Title: Auspices
Author: Helen
Posted: 9-07-2005
Email: helen_taft@msn.com
Rating: 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 FOUR
The small single bed apartment was minimally, if tastefully, furnished with walls almost completely covered with shelves. This small library held no first editions despite some of the bindings being ancient, and a browser would be hard pressed to find any light reading, unless they were multilingual in both human and demon languages and considered archaic rituals relaxing.
Clicks, snicks and the slide of metal wheels on runners filled the void left by the two silent men seated in the living area.
Until one suddenly spoke up without a prompt or warning and broke the constructive silence. “I don’t understand you,” Conner said, “How can you not hate him for trying to kill you? I would.”
There was a weighty pause, heavy with disapproval for the topic. Nevertheless, dark blue eyes were glued to the older man sat perched on the couch. At the question, oil stained fingers that could have belonged to a pianist stilled briefly before recommencing their work.
“I’d cost him his infant son who was then taken into a hell dimension by his worst enemy. I understood why- that makes a difference,” Wesley finally replied tersely; without lifting his gaze from his task. “Besides, if Angel had been totally committed to killing me, I would have died.”
A capped bottle of gun oil lay on the newspaper strewn coffee table along with a pile of rags. A Beretta with its clip out was in the midst of it while its twin was being cleaned in the Englishman’s capable hands.
“You told me he was dragged off by Gunn,” queried the teenager sharply refusing to let it go.
“Yes, he was, along with an orderly or two,” conceded Wesley looking up at last; aiming a pointed glance at the trio of weapons dotted around the cross-legged youngster. “If you’ve finished with the crossbows, I can always find you something else.”
The crossbows were modern with matt black stocks and telescopic sights. They were expensive and in the hands of the boy, well cared for. “I’m still cleaning them,” Connor replied disgruntled. Getting back to work, he let his long hair flop down to cover his face, hiding the nerves he could feel jumping under his skin.
A few industrious minutes later, he asked quietly, “Did he ask about me?”
That question was more welcome, but infinitely harder to answer. Wesley sat back and giving the boy his full attention, said, “No, but remember he still doubts anything we’ve told him is true. Amnesia is a tricky thing, and the least of what could have happened after you tossed him in the sea.”
As defensive as ever, Connor’s reaction was knee-jerk and for a second his eyes, inherited from his mother, Darla, burned with zeal. The crossbow in his lap was forgotten. “I was taking revenge for the murder of my father.”
“Suicide is self-murder and Holtz was never a father to you.” Wesley stared Connor down, “he took you into Quortoth so that your real father, Angel, could never rescue you. Anything you suffered there can only be laid at his door. Connor, we’ve talked about this.”
The zeal died to be replaced by something akin to despair, “I know, but you’re asking me to hate the only thing that kept me going in that place- Holtz.”
Tears brimmed and Connor looked away, adding hoarsely, “I loved him because in return he offered something I needed- another human.”
How something as simple and humdrum as another body could end up being so crucial to sanity, Wesley could only imagine. Connor hadn’t finished and since the boy was opening up a little more with each visit, he did nothing to halt the flow of words this time.
“The whole time as far back as I can remember, I was afraid he’d abandon me one day and never come back. A few times when I was really little, I thought he had.”
Pulling himself back from the memories of being a child stuck in hell, Connor refocused on Wesley with his wayward emotions back under strict control. “No matter what you say to me, the things he told me- taught me are all that kept the terror at bay. His hatred gave me purpose and the strength to get out. I can’t regret that.”
The horrible truth of what his misjudgements had caused to happen to Angel’s son, a helpless baby only a few months ago, never failed to make Wesley sick. His face wasn’t cool because he no longer felt responsible. It was fixed so that Connor would never see the wrenching pity he felt and reject it.
“True, but you are ‘out’ as you said,” he stated instead and raised a brow, “Quoroth is in your past- as is Holtz. If you ever want to learn to live with yourself, you need to leave them there and stop justifying your actions with lies.”
Connor listened but Wesley never knew if he was getting through. Just as he had with Angel, Wesley had forced a reluctant and bitter Connor to confront Justine and like father like son, he wasn’t sure if he reached either of them. Connor kept coming around because he was human enough to want the company of someone who knew him as he was, and because just like his memory crippled-father, he struggled to relate to the rest of humanity.
~
Coming out of the bathroom after a shower, wrapped sarong style in fluffy lilac towels, Cordelia still felt jittery and completely thrown off balance. Whoa, she kept thinking where the hell had that come from?
Back in Angel’s rooms and finding herself standing just shy of kissing-close with a leaping pulse and a belly taking a nose-dive, she’d been transfixed by the expression on his hard face. Hovering close enough she could have felt his breath, if he took any, the flash of intense want in usually impenetrable dark eyes had stolen her own breath away.
Now, the harder she tried not to dwell on it, the easier she could recall the electric awareness that had frazzled her brain and glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Geeze, even babbling had been impossible and that was a first.
He’d felt it, too, she’d swear to it. Cordelia knew Angel better than anyone and recognised unguarded emotion when she saw it. They’d made a connection and judging by the way he’d pulled away and backed off, Angel had been every bit as thrown by it as she had.
Sitting on the corner of the bed and facing the oval gilt framed mirror, she pulled of the towel and murmured wryly, “So much for baby steps.”
How do you go from frigid distance and doors being slammed in your face to searing attraction in a few days? Cordelia didn’t know, but she did know one thing. “Sheesh, I’d hate to meet a baby that can make that leap.”
Unless she was missing something, it didn’t make any sense. A conclusion she’d already reached fifteen minutes ago in the shower. She was going in circles and getting nowhere. Puffing out a sigh and picking the damp towel back up, she began to rub dry the lower half of her hair.
“Just forget it for now,” she told herself, “It was *one* moment out of what- a few weeks? Not exactly what you’d call epic romance stuff, so chill already.”
That was easier said than done. The second she’d left Angel’s room reality had set in along with a creepy sense of unease that snaked up her spine. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was confused.
When they’d first found him and realised he didn’t remember them anymore, Wesley had suggested, or more accurately insinuated, that Cordelia try and tap into the emotions she and Angel had been edging towards admitting. At the time she’d been shocked but not afraid. Not so now and she didn’t like it a teeny-tiny bit.
The scary version was that 50’s Angel’s mental brakes weren’t geared towards the ‘no-boner’ aspects of his existence. Of course they’d explained it to him, and hadn’t that been fun- not, but the deeply sceptical look on his face hadn’t been reassuring, and still wasn’t now she thought about it.
Towelling finished and reaching for the comb, Cordelia grabbed a fistful of hair and began to work on loosening some tangles.
“You made a connection with him and that’s all. It’s what you wanted isn’t it? To reach him enough that he won’t take the first night bus out of here. Why does being boss mean you have to get all pessimistic about everything, geeze?”
Because shit happens.
Cordy stilled and snorted, “Oh yeah, like that’s news? Hello! Hell-mouth ringing any bells?”
This is way worse than that and you know it. It’s personal.
Heaving a thick sigh, Cordy dropped the hand holding the comb into her lap and lowered her head to rake the other hand through it before palming her forehead for a massage. Unfortunately the wild spin of her thoughts refused to be kneaded away.
Putting it mildly, Cordelia was nervous of Angel focusing his attention on her. If this was memory intacto Angel she’d be okay with it- hell more than okay, but it wasn’t and that was her big problem.
She couldn’t trust him.
Feeling hollow for some reason, Cordelia straightened and took a long at herself in the full length mirror. Her skin was flushed with the heat from the shower and wet snakes of dark hair curled around her face and naked shoulders. She shrugged. Apart from being a little thinner than before, she was pretty much the same.
“See there’s a plus,” she beamed injecting optimism by dint of willpower, “Who knew $100 moisturisers and Lancome cosmetics, or even regular sleep patterns really aren’t beauty essentials?”
As a distraction from her worries it failed miserably.
Did Angel see what she saw, or did he just see a walking mass of veins and pumping blood? Dinner on long tanned legs? Maybe that wasn’t desire she’d seen in his eyes, maybe he was just plain hungry?
Snapping too, Cordy aimed a glare at the mirror. “Okay, stop it! That goes beyond creepy and heads straight for hair pulling hysteria. Get a grip. This is Angel- a bastard right now, sure, but-”
She faltered. Darn it, isn’t there always a frickin’ ‘but’?
“Great, here we go again. Round one-hundred-six of the ‘is Angel going to go postal and wreck everything game’. Can’t I have a time-out?” she grumbled. “Pity I can’t change brains like a TV channel.”
Angel *looked* the same, but he was totally different. He’d always been broody and unpredictable when things weren’t going his way, only now he was missing the oh-so-crucial smoothed edges the last few years had given him.
Back in the beginning she’d accepted that danger was as much a part of Angel as his heroic streak; always had been and always would be. He was a vampire for chrissake, it went with the territory. It was actually pretty useful at times, too. But while this Angel was souled, she got the uncomfortable feeling he wouldn’t bat a lash at losing it. That difference was the scariest of all.
Knowing, or at least suspecting all of that, did she really want Mr Boff-me-psycho having the hots for her? “Oh crap!” she groaned at herself, “You just had to think of that didn’t you?”
Three short, sharp raps on Cordelia’s door startled her enough she shot to her feet with a yelp.
“Cordy it’s me, Gunn”
Feeling a fool and with her heart still racing, Cordy took a step forward and then staggered as a wave of dizziness swept over her. “Yeah, what is it?” she managed swaying sickly before feeling for the bed and sitting herself back down, or trying to. She missed by only a fraction, but still fell on her butt hard enough to cause a heavy thump.
“Cordy, are you okay?” Concerned Gunn turned the handle and found it locked.
The wave grew stronger and she spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m fine- fine,” she called out, lying her ass off. “I’m getting dressed after a shower. What’s up?”
“I think I’ve found the place Lorne went to. It’s a club called, The Tropicana. I got a number, too.”
The weakness and trembles got worse not better. Taking a deep breath and pulling herself up onto the bed, Cordy lolled her head between her knees.
“Really!” she said aiming for enthusiastic and missing by a mile, “That’s great, Gunn, great job. Look gimme ten- no make that twenty minutes- and I’ll be right down, okay?”
“Sure,” Gunn sounded puzzled, “Are you sure you’re okay, Cor?”
“Peachy,” she growled, wishing he’d just go so she could be sick in peace, “I’ll be down soon.”
~
Unconvinced but not sure what else to do, Gunn shrugged and turned away, only to come face to face with Angel standing not two ft away. With one shoulder propped on the wall and his hands in his pockets, the vampire looked suspiciously nonchalant.
Startled because he hadn’t heard an approach, he snapped, “Don’t be sneakin’ up on people. You might not like the response you get.”
“Sorry,” Angel said smoothly.
Recalling he was under orders to let bygones be bygones, Gunn tried to mellow, “What’s up?” he asked in a more reasonable tone.
“What’s going on?” asked Angel with a frowning glance at Cordelia’s closed door, “I heard a noise?”
Confused because it was obvious what was going on, Gunn shrugged, “I was just talking to Cordy.” He couldn’t help adding a gibe, “Not exactly a red latter day. We humans do that a lot, y’know.”
Preoccupied, Angel didn’t seem to catch the dig. “I meant the thump not the talking. Is she okay?”
Angel finally showing some concern for one of them made a bigger difference than Gunn could have guessed and some of his antipathy sloughed off. “Oh that. I thought I heard a bump, too,” he said and shrugged wide shoulders again, “thought maybe she’d fallen or something, but she sounded okay.”
When the vampire still looked unconvinced, Gunn added as an olive branch, “Cordy said to meet her downstairs in twenty- why don’t you join us? Then you can see for yourself she’s okay.”
Dragging his gaze off the closed door, Angel seemed to consider it. After a pause and a last suspicious glance at the door, he finally said, “You go on down. I’ll wait for her here.”
~
Vampire senses were a nightmare when you’re forced to live close to human as Angel sometimes had and now was. The sounds and smells were amplified by unimaginable hunger as the blood lust carried out its ceaseless torment. Occasionally though it came in very handy.
While Gunn talked, Angel could hear the sound of retching interspersed with gasps for breath between gags. Cordelia was anything but okay. As Gunn walked off down the hall whistling contentedly, Angel eyed the door assessingly and hearing more sounds of sickness, seriously considered forcing his way in.
After a few seconds and before Angel could make up his mind, he heard the flush of a cistern and then more running water. Listening intently until he was sure that was the end of it, Angel finally decided to wait her out. Arms crossed over his chest, he settled back against the wall opposite that hated door and felt some of his tension begin to drain- a little.
It was the same tension that had invaded his body earlier. He hadn’t expected his friendly façade to have consequences, or trip him up like it had. Such as being a hairsbreadth from grabbing Cordelia up and plundering that soft, full mouth. The violence of the impulse had staggered him. Still did, he was honest enough to admit.
After a century of sex being associated only with inflicting pain and degradation, Angel had been certain he wasn’t capable of genuine lust. Hell, as Angelus he’d got more pleasure out of fucking Druscilla than Darla, simply because it had enraged his sire and the fledgling Spike simultaneously, establishing his autonomy from the one and authority over the rest.
Angel had never had what you’d call a healthy sexual appetite. Even as a human his father had labelled him an undisciplined animal- among other things. As a vampire, the sadistic games he’d played with female victims back in the day only added to the conviction that sex that didn’t end in bloody murder was impossible.
Finding out different thanks to his attraction to this one aggravating woman had been driving him nuts for weeks. But it hadn’t been until tonight Angel finally accepted just how much he wanted her. Oh, the blood lust was still there, but it was muted and murder was the furthest thing from his mind.
Trying to rationalise it as nothing more than an instinctive reaction to the constant challenge she presented him with didn’t help much either. Thinking it through, he realised nothing had changed from when she’d pulled him back from the depths of a coma. She beguiled and enraged him at equal turns and not entirely trusting her only hiked up his awareness to a level where keeping it hidden was getting close to impossible.
If he’d have kissed her, it was pretty damned likely he would have tried a heckova lot more, too. Bad, bad, bad idea. Bad vampire.
Angel snorted at the last and crossing his arms stared semi resentfully at the door, or more accurately at the woman hidden behind it.
Away from them and the hotel, his natural cynicism reasserted itself. Something Ms Morgan had tapped into with that last little dig. Oh, he knew Wolfram & Hart and Lilah were evil, but that concerned him a lot less than a bunch of human’s fighting demon’s to help the helpless. Familiar with every form of corruption, vice and nightmare known to man or demon, Angel understood evil and could guess what to expect.
Not so these guys. Back inside the hotel, Angel was confused again. The set-up here was beyond his comprehension. After everything he’d seen and heard, mostly when they weren’t even aware he was there, he’d come to realise how fragile their lives were. Day-after-day they veered from one disaster to the next; verging constantly on the cusp of being wiped out and yet they refused to give up on either their ‘mission’ or him.
Against the odds, Cordelia Chase and her rag-tag team of scientist and street-kid were slowly eroding every illusion he’d carried for two centuries. Before them, innocence had merely been the lack of evil to Angel. He’d firmly believed nobody was good, or did the right thing out of a genuine desire to make a difference.
Wandering the earth after he’d been souled, he’d come to the conclusion that the world was nothing more than a twisted plane of existence designed to bring out the worst and snuff out the best.
He still believed that, only he was getting the idea that there were people willing to die to change that. An idea which sort of put a crimp in Lilah’s insinuations. Angel had to wonder if super bitch realised he knew who he was supposedly meeting that night.
That thought led to another such as how Cordelia confounded him the most. She was equal parts warrior and princess; reckless with a cunning instinct to survive, lethally blunt and yet perceptive, beautiful and strong-willed. She hid her pain from the others, waving away worries and used whatever tactic she needed to keep them going and motivated. Then there was that smart mouth, sassing him to the point where he’d do anything to shut her up.
Angel didn’t even try and kid himself that throttling figured in there anymore, if it ever really had.
A couple of hours ago all he’d wanted was to gain himself enough time to figure out what was really going on; yet in smack in the middle of executing that plan, he’d been sent reeling with the desire to take his lead suspect to bed and not let her out of it again until she couldn’t walk.
That’s just your reaction. C’mon stop pretending you didn’t see it- she wasn’t immune to you either.
Tension flooded back. He was doing his damndest not think about that. Angel knew he hadn’t imagined the emotions in her eyes and the possibilities they opened up only clouded the issue more. After tonight he was almost certain he had lived and worked with these people, and that he did have a miracle son who hated him. He was also almost positive that Cordelia had feelings for him. What he wasn’t sure about was who other than the boy had betrayed him.
Somebody was lying or at least withholding the truth and that was what he needed to figure out.
Yeah, and it would help if you could keep your libido out of it, Angel derided himself. Unfortunately, now it had re-emerged it was resisting being shoved aside again.
The cold pounding spray of the shower hadn’t accomplished much. Stood tensely inside the stall, Angel had to resist the urge to try and knead away some of the pressure. Drying himself, his body had still felt weighted; loins tight and bordering on an erection that was only a throb away. Self preservation had him keeping the shirt un-tucked even after alarm had sent him racing out here.
That was another thing. Cordelia being sick threw in yet another curveball Angel hadn’t anticipated.
~
The last thing Cordy had been expecting or wanting was to find Angel standing outside in the hall when she left to meet the others downstairs. Breath minty fresh or not, she was still feeling queasy. When Cordelia was not feeling her best, walking straight into a piercingly astute gaze before she had a chance to compose herself didn’t go down well.
“Skulking much?” She slammed the door behind her.
“Waiting for you, actually,” he replied easily.
She skimmed him with a suspicious glance. Fresh from his own shower by the looks of it, Angel’s hair was still damp as was the knitted shirt he must have thrown on before he was dry. With his booted feet crossed at the ankle and his powerful frame relaxed, he looked damn good.
Wasn’t she glad she’d gone with the impulse to add the fitted jacket to the white shirt and jeans? Cordelia might feel like warmed over crap, but she knew damn well she looked exactly like she wanted; hot and in-charge, baby.
That confidence lasted until he pushed away from the wall and said, “So, do you want to tell me what’s got you so sick?”
Cordelia’s jaw dropped and she could feel the colour leeching from her face, “You heard me?”
Angel didn’t spare her embarrassment. “Yeah”
Recovering, Cordy raked him with a glance and walked off, “It’s nice to see privacy is such a big thing for you,” she sniped over her shoulder, “next time don’t bother waiting, okay.”
She got about two steps before her arm was snagged. “Hey,” Angel protested.
“Hey, yourself,” she snapped, rounding on him on a surge of temper. “Where do you get off listening in on me when I think I’m alone, huh? Did it occur to you that if I wanted you to know I wasn’t feeling too good, I’d have barfed up in *your* toilet?”
Set back on his heels, Angel’s lips quirked, “I’ll leave the door unlocked in anticipation,” he quipped and let go of her arm. “How are your guts doing, now?”
“They’re fine, thanks for asking,” she said un-amused, “and don’t be trying funnies to get your ass out of trouble, Angel, its never worked before so why would it now?”
“I don’t remember before- remember,” he retorted, “And you still haven’t answered my question. Was it the food that upset you?”
“Food poisoning takes about twenty four hours,” Cordy said shortly, with a lot less heat though, “Did you never get sick as a human- just because?”
Brief flashes of being sick as a child were swiftly replaced with adult memories of being drunk and vomiting in dark alleys behind raucous taverns before passing out. Jamming his hands in his pockets, Angel shrugged, “Occasionally, I was sick,” he admitted.
Satisfied, Cordy moved again. “Well, there you go then.”
“Not quite,” said Angel moving with her; his side-ways glance was piercing, “there was always a reason; even if it wasn’t much of an excuse.”
“So, I’m the exception to the rule,” Cordy shot back, “Can we just drop the topic, already?”
As defensive and abrasive as she was, he was now certain she was hiding something, but her tone left no room for negotiation and unwilling to push it just yet, Angel gave it up- for now. “Sure, so who’s Lorne?”
Like a switch being flipped, Cordelia’s face lit up and her smile spread so wide, Angel felt a dart of something uncomfortably close to jealousy. “Actually it’s Grevlorneswathe of the Deathwok Clan. He’s a Pylean Demon. A great guy- really you’re gonna love him.”
A demon? “I’ll take your word for it.”
~
PART FIVE
In the middle of a manicure, Lorne lounged in his upholstered chair and sipped from a tall frosted glass in his free hand. When the steel bars slid back and the door opened he was preoccupied with watching, and envying, a beetle scurry along the skirting board under his vanity table.
“Telephone call for you,” announced, Atilla, “Some chick called, Cordelia?”
Hearing the name of his caller, Lorne’s head shot up and, stupidly, hope flared.
Seeing enthusiasm on the Pylean’s face, a thick sausage of a brow lifted giving the big lugs face a massive increase in expression. It wasn’t an improvement. Lorne had named him Attila in lieu of remembering his name. He was holding out the cell phone, though. Lorne figured it must be a mellow day for this bodyguard. Maybe he got to shoot somebody’s kneecaps off. Now there's a comforting thought.
Taking the phone, Lorne offered a wide smile and mouthed, “Groupie,” to get the hulking human off the scent.
“A bon soir,” he said into the phone, adopting a beatific grin.
Cocking his head and listening for a few moments, he finally said, “I know I promised to call, Hunbun, but I’m booked past the wha and zoo. In fact if I get any hotter they’ll have to stamp me out.”
Behind him the door opened a second time. His scalp prickled and after craning his neck around to see who it was, Lorne hurriedly finished the call. “Ah, I gotto go. Next time you’re in town, come and see the show. Just follow the fire engines …oh and make sure fluffy is getting enough love.”
Disconnecting, he handed back the phone and faced his latest visitor. Several inches shorter than he wanted to be, and wearing a two thousand dollar suit, Lee DeMarco looked exactly what he was- a mobster.
Lorne only hoped that his emotions weren’t visible on his face. Just in case, he pasted on an enthusiastic, welcoming smile. “Lee! Just the man I wanted to see. Look- I need to talk to you about the band. The second drummer-“ he mimed a wince, “you know me, I never say a bad word about-“
DeMarco interrupted him and for once he didn’t start off with the usual round of false pleasantries, “The guy you said was working on a patent that would put Microsoft out of business got away. You never mentioned he doesn’t like gambling- just showgirls. I don’t like it when the victim’s just walks out my door, Lorne. You should have warned me.”
Just like that, Lorne was swallowing a hard ball of fear. Guessing what was coming, he held up conciliatory hands, “Hey, I didn’t know,” he lied, “I only get a brief look- you know that. I did my best. He could be as kinky as a slinky for all I can see in a few seconds.”
There was a long pause where Attila started to look hopeful of more violence. In the end, Lee nodded and said coldly, “Next time look harder- no excuses.”
~
“What the hell just happened?” asked Cordelia and stared at the phone receiver like it might have the answer.
“What did he say?” asked Gunn, rising up from his slouch against the counter.
In reply, Cordy pulled a face. “He said to make sure Fluffy gets enough love.”
Everybody looked blank. Fred asked the obvious, “whose Fluffy?” then glanced at Angel, “Is he-nah! Not even Lorne…”
“Fluffy gets enough love,” murmured Gunn scratching his smooth bald head. “Makes about as much sense as ever.”
Eyes wide, Fred looked down at her lap, “You don’t think…” she trailed off with a blush, “I mean that would just be-“
“He said it to me, Fred,” interjected Cordelia with an eye roll, “And I know he wasn’t referring to anything south of my face.”
“He must have said something else,” Gunn asserted, “And, if he was calling me Fluffy, him and me are gonna have words.”
“He said he’s hot enough to burst into flames and to come see the show.”
Cordy was baffled and a little irritated. She’d been banking on Lorne helping her figure out what was going inside Angel’s thick head. Speaking of which, she turned to eye the vampire sat on the bottom step of the stairs. Yeesh, no matter what progress they’d made, the dumbass still kept his distance.
Determined to thwart him just a little in that, she asked loudly, “So, what does lurker-in-the-corner think?”
Pulled into the discussion, Angel straightened and clasped his hands between his knees. He’d been debating whether or not he wanted to get involved. Seeing no harm, he finally offered, “It sounds to me like he’s in trouble.”
“How’d ya figure that?” asked Gunn, not precisely disbelieving and more genuinely curious.
“When somebody’s talking that much nonsense its stand to reason they’re being cryptic.” Angel pointed out, “Take that away and you’re left with ‘come after me’.” Finished, he added dryly, “I have no idea who Fluffy is.”
There was a pause as they mulled over what he’d said. All except for Cordy who hid her feeling of being impressed by quipping, “Uh, you don’t know Lorne if you think he doesn’t talk nonsense.”
Lips pursed, Gunn made a decision on where he stood. “I think he’s right.”
“I do to,” admitted Cordy with an impish smile at the impassive vampire; knowing he was going to hate what she said next, “Which is why we’re going on a road-trip.”
~
If Angel had thought LA at night was bright, it was nothing to the blinding brilliance of Las Vegas; especially the Boulevard.
A rainbow of neon lights perched one on top of the other shimmered, blipped, and flashed as tall as any building. Wherever the eye could see, and he could see far, there were more of them; tempting siren’s all trying to outdo one another and draw in the punters. In the inky darkness of night it was an oasis of colour; electric in its excitement.
The Tropicana was every bit as glitzy as the rest. A southern belle dipped into a curtsey with her jewelled skirts artfully arranged in a dome. Outside, a billboard showcased a beaming green demon with red eyes and a forehead graced with neat, twin horns. On his lap sat a showgirl made-up to look like him.
“Lorne and the Lornette’s?” queried, Fred as they drove past it. “Wow, they really don’t know the meaning of discreet in this town do they?”
Angel checked the rear view mirror before slowing down for a good hard look. In the back Gun held up a hand and looked mildly disgusted. “Um, who else is starting think this is just one big waste of time and that Lorne has moved on and forgot the little people.”
“We’re here now, so we might as well check it out,” said Cordy from the front passenger seat of the Plymouth, “If we’re wrong- we see the show, talk to Lorne and go home. No harm, no foul. I for one could do with some R & R.”
“I hear that,” agreed Gunn, more than happy to change gears from battle-ready to ready-to-play. “Given a choice between throwing down with some butt-ugly demon and throwing back a cocktail, I’ll settle for tall and frosty; especially in this get-up.” He tugged at the crisp shirt’s collar to emphasise his point. Beside him, Fred reached over and squeezed his thigh in appreciation of his efforts in dressing up.
Inside was every bit as plush and loud as the outside suggested it would be. The racket of noise swallowed the four of them. From every direction buzzers sounded, bells rung, and the clink of coins followed by the whirl of slot machines filled the cavernous space with almost musical sound.
Unnoticed by the others, the constant noise coupled with the ebb and flow of throngs of people had Angel tensing and hunching his shoulders. Uh oh, this was a mistake of epic proportions. Before he’d been souled, he’d been able to mingle with humans, even enjoyed it. Angelus had got a kick out of playing the wolf in sheeps clothing.
But that was before the gypsies cursed him.
Souled, Angel hated crowds of humans and for pretty compelling reasons. In small groups he could ignore the grind of blood lust, used to it after a century and more. But, stuck amongst a multitude of them the twisting, empty ache of his guts always seemed to crawl up and close his throat with hunger. When that happened every face; be it a man, woman or child would leap out at him, the fragile skin flushed with blood and a life begging to be snuffed out. Instant recollection of just how easy that was to do was unavoidable.
Angel fully expected the same now and tensed to fight it. Cursing fluently in his head, he clenched his fists tight and berated himself for letting the challenge written all over Cordelia's smiling face prod him into agreeing to come here.
Jesus, wanting her was no excuse for letting her get away with what he did. She hadn’t stopped pushing him for weeks and when he returned the favour she hit the roof. A flash of indignant ire added to his sudden edginess.
Rising panic had his temper rocketing. He should have told her to shove her challenge up her ass. Better yet he should have kept his damned mouth shut, Angel thought, although going off recent experience they would likely have come to check it out anyway. Irritation flared and added to the already explosive mix tightening his guts. Who knew better than he did that these guys weren’t shy about poking their noses into other peoples business, demon or human?
Okay, so he should have just tossed them his keys and gone back to his room. To sit in the dark and brood about what why’s; why he wanted her, why she was sick, why she was so interested him knowing what he was, why these human’s had accepted working with a vampire, who if he didn’t keep a tight leash on his urges, would like nothing more than to drain them to husks.
Angel could almost hate them for the turmoil they brought him.
He shouldn’t be here, but it was too late now. Or was it? He could still escape back to the car and if they didn’t give him any grief over it, he might even wait for them to finish up before heading out. Rebelliously his feet kept him trailing along with them.
They were halfway down the main aisle before Angel felt the hand, warm and soothing, slide under his leather jacket to briefly pass over the small of his back. The effect of that touch was instant, pulling him from the welling darkness so he could refocus.
Jerked out of the downward spiral of his thoughts it was then Angel realised that he was getting wound up over nothing. Flanked by Gunn, Fred, as well as Cordelia there was no sudden and overwhelming upsurge of murderous hunger. Heads still turned, shoulders still brushed by and behind him as they pushed through the milling crowds, but he was…coping.
Cordelia hadn’t looked at him, but Angel was certain he recognised her touch. How had she known what was going through his head? Thankfully, instinct had him stopping when they did. Bemused, he didn’t notice, or hear Cordelia ask him was he okay. Until she poked him in his side and repeated, “Angel, are you, okay?”
Angel looked down at her. Beautiful in anything, she was stunning in a long silvery dress and heels. Impatient concern flooded hazel depths along with a question. It occurred to him then that the difference was that it *wasn’t* just her he saw as a person and not merely a victim he had to protect from himself.
His unwilling attraction to Cordelia had nothing to do with it. He’d been lying to himself thinking he still saw them as food, or maybe it was more a stubborn determination not to accept that things were different- he was different. That notion was so surreal and unexpected it floored him and Angel just stood there mute and with his feet glued to the richly carpeted floor.
At some level he was used to dealing with humans. For the first time Angel had some evidence to corroborate their story that came from inside himself.
“Angel,” she hissed, hands on hips and glowering at his silence, “You’ve got that smacked-in-the-chops look on your face. You’re scaring me now- spill?”
He blinked to dissipate the funk, “I’m fine,” he assured her hoarsely, then cleared his throat to add firmly, “Lets get this show on the road.”
The ‘show’ was already beginning by the time they found a free table. Showgirls covered in green make-up, sporting red horns in their hair and carrying large feathered fans danced onto the stage to the wild clapping of the audience. Four pairs of brows rose in disbelief as the girls gathered to create a screen from which a tall, male demon in a sequinned blazer emerged.
Dim lighting or not, Angel didn’t need Fred’s, “Wow, Lorne is *really* doing well for himself,” to identify the demon. Unlike the Lornette’s, that green skin wasn’t fake and the horns were the real deal rather than moulds. Lorne was tall and statuesque and one-hundred percent comfortable with himself. Given the outlandish costume he was wearing, Angel was dimly impressed.
Sat on a bar stool with dry ice rising up and the spotlights on his face, Lorne was the king of his little castle. “It’s not easy being green. Having to spend each day the colour of the leaves. When think it could be nice enough…”
“No one seems bothered he’s a demon,” remarked Gunn, casting a look about the place and seeing only avid interest and the desire to be entertained.
“You’ve obviously never been to a Star Trek convention,” said Fred, grinning at seeing their friend so popular. “The things they can do with make-up and sticky bits of rubber is out of this world- literally,” she waved at the stage, “This is nothing in comparison.”
“Um…Start Trek convention?” Gunn quizzed, eyeing her beaming face with amused derision. A waitress came up to take their order before Fred could retort.
Over on the stage and having finished his introduction, Lorne stood up and a red curtain rose up smoothly behind him. Being the excellent entertainer he was, when he addressed the audience every single one felt as if he were talking directly to them. “Thank you! Thank you so much. Y’know I gotta tell you folks…I gotta tell you, you are the kickingest crowd that I’ve had the privilege of performing for here at the Tropicana. Yes, yes that’s right. Give it up for your sweets selves...”
The atmosphere was relaxed, friendly and eager without any sour notes to disrupt the flow. A few loudly voiced “Whoo Hoo’s” came from the back and Lorne blew a kiss in that direction. “What say we crank things up a bit?” he asked and like a signal the crowd burst into a jubilant clapping. Whipping of his bowtie and handing it to a starry-eyed woman at the first table, Lorne whirled once and then burst full throttle into vibrant song.
“Hey sister, go sister, soul sister, flow sister. Hey sister. Go sister…”
“He’s not bad,” conceded Gunn, which was high praise considering he wasn’t generally a huge fan of lounge singers on the whole.
“Charles, are you kidding, he’s *great*” enthused Fred adding some clapping to the rest. She was practically bouncing in her seat.
Working the crowd now, Lorne handed over the microphone over to a well-dressed business man type and listened to him sing a few lines before joining back in. The audience loved it and the mood was jubilant. Sat sandwiched by Angel on one side and Gunn on the other, Cordelia wondered what Lorne was seeing in their souls. A shiver snaked down her spine without warning. She was struck with the thought that this wasn’t Caritas and it was doubtful these people knew about the anagogic demon’s special fortune telling abilities.
“Something’s not right here,” she said suddenly, drawing the others attention. Seeing the question on their faces, she held up her hands, “I don’t why I know- I just do. It feels wrong.” It was more than that, a part of her felt threatened on a basic level. It would be nice to know what that threat could be.
Geeze, would a vision hurt, guys? she mutely cajoled the silent PTB’s. Heck, I’d even take one of the head-splitting, brain melty ones if that’s what it takes. Work with me here.
Wincing at the overly high notes of a pretty oriental woman, Angel didn’t bother to hide the fact he was leaping on any excuse when he said, “In that case, I should scout around a bit- see if I can find out what’s really going on beneath the glamour.”
Knowing they’d likely be all going, Fred was crestfallen, “Oh, but we’ll miss-“
“You and Gunn stay here and try and snag his attention,” interrupted Cordelia, “I’ll go with Angel and see if I can find what’s giving me the heebie jeebies. We’ll meet back up at that café bar we passed on the way in.”
Manoeuvred into having company, Angel sighed silently as he got to his feet. He waited for her to rise before placing his hand on the small of her back. It was an instinctive, courtly gesture that harked back to his human days; designed to offer the protection of his larger frame. It was done without conscious thought.
~
The proprietary feeling of that large, cool hand at the bottom of her spine had Cordelia walking like a zombie until they reached the lower level. It was the first time Angel had touched her, excluding their hand-shake, since he’d woken up from his coma. The second his skin touched hers, she’d felt a tingle similar to a static shock. Only unlike an unpleasant shock the urge to pull away was missing.
Oh, you are getting in *way* too deep.
Threading her way through a solid wall of people milling between the Blackjack table and the Roulette wheel, Cordy pulled away enough the contact was broken and asked brightly, “So, where first do you think?”
“Not here,” Angel used his height advantage to check the layout of the club, “we need to get to the less public parts if we want to find anything dangerous going on.”
“Gotcha,” Cordy nodded, “It stands to reason business would suffer if they let the punters witness anything scary.” Leading the way, she tacked on low, “Excluding green lounge singers from another dimension of course.”
After so long avoiding any contact, Angel was unused to banter so his reply was brief and grim, “Gambling is scary enough without that.”
Intrigued, she looked up at the taciturn vampire instead of where she was going. “I didn’t know you were against gambling?”
Unnoticed by her, Angel pulled Cordelia clear from the direct trajectory of a staggering couple in their forties. They were more than a little worse for wear after what he guessed was celebratory few bottles of champagne. One was still clutched in the guy’s hand.
Sure she was out of harms way, Angel gave his full attention back to Cordelia. She looked mildly affronted that he’d kept it from her; for some reason that improved his mood greatly. “Maybe it never came up,” he suggested pleasantly, and then got them moving again. “And I’m not exactly passionate about. I’ve just seen the darker side of the business is all.”
Keeping pace, Cordelia rolled her eyes, “Let me take a wild guess. Vampires don’t gamble for money. Unless you call small furry animals and people currency.”
It was Angel’s turn to stop and stare. “Is there any topic you *do* consider too sensitive to bring up?”
When she turned around, he found himself looking into a grinning face with eyes that fairly danced with laughter. “Do you really want me to answer that,” Cordelia asked him tongue-in-cheek, dark head tilted at a teasing angle.
When he didn’t answer, she held out a hand, “Come on super-sleuth. We have a case to joint.”
"Joint to case," he corrected. Caught off-guard, Angel had taken a step closer before his brain registered the action in time to stop it. Cordelia had her arm threaded through his before he could take evasive action. When she gave him that big smile of hers the thought flew right out of his head.
“Same- same, Mr Pedantic-pants. Anyway, I think its time to put those vampy senses to good use don’t you?” she arched a brow, “One that doesn’t include listening outside...”
“Okay, okay,” grimacing, Angel interrupted, “I’m sorry, all right. Next time, I’ll just walk on by.”
Her thoughtless, “Pfft, yeah *right*” caught them both by surprise. Shaking her head, Cordy pulled him along with her. “Never mind. C’mon, let’s get this over with.”
They spent an unproductive half hour searching around whatever corridor and semi-private room they could find. Given some of the places they stuck their noses in, Cordelia was surprised they’d only got being challenged twice so far. Thankfully confronted only by confused staff and not security, they enacted a little drama to get out of hot water.
The first time they did the ditzy couple routine; with Angel pretending to be an inebriated and not to mention grabby handed tourist, resulting in a death glare from under her lashes; and the second she did super-bitch to his affable dork. Angel played that role so well, she got the shivers realising he could turn it on and off like a tap when he wanted.
Finally they ran out of luck. Tucked into a doorway, they watched a suited man leave an office flanked by bodyguards. Glimpsing a plush office behind the trio, Angel waited only until they were away from the closing door to silently sprint over and prevent the door from closing completely enough to lock. If it hadn’t been vampiric speed it would have been impossible.
Cordelia darted over to join him as soon as the coast was clear. Together they entered the office and let the lock snick behind them. Dipped spotlights gleamed over a rosewood desk and brown leather desk chair. Matching cabinets lined one wall and a huge sofa in chocolate brown leather filled the wall opposite. Above the sofa was a hideous abstract painting that looked like vivid red and yellow paint had been spattered at the canvas and then smeared by a whacked out psycho.
Cordelia’s gaze flicked over it, “Geeze, even a philistine like me wouldn’t call that art. I wonder how much the godfather wannabe paid for it” she smirked, “- sucker.”
Over by the desk, Angel ignored her and searched for drawers that could be opened without needing to be forced. He’d rather not leave an evidence of tampering if he could help it. After they were done they still had to get out of here.
Cordelia was still appraising the painting; he cleared his throat to get her attention and nodded to the solid towers of wood on his right. “You check the cabinets and see if any of them are unlocked. We need to get out of here before anyone comes back.”
“Well, duh!” Irritated at being ordered around when she was boss, Cordy nevertheless did as instructed. She knew as well as he did they had no excuse for being in here.
A few minutes was all it took to establish that, Lee Demarco a name they’d gotten off some pre-signed stationery, was a cautious man. Cordelia was ready to give up. Gusting out a sigh, she flung up her hands, “We’re wasting our time here. Time we probably don’t have. Let’s go.”
Hands on hips, Angel swept the room one last time. He shook his head, “I can smell an electrical discharge in this room and it’s recent. There was a computer in this room not long ago. I just can’t find it.”
Dejected, Cordy flopped down disconsolately in the sofa. “It could be a laptop he’s taken with him, or locked in one of those drawers.” Slipping off a shoe because her little toe was throbbing thanks to a blister, she waggled them to get some cool air on the abused skin. “Either way I’d bet my non-existent life savings its password protected.”
Later, Angel would blame his distraction on the long slit in the dress that slid apart. It gave him an unobstructed view of a supple, tanned leg long enough to give a man, or demon, ideas about being tangled up in the pair.
Looking up from her contemplation of sore toes, she caught the direction of his gaze and felt heat bloom at the fixed, hungry expression filling Angel’s hard face. Then without any warning, he swore and lunged, “Son of a bitch!”
Frozen in place, Cordy braced and gasped when he grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet. Relieved it was just her hand, she heard him hiss, “Someone’s coming.”
Oh crap! “Who,” she asked dumbly as he dragged her over to the door.
His sharp what-the-hell-does-it-matter glance had her grimacing and staining to listen, too. From further up the corridor, Cordelia caught the faint sound of voices that were getting closer. “What are we going to do?” she hissed, feeling her heart thump its way up to her tonsils. “I can’t see us talking our way out of this one.”
Looking at her over his shoulder, Angel thought it over, “Best I can come up with is we wait until whoever comes in the room. I knock them out and then we both make a run for it.”
“No- no knocking people out.” Cordy was adamant. “There’s nowhere to stash a body anyway.”
“I don’t see we have a choice.”
She rolled her eyes, “You wouldn’t. If you’re not punching somebody out, you’re tossing them through a window.” Dark hair flew as she shook her head again in firm rejection. Desperate, she did an about-face and tried to believe it herself. “We’ll do this my way. I’ll talk our way out of it. It worked before.”
“We weren’t inside the private and locked office of the club’s manager before.” Angel retorted, peeking through the Venetian blinds, “I don’t think they’ll buy any excuses this time.”
The voices were getting audibly closer. “Angel, I know there’s something wrong with this place.” He looked down at her, impatience clearly written on his face. Cordelia injected as much resolve as she could into her voice. “We need more time to find out what before we get our asses kicked out. This is our job- your mission, even if you don’t remember that.”
They took an instinctive step back when the voices stopped outside the window and carried on talking. “What’s the plan then?” hissed Cordy and wished her heart would stop thudding in her chest.
Thinking furiously and discarding options as fast as they occurred to him, Angel glanced at the sofa and froze. When he looked back at Cordy, Angel saw her eyes widen at something she could see in his expression. Idly he wondered what that was. “I may have an idea, but it’s dumb and probably won’t work anyway,” he warned starkly.
Wary as a doe sensing danger, she tucked in her chin and eyed him. “What is it?”
The keys on the electronic keypad were pressed and they both jumped. “No time,” he said, “just do what I say and don’t get your knickers in a twist, okay?”
Cordy didn’t like the sound of that, but Angel didn’t give her chance to argue before he hauled her back to the sofa. Landing with an oomph, she gasped when he pulled her into a semi reclined position. With her head resting on the arm and grasping one knee, he raised it so that she was lying with her legs open. Then, kneeling on the floor, Angel settled himself between them. The whole thing had taken mere seconds.
“Angel-“
The handle was depressed but the door didn’t open as the conversation outside continued.
One of her hands was shoved up to his chest, holding him off while her pale face and panicked hazel eyes accused and beseeched at the same time. Angel knew her well enough by now to know that in a few more seconds she’d convince herself this was a terrible idea and start fighting him in earnest.
She could be right, but he also knew if it failed it wouldn’t be for the reason that had her so against it.
“If this is going to work, we have to make it look real,” Angel rasped, “You said you wanted another option. I’m giving you one.” Looming over her, he gave her a hard look, “Unless you want me to start swinging my fists after all?”
The door opened a crack and the voices got abruptly louder, one strident with impatience. Cordelia only caught a snippet before Angel swooped down and crushed her mouth with his.
Given their precarious situation it shouldn’t have blocked anything out, but it did. Prying her open he swept inside and she was lost. He tasted of restless hunger, and surly desire and it was a stunningly heady mix that obliterated every thought except greedily taking more.
Despite her protests, Cordelia’s lips opened to his, hot and hungry. Before they knew it they were both swept up in the wave of denied need that dragged them out to deeper waters. Inside, a hard ball of need opened in her belly, ballooning when he deepened the kiss. Needing an anchor, Cordelia’s hands found their way to his shoulders; then to his neck while her body arched up into his. Her hands fisted in his hair as Angel’s weight pressed her down; shifting so that they were as flush as possible.
A second later, she was too busy moaning to instantly register the waft of cool air that puckered one nipple. Angel’s knee dug into the leather cushion under her thigh, changing the angle and opening her more; ensuring that in their sprawled position, she couldn’t miss the insistent length throbbing intimately against her. Pure mindless instinct had Cordelia undulating her hips to grind her body against that bulge.
It has to look real to work It sure felt real to Angel. He also recognised it was a pathetic excuse. This hackneyed scenario had about as much chance of working as Cordelia chattering them free. He didn’t care. It was a great excuse to finally touch her and ease some of the ache wanting her left him with.
Her honest, unbridled response threatened to make him wild and dimly Angel wondered at how close to snapping with stress this woman had to be, to get so swept up in midst of danger. Was he taking advantage of that- hell, yes! He’d take care of his conscience later.
Her breast in his hand was full with just the right weight to have him hardening to the point of exploding. Worse, the tightly budded tip stabbing into his palm was a lodestone, making his mouth water even as he devoured hers. Her choppy breaths moaned into him; the sounds reminding Angel of all the times he’d wanted to shut her up in exactly this way.
Captured in his hand, Cordelia’s skin was warm velvet that begged to be touched and stroked. Already full the breast swelled further as he skilfully kneaded her with just the right amount of firmness. Catching the nipple between finger and thumb, Angel tweaked and plucked it into attaining its full begging length. Meanwhile, unnoticed by either of the pair locked together on the sofa, the door opened about a foot, but then stilled again. Outside, the voices continued to argue and debate.
Contrary desire ripped through him and urgency rose up in Angel. He knew his time was coming to an end. It wasn’t enough- dammit. Releasing her lips, he ducked down and without warning took the beaded flesh between his teeth, nipping once before sucking it hard into his mouth. Breath shuddering with rising need and trapped by his much bigger body, Cordelia gave a silent wail and her back bowed, arms twining around his head in a death grip as passion overrode every other sense.
It was the slamming of the door that yanked them both back to reality and an empty room. The voices receded again, this time sharper with aggravation at whatever interruption had saved them from discovery.
Continue on...
