wasn’t complimentary.”

“You’d win that bet.”

Suspicion as sharp as glass dimmed a little after she’d mulled it over. “I do remember something on a report about possible repercussions after your little trip under the sea. So, how much have you lost- a decade- two?”

“Five, give or take a year.”

“Wow, that much- bummer for you.” Head cocked assessingly, she made a decision and smoothly switching gears; stepping over with a warm smile she held out a hand, “in that case let’s start this again shall we. I’m Lilah Morgan. I run Wolfram & Hart. The firm your little pals like to slander so much.”

With her identity confirmed, he wondered why his lack of memory would bring about such a swift and extreme change of attitude. Deciding to play the game for now, Angel shook it the proffered hand and stiffened when she moved to lean beside him against the Plymouth.

“Okay, Lilah, tell me why a law firm is following me around wherever I go?”

“Because we’ve been after you for some time.”

“After me for what?”

“We want to hire you, Angel,” Lilah said, “You won’t remember, but I can assure you we’ve gone to some considerable lengths in the past to convince you to work for us rather than against us.”

“Really, I find that hard to believe. From what I’ve heard I’m your enemy.”

“I told you a while ago that we don’t have to be enemies and that still stands,” countered Lilah. “I admit we’d pretty much give up. Which is why I wasn’t exactly welcoming at first, but if you really have lost your memory then I’m guessing we have a clean slate.” Pausing delicately she lifted a questioning brow, “I’d be willing to reopen those negotiations.”

Angel ignored the cue and said, “The only thing I know about the law is that I don’t trust it. What use am I to you?”

She laughed and shockingly it was genuine, “I have lawyers to practice law. What I need from you is the occasional problem to be made to disappear.” Lilah didn’t bother elaborating. “And in return we’d pay you very generously- not just in money; a big place of your own where you won’t be disturbed- new cars, fully stocked blood bar, girls, boys.” She shrugged, “Hell, whatever floats your boat. Just name it.”

Abruptly Angel tired of the game. Maybe it was the finger walking up his jacket sleeve that did it. Turning to face her, Angel let some of his instinctive revulsion leak through to the surface. “They tell me I’ve lost my memory- not my mind,” he told her, capturing the finger and tossing her hand away from him. “I don’t need to remember you to know I wouldn’t trust you an inch. No matter how thick you spread on the charm.”

Lilah waited until he was back in the car and gunning the engine before responding. “While you working out who to trust. Ask who lured you to that bluff for Conner.”

~

A couple of hours later, Angel returned to the hotel with several paper sacks held securely in his arms. The smell of the food they contained; hot grease, cooked meat, spice and sugar all wafted around him in an ever thickening, sickly cloud. Taco’s from Taco Bell, a variety of burgers from Burger King, coffee from Starbucks and Krispy Kreme doughnuts finished the food run. Watching through the glass doors, he waited until the girl called Fred disappeared into the lobby restroom before entering.

He’d deposited the sacks on the counter and was already at the first level balcony looking down before she returned. Stood one careful pace back so he wouldn’t be visible, Angel watched ‘Angel’ Investigation resident scientist lift her nose, as if catching the scent of spicy taco’s, and locating the source as the mysterious sacks begin to rummage inside them.

Her delighted squeal abused his sensitive his ears and brought the other two; Cordelia and Gunn, racing out of the inner office. Satisfied it was all going to plan, Angel left them to it and went back to his rooms to wait for the result and the commencement of stage two. By the time he was finished they’d be confused but in a holding pattern, giving him time to figure out who was playing who. That included the lawyer, Lilah and her insinuations.

If he didn’t like what he found out, Angel would then decide how to strike back. Cursed with a soul or not, he was still a vampire and he was done being the victim of human whims.

~

He sensed her approach before she’d even reached his room. By the time Cordelia knocked on his door, Angel had tucked the small book he’d been engrossed reading down the side of the scuffed brown leather chair seat.

Composed with his hands resting; fingers splayed casually over the ends of the arms, he called out a firm, “Come in.”

The only light in the room came from the small desk lamp on the occasional table next to his chair. The warm light it shed was ample for a vampire to see the uncertain hope gleaming deep in hazel eyes even across a room.

Refusing to acknowledge his leap in awareness on sight of her, Angel forced his gaze to be direct and merely brush over her rather than linger. Blusher, mascara and lipstick were the only cosmetics she wore; leaving the natural golden tint of her skin uncovered. Glossy brunette hair hung in waves around her face and shoulders. She was wearing the peasant skirt again, he noted and tried not to be drawn back into recalling the first time he’d seen her in it.

Cordelia’s too perky, “Hey there,” helped draw him back to the present. Along with the slow entrance and I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-my-hands gestures, she looked engagingly unsure of herself.

“Hey yourself,” Angel said, and kept his expression neutral rather than the usual blank mask. Not that she maintained eye contact for long, preferring instead to perch herself against the desk in the opposite corner and shoot him glances from under her lashes.

Opening her mouth and closing it with a wince, she finally asked belatedly, “Am I interrupting?”

It was a fairly standard opening, but Angel quirked an amused brow that she’d bother asking at all. Normally she just dismissed whatever he was doing and launched into another obvious attempt to draw him out. Keeping it simple, he shook his head, “No.”

Her response was distracted, “Good, good that’s good.”

Knowing what she was working herself up to asking gave Angel the patience to wait her out. Sliding down to a slouch, he got comfortable and she didn’t keep him waiting long anyway.

“Angel, can I ask you a question?”

As if she’d take a ‘no’ he thought and wondered who she figured she was kidding. “Sure,” he said, “fire away.”

“I know I may be way off base here, but I was wondering if…maybe…you’d been food shopping recently.” She held a hand and conceded, “I know it’s a dumb question with you on a liquid diet and all, but…” Cordelia shrugged and ploughed ahead anyway, “…since I know *we* didn’t buy it-“

“I brought the food,” interrupted Angel, more to get to the point than to actively cut her off. “Did I get the right stuff? I’m not exactly an expert these days.”

“Oh sure,” Cordelia was quick to reassure him on that point and this time her smile was brilliant. “In fact you did great. There isn’t so much as French fry left. Given half an opportunity we can out-do a pack of locusts ten-to-one.”

“Thanks by the way.”

“Good.”

Since they’d spoken in unison, Angel tacked on, “You’re welcome.

There was an uncomfortable pause. Angel mentally counted down. One…two…three…

“Look I know this really awkward after the other day, but it needs saying,” said Cordy taking the bull by the metaphorical horns and pushing away from the desk.

She met his gaze squarely. “As much as we’re all grateful for the gesture, it would have been even nicer if you’d stuck around so we could thank you, rather than-“

“Sloping off to my room?” Angel asked baldly.

“Harsh,” said Cordy, “But true.”

“Is that what I would have done before?” Angel asked, mildly curious.

Cordelia stiffened, catching the implication and nodded, “Since you ask- yeah.”

“Yeah well,” getting to his feet, Angel closed the rest of the distance and watched hazel eyes flare, “even baby steps are progress, right?” Her reaction to his approach was duly noted and filed away.

“Is that what this is- progress?” she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Pursing his lips, Angel shrugged and beneath his congenial mask worked on what he knew she wanted. “You tell me, you’re the boss here.”

“I’d like it to be,” said Cordy still being careful, “It helps that this is the most relaxed conversation we’ve had since you woke up- emphasis on conversation.”

It was useless to avoid the topic altogether. Angel went for the direct approach. Crossing his arms, he confessed, “I don’t like ultimatums.”

Mirroring him by crossing her own, Cordelia didn’t disappoint him and countered, “I don’t like tiptoeing around as if I’m walking on eggshells, so I guess that makes us even.”

Despite himself, Angel’s slight grin was genuine. “Truce,” he offered.

If he’d been expecting her to jump up and down at the olive branch he would have been disappointed, but somehow he’d known she would have more pride than that. The only indication of her relief was the loosening of her facial muscles.

Composure fully in place, Cordelia held out a slim hand and solemnly agreed, “Truce.”

That should have been the end of it- job done. Instead of dropping her hand, Angel followed a nameless impulse and pushed a little harder. “Does this mean you’re going to forget moving out?”

They were close enough now that he could see the way the lamp-light washing over them lit the caramel striations in her eyes. He also saw the secrets behind them. Cordelia’s reaction stunned him, but it was Angel’s own that knocked him for six.



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