Title: Deja Vu
Author: Little Heaven
Posted: 03-06-2003
Email: littleheaven70@yahoo.co.nz
Rating: NC17
Category: ATS 1 or 2, AU
Content: C/A
Summary: AU (even though it may not seem like it at the beginning!), set immediately after 'Dead End', Season 2. Just as the Angel Investigations team start pulling themselves back together, their recovery is gatecrashed by an unexpected visitor. With her comes a prophecy, an assassination squad, and a whopping case of deja vu...
Spoilers:
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution:
Notes: A huge thank-you to Laurie for the uber-beta and words of encouragement, and to the Angel Fanfic Workshop.
Feedback:Part 3: Welcome To My Wiggins
After several unsuccessful attempts, Angel cornered the Host by the bar.
"What sort of reading was that?" He gripped a purple arm, restraining the demon.
"Feel the love, Tinkerbell, and watch the creases! I can't read what I can't see. Sometimes I only get the cinematic trailer, not the director's cut with nine extra scenes."
Angel didn't let go. "What *did* you see?"
"She's not here to hurt you. In fact, she's the one who should be afraid."
Angel nodded. "Yeah, there are assassins after her. I know that."
"They aren't the only ones. She'll be lucky to survive this," the Host said, his face grave. "She's in real danger, bro. Don't leave her side, or it could all be for nothing. Now, Rambo, I'm late for my 'Get' set, so unless you want to come up and sing with me..."
"Sorry." Angel let go.
He sat at the bar and nursed a beer while the Host ripped into 'Get Back' by The Beatles. Staring morosely into the amber liquid, he watched the bubbles rise and burst on the surface, wishing he could taste it like he used to before -- before Darla. He heaved in a reluctant breath, forcing the air back out with a rush. While Cara was here, that ghost was going to keep haunting him.
He wanted to leave. The club was too crowded; warm bodies everywhere, bright lights and too much noise. Too many humans and half-humans milling around, talking, drinking. He just wanted to go to his room, sink into his chair and stare into the dark. Anything to be away from the crowd. The need to get out became overwhelming.
But he couldn't go alone. He had to help the others get Cara out of the club first. And he was supposed to stay with her. However ambiguous the Host's readings were, his advice was usually right. Abandoning his drink, Angel jerked up from the barstool and looked around for his companions.
The Host was now blasting out a creditable version of Billy Ocean's 'Get Out Of My Dreams, Get Into My Car', and several patrons had congregated on the area of bare floor in front of the stage.
Cara bobbed up and down in the centre of the small crowd, apparently no longer bothered by her odd-looking dancing partners. The Angel Investigations team danced around her, glancing repeatedly at the assassin demons in their booth, and forming a human barrier between them and their target.
Angel stood on the edge of the group, trying to make himself heard over the music. "Come on, it's time to leave."
"What?" Wesley put his hand to his ear.
"We should go!" Angel shouted, just as the music stopped, so that the last word filled the gap between the song and the applause.
Everyone turned to stare at him. So much for being inconspicuous. He wanted to shrink into his leather coat and disappear like one of Cara's imploding demons. The Host glared at him disapprovingly.
Thankfully, the mellow tones of a piano drifted from the speakers, Brenda Russell's ballad 'Get Here', prompting the dancers to take a partner and snuggle close.
After two bars, Angel froze. Déjà vu again, this time so powerful, it was as if someone had made it solid and smashed it across his face. He knew this song from... It was important that he remembered where.
He dredged around in his memory until he located the dream. The dream where he was dancing while the Host sang this exact song. Why did it seem so vivid, yet so strange? It had been no ordinary dream. He'd been dancing to this song -- with someone. Red dress, pale skin, blonde hair. Darla. He felt a growl rumble through his chest; cold prickles ran across his skin. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Bad move. Cara's smell was close.
"Angel?" Her voice made his head snap up, and her hand touched his sleeve. "You okay?"
She filled his nostrils, and he fought it off a shudder. "Yeah, I, uh, don't like crowds," he said, swallowing hard, looking around, self-conscious.
"Dance with me?" She looked at him through her long, dark, lashes.
His automatic response came out through gritted teeth. "I don't dance."
"Aw, come on, it's easy," she slurred, winding an arm around his waist and pulling him close to her. She began to sway, while he just stood there, jaw clenched.
Now her aroma washed over him in waves. God, she smelled just like her ancestor. He remembered the girl's sweet taste. Cara's head drooped to rest on his chest. Her small fingers ran down his sleeve, fumbled for a moment, and then interlocked with his own.
As soon as their skin touched, the room began to bend, then waver. He looked around, trying to find Cordelia, but all traces of the club were gone. He was back in Borsa, in that house, in front of the crackling fire.
He glanced down at the girl in his arms -- his birthday gift, in all her gypsy glory. Her head was tipped to one side, milky neck exposed to him like an invitation.
Darla stood beside him. "Happy Birthday, Angelus."
His mouth began to water. Somewhere in the back of his brain, something screamed at him to pull away, let go and just run, but the sound of blood roaring under translucent skin drowned it out. She was his for the taking.
***
Cordelia glanced up from her dance with Gunn. "You see Cara anywhere?" she asked, worried.
"I thought you were watching her."
"I was too busy leading. You mean we lost her?" She looked around in desperation, doing a double-take as she spotted Cara in the last place she ever expected to find her -- in Angel's arms. He was -- dancing? For a moment she bristled with anger as she saw Cara pressed full-length against him. But before she could stop to wonder at her own reaction, her eyes reached his face, and her blood turned to ice.
He wasn't moving, just standing there with his eyes closed, jaw rigid. Cordelia saw him swallow once, then again, his lips moist, nostrils flaring. Then he opened his eyes, and she gasped. They shone pale amber, unfocused, restlessly scanning the room. She could see the battle being waged within, and realized Angel was losing.
Cordelia pulled away from Gunn, and took two swift steps towards the struggling vampire. "I'm cutting in," she said loudly, grabbing Cara's arm and yanking her aside.
Cara's hand broke contact with Angel's as she stumbled back. She was trembling and pale. If Angel looked totally out of it, Cara ran a close second. She drew a few shallow breaths, staring at Angel as if he were the devil himself. Gunn took her shaking hand and led her away.
Angel still stood there, motionless, amber eyes wide but unseeing. He was panting, small shallow breaths, and she could tell he had no idea where he was, or what was going on.
As she watched, his face rippled, ridges emerging, fangs extending. She'd been dreading this for so long. She expected to feel terrified of him, of his demon breaking loose. But to her surprise she felt only sadness, pity, and an irresistible desire to comfort him. He was lost, he needed her, and she was sure she could help.
Instinctively she wound her arms around his rigid body, pulling him to her and putting one hand up to stroke the back of his neck. "Angel, calm down, it's okay," she murmured, her lips against his ear.
A growl vibrated through him, making goosebumps break out on her arms, but she didn't pull away. "Angel, it's Cordelia. I've got you." She repeated the phrase like a mantra, until she could hear his panting subsiding, feel his jaw relaxing against her cheek. "Shhhhh," she whispered, swaying him gently in time to the music.
***
Angel blinked. The room was changing again. Borsa disappeared, and slowly the Karaoke bar formed around him. The urge to feed subsided, and the smell of gypsy blood no longer drowned his senses.
He felt his face change, and tried desperately to work out what had just happened, why he was in the middle of the dance floor, trembling. He rode out the dizziness, letting reality wash back over him, wondering what had stopped him from doing the unthinkable. One word turned over and over in his jumbled mind.
Cordelia. He smelled her everywhere, and realized it was she who held him in a warm embrace. The ringing in his ears faded, and he could hear her soft voice, soothing him. Whatever just happened, she had rescued him from it.
Of all the scenarios he'd dreamed up for holding her close, this was *not* one of them. But now, 'how' didn't matter. He just wanted to stay there forever, listening to her whispering in his ear, her impossibly soft cheek brushing his face. Her body heat seeped into him, driving away the cold. She was so warm...
***
Cordelia felt Angel's arms curl around her, his large cool hands splayed across her back, pulling her harder against him. Her breath hitched, and her heart hammered against her ribs. She wondered if she would feel his fangs against her neck -- but his touch was tender, his thumbs caressing her back through her top.
"Cordelia." Her name came from his lips as a jagged sigh. She leaned away just enough to see his face. His eyes, dark brown again, were moist with tears. "Don't..." He swallowed, his face etched with pain. His voice broke as he spoke. "I don't know what just happened to me."
"It's okay, you're fine now. You want to go home?" she asked, trying to ignore the horrible sinking feeling in her gut. He was losing it. When he nodded, she stepped away and took his hand, leading him to the table.
Wesley was sitting there, keeping an eye on the two head-hunters who now occupied a couple of bar stools, closer to the entrance. Gunn stood, shifting from foot to foot, obviously eager to leave. Beside him, an ashen-faced Cara gulped down a large glass of wine, visibly tensing when she saw Angel approach.
"Cordelia, what happened?" Wesley asked, surveying Angel with concern.
"He's not feeling well," she said in a quiet voice.
"Not feeling well?" he echoed.
"I, uh, had a funny turn." Angel looked at his boots.
"Yeah, close encounter with a dance floor." Cordelia forced a smile. "You know how that makes him. We should get out of here." She dropped to a whisper and leaned in towards Wesley. "And make sure Gunn keeps Cara away from Angel."
"I don't think that will be a problem," he said, glancing at the shaken girl.
They moved to leave, Gunn half comforting, half supporting Cara. She looked a bit green, and Cordelia hoped she didn't barf in Angel's beloved car. If he was upset now, that would send him totally over the edge.
"Uh, Cordelia," Wesley said, his mouth barely moving as he motioned to the bar with his eyes. The demons that wanted Cara were now sitting with their backs to the bar, watching the room. They were only feet from the exit, and would easily be able to tail three unarmed people, one roaring drunk and a freaked vampire into the alley outside. Angel was supposed to be their protector, but he looked in no fit state right now. Getting out of the club would be no simple task.
As the music stopped, inspiration struck. Cordelia climbed onto her chair, stuck her fingers in her mouth, and let fly with a shrill whistle. The majority of the patrons stopped talking and stared at her.
"What the hell?" Gunn muttered.
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen and -- things," she shouted. "For the next two minutes, free drinks at the bar." She leapt from the chair, catching Angel's hand in hers again. "Run," she hissed at Wesley.
The result was quite dramatic. As she dragged Angel towards the door, a tide of people and demons swamped the bar, shouting their orders at the horrified staff. She could see the Host, waving his hand at her, his face going an even more vivid shade of green. Cara's demons were pinned against the counter, unable to get off their seats.
"Good thinking, Cordelia!" Wesley yelled over the din as they fled.
***
As Gunn eased the car through the late night traffic, Cordelia kept a tight hold on Angel's hand. He was silent and unmoving, which wasn't entirely abnormal, but his face was pale and drawn -- more than usual -- and he made no attempt to push her hand away. Something was horribly wrong, and she didn't like it one bit.
By the time they reached the Hyperion, Cara was sound asleep, having nodded off in the front seat sometime between their hasty exit from Caritas, and dropping an exhausted Wesley at his apartment.
Gunn carried her inside. "I'll put her to bed and take the room next to her." He shot a glance at Cordelia. "You two okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah, thanks, Gunn."
Leading Angel up the stairs, she wondered what she would do when they reached his room. Just leave him there to brood? That approach didn't help last time. Oh God, was this 'next time'? Angel wig-out number two?
When they got inside, he finally pulled his hand away, and sank into his chair, slumping down, closing off.
She had to do something -- she couldn't let him retreat to wherever it was he went when life got too hard. "Want to talk about it?"
"No, I want to be alone." He looked up at her, face blank. Just like it had been the day he fired them, expressionless apart from his dark eyes, which betrayed his fear and confusion. This was not going to happen again, she wouldn't let it.
"No, you don't!" she exploded. Stamping her foot, she balled her hands into fists. "Don't you dare do this to me!"
"Cordelia..." he said on a sigh.
He was obviously in no mood to argue -- but she didn't care. "No, you listen to me," she snapped. "I will *not* let you push me away again. You promised it would be different now, but here you are, going right back into hermit mode."
"You don't want to know what's happening here. If I tell you, you won't trust me anymore..." He lowered his eyes to the floor. "And I can't risk losing you again."
She paced for a few tense seconds. Could he hear her heart, pounding in fear and anger? Could he tell her stomach was in knots with worry? Did he care?
"You just don't get it, do you? Ugh, Angel!" she shouted, stamping her foot again. He looked up, puzzled, and maybe a little frightened. His expression drained all the anger from her; God, Angel was *scared*. And he really didn't get it -- that much was clear -- so yelling at him probably wouldn't help.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she walked over to him, and knelt down between his legs. Laying one hand on each of his thighs, she looked up into his face, and locked her eyes on his. Tears threatened, but she forced her voice to stay calm.
"Angel, you don't understand. You think I was mad because of the way you acted over the whole Darla thing?" He nodded, looking uncomfortable, and she sighed again. "Yeah, I was pissed about you firing me, and I was pissed about you giving away my clothes -- okay, a *lot* pissed about the clothes -- but what hurt most was that you shut me out. I thought you were my best friend. It hurt so much that you didn't trust me enough to ask for help. You should have told me what you were going through, Angel, you should have told all of us."
Her eyes brimmed over, and a tear streaked down each side of her face.
"I wanted to protect you," he whispered, his voice hitching. "You didn't deserve to be dragged down where I was going."
"But did you ever stop to think that I could've held you up?" More tears spilled, she couldn't hold them back. With uncertain fingers he reached up and brushed her cheek, wiping the warm salty drops away. She inhaled sharply, but didn't pull back.
"Angel, I know you feel like you're going crazy again, I can see it in your eyes. Sure that frightens me. But what scares me most is that you're going to close off, put that big wall up between us. Please don't do that anymore. Tell me everything, let me help," she begged, her lower lip wobbling.
He looked away, and she steeled herself for the trademark 'just leave me alone'.
"Promise you won't leave me, however terrible it sounds?" he said. It came out in a rush of desperation, and made her want to cry even more.
Her heart aching for him, she said, "I already promised you that. I'm with you until you live again, remember? As long as you let me stay, we're a team." Putting her hand against his cheek, she brought his gaze back to hers. "You Hero, me Vision Girl. Now, you promise *me* something."
"Anything."
"No more secrets?" She held her breath, wondering if she'd stepped over the line.
"Okay. I promise." He nodded, looking like he was about to cry as well. He took a deep breath, probably because it helped, and blinked hard.
Cordelia smiled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Look at us, you'd think the world was about to end," she laughed. "Of course, not saying it's not a possibility..."
"You're amazing." Angel shook his head, and for a second she was treated to a genuine smile. Her heart lurched, leaping into her throat like it was trying to escape.
"Y'think?"
"All the time." He reached up and smoothed her hair with his hand. "And I don't tell you enough."
There was an uneasy silence between the two of them for a moment, and then Cordelia stood up, nearly hitting her head on his in her haste. "Where are your glasses?"
"What? I don't wear glasses."
"Drinking glasses, dumbass. We need a drink." She marched into the kitchenette and began opening doors.
***
He was grateful for the opportunity to compose himself a little, as he watched her ransacking his cupboards with a ferocity that would normally have had him fearing for the safety of his crystal.
She was incredible. He couldn't even think of her as the same spoiled, shallow girl he'd known in Sunnydale. Here she was, forsaking everything she had for him, even in his darkest moments. She knew what he was, what he'd done. Yet she still stood beside him, unwavering in her devotion.
His eyes began to prick again, and he wiped them, glad she wasn't watching. Taking a deep, calming breath, he rose to his feet. Perhaps if he helped her in the kitchen, the contents of his cupboards would make it through the night intact.
"Jeez, Angel, unsociable much?" she said, closing the door on the empty pantry.
"I don't do a lot of entertaining in here," he replied apologetically, scuffing the toe of his boot on the floor.
"Never would have guessed," she muttered, looking into the fridge.
"Sit down, I'll make tea." He pulled out a chair for her, and she sank into it without protest.
Angel puttered around the kitchenette, boiling the kettle, getting cups out, spooning loose English Breakfast into the bone china teapot. He could feel her eyes on him, and he was relieved they weren't making the sort of awkward small talk that usually followed such personal moments.
He set the tray down on the small table, and sat in the chair opposite her. Lifting the ornate pot, he poured her tea. She curled her hands around the cup, sipping slowly.
"So?" she said, looking up through her lashes at him.
"What?" He paused, holding his tea in front of his mouth.
"This is where you tell me what's happening to you." She blew on the hot liquid before drinking some more.
He set his cup down, a tremor in his fingers making it rattle against the saucer. "It's Cara," he said, after a long pause. "It's like, whenever she's close to me, I remember things. Stuff comes back -- from before."
Angel paused, struggling. He wasn't used to articulating such things, especially to Cordy. This was the sort of thing that should be internalised, buried deep where it couldn't hurt anyone else.
"Before?" she prompted.
"The gypsy girl, in Romania, I keep remembering what I did to her. It's so vivid, I can even hear Darla's voice."
Cordelia sucked in a sharp breath. Angel knew his confession alarmed her. He certainly wasn't sounding like the poster boy for mental stability. He stopped and looked at her, uncertain if he should continue.
"It's okay," she said, reaching across the table and putting her hand over his.
"Sometimes it's more than a vivid memory." He shook his head, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "I'm really there. And I'm -- him."
"Angelus," she said quietly.
He hated the sound of his old name on her lips. He knew she dreaded the emergence of his alter-ego on a daily basis. And that she kept a cross and holy water in her purse -- just in case. Now he believed he was going crazy, and that Angelus would emerge as a result. That had to scare her.
She must have sensed his concern, because she smiled and nodded. "Go on."
"At Caritas, I think I was going to bite her. I couldn't stop it. I was reliving the whole thing. The club actually disappeared. I was in Romania." Visualising Cara's throat, he felt the demon stir, and get battered down by a tide of guilt. He hung his head in shame.
"That's happened before -- the virtual reality thing?" Cordelia said, unease creeping into her voice.
"The night she arrived, when I helped her up." He looked up. She was on to something.
"And at Caritas, what were you doing when it happened?" she asked.
"She asked me to dance, she took my hand..."
"It's when she touches you!" she gasped.
Cordy was right. It brought a rush of unexpected relief. When Cara was near, there were memories, voices, but he was still Angel. It was only when she touched him that reality took a complete holiday. And that meant he wasn't going crazy. If there were rules involved, it meant something was being done to him. It wasn't just his mind running amok.
"It must be some sort of mystical link, because of the curse," he said, thinking out loud.
"We should ask Wes about it in the morning," Cordelia said, stifling a yawn.
"How am I supposed to protect Cara if I can't go near her?" he asked.
"Let those things eat her -- how good could this gift of hers really be anyway?"
Startled, Angel raised an eyebrow.
"She's starting to rub me the wrong way." She avoided his gaze. "I don't like her upsetting you."
"She's not doing it on purpose," he began to say, when another huge yawn erupted from Cordelia.
She rubbed her eyes. "I should go."
"Stay?" His voice was so small, he wondered if he'd really said it.
"Huh?"
"Please stay here tonight, just in case -- in case I need you?" He forced the words out. It was hard, but he wanted her there so much -- especially with Cara close by.
She rubbed the back of his hand with her fingertips, a simple gesture, but so comforting. "Of course I'll stay."
Angel cleared away the tea things and collected some of the sleepwear Cordy had stored at the hotel, while she showered and dried her hair. He closed his eyes and slipped the small, soft garments through the bathroom door, and then got changed himself before she came out.
"It's a slumber party." She grinned, looking at him in his sweatpants and tank-top.
He wondered if she knew he normally slept naked. "Slumber party?"
"A teenage girl ritual, involving food, talking about boys, and hitting each other with pillows," she explained.
It didn't sound much like fun. "We're not gonna do the pillow thing -- are we?"
"We can leave that off the agenda," she said, laughing.
They stood in the middle of the room for a moment, silent. God, he wanted to grab her and kiss her so hard... "I'll take the couch," he said, trying not to let his gaze slip below her chin.
"Don't be silly. I'm here to protect you, so I'll need to be close. And the bed's big." She took his hand, pulling him through the French doors.
"Okay," he agreed, wondering if she'd be so relaxed if she knew the thoughts running through his mind.
They climbed onto the soft mattress, pulling the comforter up, and lay side by side for a few moments. He could hear her breathing slowing down as she relaxed and slumber beckoned her.
He inhaled deeply, letting her scent envelop him. Under the masculine perfume of his shampoo and soap she was still there, uniquely Cordy. As long as she was with him, the blackness and fear stayed away. He sucked in another lungful of air.
She rolled onto her side, facing him. "You okay?"
"As long as you're here," he said, keeping his voice steady with some effort.
Her fingers brushed his bicep, and she moved closer. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, slipping her hand over his chest, snuggling her body against his.
"Cordelia," he murmured, turning towards her, his arm circling her slim waist, pulling her flush against him. She didn't resist. It was such sweet agony, having her so close, yet unable to tell her how he really felt.
Her nose brushed his cheek, and she sighed before kissing his mouth softly, briefly. Her head drifted back to the pillow, leaving his lips tingling, begging for more. He lay there, shocked, wondering the gesture meant, hoping she didn't notice the way his body reacted to it. "Cordelia?"
"Mmmm, s'okay, I'll look after you," she mumbled, the words thick with sleep. "'Night, Angel."
"Goodnight, Cordy." Cradling her head against his chest, he watched her drift off. It was a long, long time before he was able to join her.
Part 4: Revelations
Cordelia woke with a start. She blinked in the half-light, for a moment unsure of where she was. The sheets were heavy with Angel's smell, and as her eyes focussed on the pillow beside her, she realized she was in his room, and that she was alone in the bed.
The events of the previous night came flooding back. Okay, don't freak. Things had gotten a little, well, intimate. Oh God, she'd even kissed him. Just a little bitty peck, but a kiss all the same. And there had been -- touching. His arm around her waist, his cheek against the crown of her head, their bodies curled together.
She waited for the 'ick' factor to set in -- that uncomfortable thing that happened when best friend relationships got touchy-feely. After all the times she'd warned him about her personal bubble -- last night she'd let him climb right into it and go to sleep. Good move, Cordy. There was gonna be big time ick. Any second now.
She waited. Nothing. It wasn't there. Why wasn't it there? Of course, she liked that he'd opened himself up to her, really talked to her about things. God knows she'd been trying for long enough to get him to do that. So, that was of the good. And she liked his admission that he needed her help. But, most of all, she liked falling asleep in his arms.
Today, waking up without him felt empty and wrong. She wished he was still there beside her, holding her close. And that scared her more than any of her other revelations. Oh, crap. Not of the good. Those are *not* good things to be feeling about a vampire who's barely hanging on to his marbles.
Too much to process pre-coffee. She was thirsty, and she needed to pee. How was that right? Sometimes the human body made no sense.
"Angel?" she called. No reply. Smoothing her hair back from her face, she slipped out of bed, and headed for her own room in the hotel. Perhaps after a change of clothes and a quick wash, she'd feel a bit more like herself.
***
It was around nine am when Cordelia finally made her way to the lobby. Her colleagues were already there, but somehow she could only look at Angel.
"Ah, hello, sleepyhead. Angel made us breakfast," Wesley said, looking up from the front desk, which was covered in plates and mugs, and several large platters of food.
"How can a dude who doesn't eat be such a good cook?" Gunn marvelled as he shovelled scrambled eggs into his mouth.
"And how can a guy who ate half the menu at Caritas be hungry again so soon?" Angel said, eyeing the mountain of food on Gunn's plate.
Cordelia smiled as he beckoned her to sit beside him. Her cheeks burned as she allowed herself to glance at his lips. The lips she'd kissed... No, don't think about it. Blush any harder and everyone will *know*. She began to load her plate with bacon and toast. "Where's Cara?"
"Probably driving the porcelain bus," Gunn said.
"Pardon?" Wesley looked up from his food.
"Barfing," Cordelia explained. She wasn't surprised.
"Yes, she did drink rather a lot last night," Wesley said.
"And she was still drunk when I found her wandering the halls at 4am, like the Lady of the Lamp," Gunn added, reaching for more bacon.
Just then, a rather red-eyed Cara appeared at the top of the stairs. She looked at Angel cautiously as she descended, taking a seat as far as possible from him when she reached the makeshift breakfast table.
"We were just wondering where you were. Bacon?" Wesley held the platter towards her.
"Ugh, no thanks," she said, holding up her hands in disgust. "Just coffee please."
"Hung over, are we?" Cordelia asked sweetly. She wasn't sure why, but she hoped the girl was suffering.
"Not too bad actually, it's just -- " Cara wrinkled her nose. "Look at all the grease."
"It's the only cure for a hangover," Gunn said, through a mouthful of toast.
Angel examined the platter, frowning. "My bacon's not greasy."
"All bacon is greasy," Cara insisted. "Hangovers don't kill you, but all that cholesterol will. Like the Host said, the body is the temple of the soul, and I must look after it."
There was a loud clatter as Wesley dropped his fork. "What did you say?"
"Cholesterol will kill you?" Cara replied, puzzled.
"No, no, after that." He rose out of his chair, eyes widening. Cordelia knew that look. He was definitely on to something.
"The body is the temple of the soul..." Cara trailed off as Wesley thumped his fist on the table. They all stared at him as he shoved back his chair and dashed into his office.
His voice rang out triumphantly. "Eureka!"
"He's got it." Angel looked up from inspecting the bacon, a look of hope plastered across his face.
Wesley returned with the crumpled scrap of paper Cara had given him the night she arrived. "Of course, the body is the temple of the soul!" he exclaimed.
Gunn looked confused. "Okay, still not making any sense here."
"The prophecy -- 'She alone can consign to eternity that which is fleeting. By the joining of the temples, so shall it be'. The body is the temple. That which is fleeting must be soul. Oh, my." He looked around the group in awe. "Cara is here to anchor Angel's soul."
Cordelia felt like someone had dropped a dumpster on her. All the air rushed from her lungs, and she could barely inhale to replace it. She gripped the edge of the desk, hoping it would stave off the rush of emotion and confusion. Everyone else was silent for a moment as they digested the implications of what Wesley had said.
"So, no more evil Angel?" Gunn said cautiously.
"Yes, that's right." Wesley sank down into his seat.
"Wow." Gunn added his to the collection of stunned faces. "How?"
Wesley reviewed the piece of paper once more. "By the joining of the temples -- er, bodies."
"Joining?" Cordelia narrowed her eyes. She didn't like the sound of this.
"Oh, yes, I believe it means Cara has to have, er, 'relations' with Angel," Wesley said.
Gunn raised an eyebrow. "Relations? Didn't he already eat one of her relations? Speak English, bro."
"It means he has to make mattress music with Little-Miss-Spooky-Birthmark here," Cordelia said, feeling both alarmed and disgusted. Angel getting horizontal with anyone was a bad idea. Very bad.
She glanced at Cara. The girl looked like all the blood was draining out of her face. Her mouth hung open and she appeared to be frozen in her seat.
"What if it don't work, man? Doesn't the wild thing make Angel -- the wild thing? Can we risk him going all evil on our asses?" Gunn sounded worried.
"No, I don't think that will happen," Wesley said, getting more animated as he warmed to the theory. "I think at the moment of -- consummation, as it were, the magic will be activated, and Angel's soul will be permanently attached. A lot of these prophecies have a risk-reward factor. It all fits perfectly. We'll never have to worry about Angelus again, and Angel can finally experience true happiness. This is huge." He smiled widely, satisfied with his summation.
"Are you all *deficient*?" Cordelia yelled, rising. "What the hell are you thinking? How do we even know that crusty old prophecy is right? For all we know, Angel could boff Cara, get a bit too happy, and hello, meet Angelus and his big scary fangs! For God's sake, she could've written the damn thing herself!"
"Cordelia, really," Wesley admonished.
"Back off, book boy." She waved her fork angrily at him. "Of all the possible ways this could work out, I can't think of one that's any good. Either he turns into Angelus, and we have to stake him before we all get tortured and killed, or it works, and he goes straight back to Sunnydale to marry Buffy. Either way, we're screwed!" she shouted, slapping her hands down on the desk to emphasize her point. The motion brought her face-to-face with Cara. "Anyway, the likelihood of either of those things ever happening is nil, since he can't get within two feet of you without wanting to eat you."
"What?" Gunn and Wesley both cried.
"Wh... what?" Cara stammered, finding her voice, and turning even paler than before.
"Yeah, sorry, honey. If he touches you, his brain goes bye-bye and he thinks you're a buffet dinner. If I hadn't cut your dance short last night, you'd be minus most of your plasma by now," Cordelia snapped. Okay, so maybe that last part wasn't strictly true -- Caritas being a haven and all, but it had the desired effect.
Everyone swung around to look at Angel. He'd been silent and motionless throughout, his face showing no reaction at all.
"Is it true?" Cara asked, small beads of perspiration breaking out on her top lip.
"Angel?" Wesley surveyed the vampire with concern.
Angel nodded slowly. "I -- I can't touch her, or I end up back in Romania, reliving the moment when I... I can't control it."
"Why didn't you tell us?" Gunn asked.
"I wanted you all to trust me again." Angel looked at the two men with such undisguised pain in his eyes that Wesley appeared quite moved.
"We do trust you Angel. You just have to be honest with us," he said, adjusting his glasses with a trembling finger.
"So, hang on," Cara said, holding up her quivering hand as a 'stop' signal. "You mean there's a chance that if I sleep with him, he'll go mad and kill us all. And there's a better chance that before we even get that far, he'll go mad and just kill *me*, right?"
"Yup," Cordelia said. Jeez, it took the girl a while to catch on.
"And you were all going to let me go ahead and risk my neck, just so he could have a sex life again?" Cara's voice started to escalate, a mixture of panic and anger.
"It's more complicated than that," Wesley said in his best diplomatic voice.
"Oh, it looks pretty simple from where I'm sitting. I think I'd rather take my chances with those grey things." Cara began to slide her chair backwards.
"Cara, no, we can work this out." Wesley tried again.
"I don't think so. Thanks for all for your help, but no thanks!" In one swift movement, she leapt up and bolted for the door.
"Cara, stop!" he called, moving to go after her.
"Yeah, stop her, she's wearing some of my clothes," Cordelia said, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm from her voice.
Angel stood and grabbed the Englishman's arm, restraining him. "Let her go."
"But, Angel, there goes your one chance at true happiness." Wesley waved his other hand towards the entrance.
"We can't force her to do anything. Just let her leave," Angel snapped. He released Wesley, turned on his heel and stalked out.
***
Angel slammed his apartment door and paced the room. What had happened to the good old days, when all he had to cope with was guilt? He'd just come gut-wrenchingly close to something he barely dared dream about, and for some sick, twisted reason he couldn't have it because of his inability to escape the past.
How could he keep Cara close, when it would mean her certain death -- at his hands? He should be able to control the urges, shake them off. He hadn't spent over a hundred years suppressing the demon, just to let it pop out and kill his first chance at something close to redemption. Yet there was no way he could restrain it, the bloodlust was too strong. God, he sickened himself.
And then there was Cordelia. Of all of them, he thought she'd be the happiest for him, and particularly at the prospect of getting rid of Angelus forever. Instead she was angry, and on top of that, he could swear she'd deliberately scared Cara off. It was as if she wanted to sabotage the whole thing. He was as furious at her as he was disgusted with himself.
"Dammit!" He kicked the wall, his boot making a neat, round hole in the plaster.
"I left my purse in here." He whipped around at the sound of her voice. "I love what you've done with the place, by the way." She surveyed the hole in the wall, and the shower of plaster chunks on the floor.
"Cordelia." He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.
"Don't, Angel. Let's just forget about it." She snatched up her bag and turned to leave.
Angel moved. Fast. He slammed his arm across the open doorway, blocking her exit.
"Let me go," she snapped.
"No, not 'til we've discussed this," he growled under his breath. "No secrets, remember?"
"There's nothing to discuss... Ow!" she cried, as he grabbed her wrist. "Angel, you're hurting me!"
He pulled her further into the room, letting go of her arm once the door was firmly closed. "What the hell was that downstairs, Cordy?"
"Well, excuse me for not wanting to get my jugular ripped out any time soon." She tossed her bag on the chair so hard he thought it would fly open.
He snorted. "It's not about the sex. It's about true happiness. You seriously think Cara could give me that?"
"Let's just say I don't think it's worth the risk," she said, planting her hands firmly on her hips, her eyes fixed on his, unwavering. Damn, she was stubborn.
"I don't think that's your decision to make," he snapped, feeling the anger bubbling closer to the surface, taunting the demon within.
"Really! Who do you think Angelus would come after first? I saw what he did to my friends, and I know what he'll do to me!" she yelled, her face flushing. "How do you think I feel -- last night I promised to stay with you forever, and today I'm faced with losing you, just like that." She snapped her fingers in front of his nose.
"You'll never..."
"If you turn evil, we'll have to stake you. And if it works, you'll go back to Buffy, and either way, I'll be all alone."
Her words hung in the air, and they both stared at each other, blinking, frozen. She raised a hand to her mouth, pressing it over her lips. Her eyes were wide with horror, as if she couldn't believe what she'd just said. One after another, tears wet her cheeks. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she began to turn away.
Angel reached out and stopped her, putting his arms around her, and pulling her against his chest, the same way he did when she had a vision. "Is that what this is all about?" he asked, his lips against her hair.
She sniffled into his shirt. "I don't want you to go away again."
Of course, she was scared. Everyone left her. Her parents, Xander, Doyle. His heart broke for her. He couldn't bear it when she cried. Most things he could fix by beating something up, but he couldn't fix this with violence -- only with love. He wasn't entirely sure he knew how to go about that.
"Cordy, I'll never leave you," he insisted, hoping it was enough.
"But, Buffy..." she whispered, so close that he could feel her breath on his lips.
He swallowed hard. "Whatever happens, Cordy, I'm staying here. I won't leave -- I promise."
***
Cordelia felt the room turn upside down. How could this be happening? How could she be here in his arms, enjoying his touch much more than she should? Why was she so afraid of losing him? Why did she not care that everything about this was so wrong? For God's sake, this was *Angel*. Not good. And too good.
She wished she could tell what was going on behind those dark, shining eyes of his. It seemed whole minutes passed as they stood there, faces almost touching, the electricity of unspoken attraction crackling between them. She should pull away, end whatever this was, *now*.
"Cordy," he said, breaking the trance first. "I..." And then his lips descended onto hers, and he kissed her, hard. Her knees buckled, but his strong arms were around her, cradling her against his solid frame. God, his mouth was so sweet, so cool. She knew she should refuse, but she couldn't.
Without warning, he broke away, pushing her back to arm's length, a look of ashamed horror on his face. She stood there, speechless, gaping. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his fingers trembling. She stared at him, her chest heaving with startled breaths.
"I -- I'm sorry. Cordy, I didn't -- I mean, I did, but I shouldn't... Why aren't you slapping me, or yelling at me, or -- running away?" He looked so terrified, so panicked, like a child caught with his hand in the candy jar, mixed with equal portions of bewilderment and hope.
She opened and closed her mouth, unable to reply. God, this was so wrong, but it felt so totally one-hundred-percent right. What was she doing? Where was the double-barrel Cordy one-liner that was supposed to put him in his place? She had nothing.
"Please don't..." He faltered as she stepped towards him, biting her lip, hands reaching up to press against his chest. She hated herself for it, but she had to finish what he started. Grabbing fistfuls of shirt, she yanked his head back down to hers, devouring him, pressing her body to his. This time he didn't break away, his hands roaming down her back, cradling her hips against his. She felt the fires spark and ignite in her stomach. This was dangerous, but so damn good. And if it lasted any longer she was gonna pass out.
Cordelia turned her head away, ending the kiss, resting her face against his chest. It was so strange to feel her own heart pounding, while his body was still and quiet. They stood there, just holding each other. It was -- nice. And weird. And *bad*.
"I *do* want this prophecy to work," Angel murmured against her forehead.
She looked up. "Why?"
"Because I want this -- with you."
"Angel, no. I -- I don't know." She stepped back, smoothing her rumpled clothing, as if it would calm her frazzled nerves. Did Angel just say what she thought he did? She didn't want to look up, see his wounded expression. "But, in any case, it's important, not just because of that. If it *did* work..." she mumbled, thinking aloud.
Angel tipped her chin up with one finger, bringing her eyes back to his. "I don't want to -- with her. Maybe Wes is wrong. Maybe I don't have to..." He pulled a face.
"But if he's right -- hey! You let her go!" She slapped his arm. "You can't do it without her."
He rolled his eyes. "And I can't 'do it' with her, either. She's safer away from me at the moment."
"We *so* need a clearer translation." She moved to retrieve her purse from the chair. "Shall we go do the stinky book thing?"
Angel looked embarrassed. "Give me a couple of minutes."
"This is no time to be contemplating your navel, and -- oooh, okay," she said, following his eyes downwards. "You better have a cold shower."
"Yeah. Hey, Cordy?" he asked, as she headed for the door.
"Hmm?"
"Don't tell anyone about what just happened." He put his hands in his pockets.
"Are you kidding? Wesley would probably bite right through his stiff upper lip if he found out." She said it flippantly, but it was true. She could imagine the lecture on stupidity they'd both get. Rather later than sooner.
Part 5: Sharp
Cordelia stood on the top stair, listening to the conversation below.
"I hope she didn't stake him or anything," Gunn said.
"Do you really think she would?" Wesley asked, sounding nervous.
Cordelia suppressed a grin, which broke free when Gunn replied, "I never saw her that mad before. She's one scary chick when she gets going."
"Quite a perplexing outburst. I don't think I'll ever understand that girl. Women are hard to read at the best of times. And Cordelia..." Wesley began.
"Should have come with instructions," Gunn finished the sentence.
Okay, she deserved that. You never heard good things about yourself when you eavesdropped. Besides, right now an instruction manual for her addled brain would come in real handy. To turn off unwanted feelings -- pull left earlobe...
She cleared her throat, making the rest of her descent as loud as possible. The voices came to an abrupt halt. Wesley and Gunn looked up at her, guilt written all over their faces.
"When people go quiet as you walk in the room, it's rarely a good sign." She narrowed her eyes at them, wanting to make them squirm.
"Angel okay? He looked pretty mad," Gunn asked, obviously trying to change the subject.
"We kissed and made up," she said lightly. Oh God, did we kiss... No! Bad thoughts.
"Oh, good, that's -- good." Wesley took off his glasses and began to polish them vigorously. "I was a bit worried about him. I know how hard things are for him right now."
"You have no idea," Cordelia deadpanned, shaking her head.
Gunn sat down on Angel's chair, crossing one ankle over the other. "So? Are we gonna go after Cara?"
"She could be on a bus out of town by now," Wesley said.
"I think we should find out as much as we can about that prophecy first. If Cara comes back, we need to know if we can fix things," she said. "If Angel has any hope of getting permanently souly, we have to figure out how he can 'do it' with her without a dinner bell going off in his head."
"But I thought you didn't like that idea," Wesley said, looking confused.
She frowned at him. "That is *so* not the issue right now. This is about what Angel wants, not what I think."
"Instructions." Gunn tried to disguise the word as a loud cough. Cordelia slapped him, hard.
There was a brief silence as they all racked their brains as to where to begin looking.
"Hey, what about the scroll of linoleum?" Cordelia said, remembering where the prophecy about Angel's Shanshu came from. Surely there was other stuff in that?
"You mean the scroll of Aberjian?" Wesley corrected, drawing out the word for her benefit. "Actually, you might have something there. I do recall mention of gypsies. I just assumed that referred to his past dealings with them, and paid little attention to it. I was so busy trying to work out the Shanshu part, I never went back to that section. I'll look into it immediately." He jumped up, excited, and scuttled into his office.
Cordelia noticed Angel coming down the stairs about ten minutes later. She could barely look at him without her cheeks feeling hot, and ducked her head back to the book she was trying to read.
The men hardly acknowledged his presence. They were deep in research mode -- books and musty old bits of paper strewn over every spare inch of desktop, and parts of the floor. Wesley had the scroll of Aberjian carefully weighted down at each corner, and was poring over it with a looking glass, muttering to himself. "Damn, I know it's here somewhere."
"Hey, man, grab a book," Gunn said, glancing up briefly.
Angel lifted a heavy volume and sat down beside Cordelia. "What are we looking for exactly?"
"We're trying to find a reference to the prophecy, or better still, a full version," Wesley said, not looking up from the ancient scroll.
"You still think Cara's is incomplete?" Angel looked hopeful at the prospect.
"Mmm, possibly," Wesley murmured, his attention still focussed on the parchment.
Cordelia watched Angel set his book on the desk, and begin turning pages. His concentration was obviously shot -- he kept glancing sideways at her, shifting in his seat, moving his feet restlessly. She could guess what he was thinking. She was thinking it too.
Her emotions were still in a mess. She wanted him -- she didn't want him. Everything sensible in her brain told her to forget the kiss, ignore his feelings for her, but now that it was out there, she couldn't stop thinking about it.
She pondered her track record in romance. Shouting at Xander one moment, kissing him passionately the next. Calling Doyle a weasel at breakfast time, accepting his dinner invitation the same evening. Sleeping with a man she barely knew... Was she doomed to follow the same pattern forever - lurching from indifference to infatuation at the drop of a hat? All it had gotten her so far was a broken heart, rebar through the torso, mind-shattering visions and a demon pregnancy.
Concentrate, Cordelia, there are more important things at stake. Regardless of what she did, or didn't feel for Angel, they needed to get this prophecy sorted out -- which they couldn't do unless they miraculously found Cara, and somehow fulfilled it without Angel turning into Cujo in the process.
They were playing with fire here, and Cara's life, for his benefit. No, not just his benefit -- for her own, too. The thought of what Angelus would do to her if he got free scared her more than anything else in the world. She knew it scared him just as much.
But that was only the start of it. Once Angelus was finished with her, countless others would follow. Wesley and Gunn certainly. Their friends in Sunnydale too. Buffy, Willow, and how many others? Hundreds? Thousands perhaps. This was so much bigger that she had ever considered. Shame washed over her as she thought about her selfish outburst. All she'd considered was how it affected her. That was supposed to be the old Cordy.
She glanced at Angel, her pensiveness turning to amusement. He was still away with the fairies, and despite her misgivings, she liked that it was because of her. It was a new and entirely pleasant feeling. The boys at school had only gone out with her because she was popular, and the Xander episode had been sorta twisted and gropey and apparently one-sided.
She'd never really had someone fall for her before, not the way Angel seemed to have. Maybe Doyle had started to, but he died before they ever got to work out their feelings. And until recently, she probably wasn't the sort of person anyone would have wanted to be with anyway.
Cordelia jumped as Angel's hand crept onto her thigh, under the desk, hidden from view. Neither of them was going to get any work done like this -- her fretting, and him copping a feel. Especially since, she noted, his book was upside-down. Reaching over, she turned it one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, so the text was readable. He looked at her sheepishly.
She needed to concentrate, sort this whole mess out in her head, and she couldn't do that with him in such close proximity. "I need more light," she announced, reaching under the desk for her purse.
Wesley and Gunn grunted in unison. Gathering up her cardigan, left behind by the fleeing Cara, Cordelia collected her books and rose from her chair, Angel's hand slipping off her leg. She strode towards the doors to the small courtyard.
"Cordelia, those books are very susceptible to UV light." Wesley was sufficiently distracted now to look up.
"So am I, and I'm gonna absorb as much of it as possible," she called over her shoulder.
She folded the cardigan into a cushion, and placed it on the wall of the dry fountain. Taking her sunglasses out of her bag, she settled down to read.
Sighing comfortably, she hitched her skirt up to reveal her legs, relishing the warmth as the sun tingled on her skin. She saw too little of her old friend these days. She realized that, more and more, she was choosing between it and Angel. Cordelia knew which one would win. She'd live her whole life in the dark to be with him. And there were always sunbeds. Perhaps he'd install one in the basement for her.
***
Angel watched her through the doors, sitting out in the daylight, where he couldn't follow. It felt wrong -- dangerous. He raised his head, listening, sniffing the air. Something *was* wrong. Something was -- outside. "Uh, guys, you might want to check out the front," he said uneasily, glancing towards the main entrance.
"You think there's somethin' out there?" Gunn said, rising, tensed for action. Angel nodded. "Back me up, bro." Gunn motioned to Wesley to follow, and they both made their way to the door, weapons in hand.
Angel stood, feeling useless, unable to return to his book. Getting more agitated, he strode towards the courtyard doors. Cordelia was still there, skirt hitched indecently high, thumbing through a musty old tome as if it were the latest Vogue. He smiled despite himself, struck by the bizarre juxtaposition of two disparate worlds, and amazed as always by the way she took life's oddities in hand. The benefit of a Sunnydale childhood, he figured.
A small movement caught his eye. The demon was crouched on the courtyard wall, so still it was almost invisible, its skin the color of sandstone. Long, lethal talons protruded from its fingertips, and it cocked its head, eyeing Cordelia as she sunbathed, oblivious to its presence. Angel's sensitive ears picked up the low clicking sound that emanated from its throat as it stalked its prey. The muscles in its hind legs tensed, ready to spring.
Angel saw everything in slow motion. The demon launched itself from the wall, landing beside Cordelia. She screamed, and to her eternal credit, kept her wits about her enough to bash it across the face with her book. A feral growl ripped from Angel's throat, his demon visage erupting as he flung himself through the doors and out into the blazing LA sunshine.
***
Cordelia wasn't sure what alarmed her more -- the sight of the huge talons lunging at her, or that of Angel, in full game face, billowing smoke as he slammed into the demon full-force. In a tangle of claws, fangs and limbs, the two combatants tumbled against the wall of the hotel, and mercifully into a sliver of shade.
The smell of burning flesh made her gag for a second. The demon extricated itself from the tackle, and crouched over Angel, who cowered against the wall, holding his burned hands protectively against his chest. Dammit, Angel, stay in the shade. It raised one claw high in the air for the blow that would surely sever Angel's head.
"Hey, Edward Scissorhands!" Cordelia screamed at it, her hand going into her bag. There was no way she was going to stand by and watch Angel be decapitated, whatever the danger to herself. She maneuvered closer. The demon paused, but did not turn around.
"I said, HEY!" She belted it across the back of the head with her handbag, her other hand gripping the small cylinder she had retrieved from its depths. An agitated clicking sound, rising to something akin to a two-stroke engine, reverberated from the animal. It sniffed, taking in her scent.
"Cordelia, run," Angel's voice cracked.
The demon swung around, evil eyes locking onto her. She seized the opportunity and discharged the full can of mace into its face. It began to squeal, the taloned hands flying up to protect its eyes. She jumped backwards just enough to avoid being slashed as they whizzed past her face.
There was a resonant 'thung', followed by a 'whoosh' as an arrow flew past her left shoulder and embedded between the demon's eyes. The two-stroke sound accelerated to a noise more like a chain saw, and the monster lurched around the courtyard, flailing wildly with the deadly blades.
Gunn and Wesley leapt into battle, Gunn's hubcap weapon and Wesley's Bavarian fighting axe clashing with talons and several other parts of the demon's body. Cordelia averted her eyes, but that didn't block out the horrible hacking noise, or the smell.
Finally, it crumpled into a bloody, oozing heap on the pavers. Wesley and Gunn stood over the corpse, breathing hard, and examining the small nicks and cuts that adorned both their bodies.
Now Cordelia could see Angel, huddled against the building, burns marring his face and hands. He shook, whimpering, recoiling from the daylight that illuminated the concrete just inches from his body.
"Oh, God, Angel," she stepped over the body of the demon, falling to her knees beside him.
He began to slump over, his voice barely audible. "Get me inside."
***
Angel lay, spread semi-naked on his bed. Over the scent of his own charred skin, he smelled his friends, gathered nearby. He could feel weeping blisters on his hands and face, and the sting of the lacerations that covered his body from his tumble with the demon.
"Thank the Lord he was wearing a long-sleeved skivvy," he heard; Wesley's voice, fuzzy, but growing closer. Something cold and wet pressed against his seared forehead. It was Cordelia, tending to him with a washcloth full of ice. He could feel her hand trembling as she moved the soothing coolness to his cheek.
"That feels nice," he whispered. A couple of gasps indicated his comment had startled the onlookers.
Forcing open his swollen eyelids, he squinted up at Cordelia. She looked really mad. He cringed -- it was never a good thing to raise her ire, and especially not when you felt like you'd just been attacked by a blow-torch wielding Cuisinart. He hoped she'd take it easy on him, considering his weakened state.
"That was stupid. What the hell were you doing?" she said angrily.
"It was going to kill you," he sighed. "I had to stop it."
"What were you planning to do, torch boy? Scare it off with fire? You almost ended up as the world's largest shish-kebab!" Her eyes flashed fury -- and pain.
Now he understood. She wasn't just angry -- she was scared. And she was trying valiantly to cover it up. "I had to protect you." He began to cough.
"I was doing fine by myself, what with the not being on fire and all," she said, her face softening, although her voice remained annoyed.
"Yeah, cos being whacked with a handbag is the number one cause of death among demons," Gunn said, dripping sarcasm.
"Actually," Angel rasped, "that bag's full of stuff. It must weigh a ton."
Her scowl returned. "You've been into my handbag?"
"Now you're really in trouble," Gunn laughed.
"You will be, too, if Angel doesn't get some rest. Shoo!" Cordelia flapped her hands at Gunn and Wesley. Angel closed his eyes again, knowing he was in good hands.
***
Angel stood on the first floor balcony. He'd slept right through sunset, and it was now sometime around midnight. His scarred and blotchy skin was already healing.
Wesley and Gunn were still awake below, in the lobby, looking like they'd cut themselves shaving -- all over. Dressings and bits of surgical tape created a patchwork effect on their arms and faces. They were having an animated discussion with Cordelia, who was surfing the net.
"Cordelia, you're making that up." Wesley's tone was scolding, as if she was a naughty child telling him a bare-faced fib.
"I'm not! Come and look for yourself. Ginsu. Gin-su. That's what it says. I was attacked by a Ginsu demon."
"Like the steak knives?" Gunn asked. Angel could tell he didn't believe her either.
"Yeah, like the steak knives. How do you think they got their name?" Her voice was thick with exasperation.
"I always suspected there was something evil about those infomercials," Wesley said, leaning over her shoulder to inspect the monitor.
Angel came down the stairs, and they only noticed him as he reached the lobby floor.
"The Ginsu, while possessing poor eyesight, have excellent hearing and an advanced sense of smell," Wesley read from the screen.
Angel leaned on the desk with his elbows, avoiding unnecessary pressure on his sore hands. "It was after Cara."
"So why did it attack me?" Cordelia said, indignant. "I don't look like her. My ass is way smaller."
"No, but you sat on the cardigan she wore. It made you smell like her," Angel said. "Not much, but enough to confuse it."
"Ugh, gross!" She shifted in her seat, trying to wipe her hands across her butt.
"You think there's more of those steak knife things out there?" Gunn poked a thumb in the direction of the courtyard, where the body of the slain demon had degenerated into an oily black slick on the concrete.
"Probably. You should wash and change, Cordy," Angel suggested, aware all she was doing was spreading the weak smell around. She'd stirred it up enough that Darla's pretty powdered face flashed though his mind again, and he shook himself mentally. Fight it. Don't let it get to you. Don't inhale.
"I think I may have made some small progress with our little problem," Wesley said, having absorbed all the information on their latest demon.
Cordelia feigned disappointment. "But you didn't say Eureka."
He ignored the remark, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "There is a section of the scroll of Aberjian that mentions the curse. It says the soul will be revoked by true happiness, until after Angel encounters 'the chosen daughter'."
"Cara?" Gunn said.
"One can only assume."
"So is the prophecy mentioned?" Angel leaned forward, his interest piqued.
"Not really. There is one other passage -- it's not a language I'm fluent in. I only recognise two or three words."
"Which are?"
"Uh, there's 'curse', 'Gypsy' and, er -- I believe the last one translates as 'penetration'. Wesley's face went a vivid shade of pink.
"Jeez, obscure much?" Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Now we know where the guys who write instructions for assemble-it-yourself furniture descended from."
"Yeah, bro, why couldn't they just write it in plain English?" Gunn said.
"Well, I don't think English was invented when this was written," Wesley tried to explain, before turning back to Angel. "I have to know, has anything like this ever happened to you before? The hallucinations?"
"Uh, yeah, once." Angel didn't like the line of questioning. It forced him to remember things that were better left buried.
His face had obviously given away more than he intended, because Wesley came towards him and said, "If we're to help you, Angel, you must tell us everything."
"I had hallucinations when I was in Sunnydale. Waking dreams. But that was The First, trying to get me to kill Buffy," he said, trying to get away with as brief a description as possible. "This is different."
"And how did you deal with that?" Wesley asked.
Angel paused for a long time before answering. "I didn't."
"Angel." Wesley's voice held a tone of warning.
"I walked up on the ridge and waited for the sun."
"But you're still here, so something must've stopped you from burning up," Cordelia said.
"It snowed." Angel looked down at his burned hands. "If it hadn't..."
"That was all about you?" she gasped.
"I -- I guess so. I never really stopped to wonder..."
"Typical!" she snorted, banging her hand down on the keyboard. "Damn PTB! You, they give two inches of snow. Me, they give mind-melting, head-cracking, drool-o-vision. Speaking of which..."
Angel made it to her side and wound his arms around her, even before she rocked forward, crying out in agony.
"Cordy," he said, hating that he always felt so useless when this happened. She cannoned back against his chest, her fingers clawing at his forearms. Damn PTB was right. Why couldn't they transfer the visions to him?
Wesley grabbed up a pad and pen. "Cordelia, what can you see?"
"Ginsu," she coughed, struggling to force the word out. "Cara -- she's bleeding."
"It's okay." Angel held her firmly, ignoring his smarting palms.
"The Chinese Theater," she gasped, opening her eyes. Angel thought it was all over, but another lance of pain threw her forward, and he just managed to stop her hitting her head on the computer.
"Angel, no!" she cried, twisting in his grasp, pushing against his chest. Her face contorted in panic and revulsion.
"Cordy, it's okay. You're safe. I've got you," he said, trying to calm her frantic flailing, and wincing as her fingers raked and pummelled the partially healed cuts beneath his shirt. She opened her eyes and grew still, staring at him in horror. He could smell something new on her. Fear, raw and ugly. Fear of him.
"What did you see?" Wesley asked again, as Angel released Cordelia enough so she could sit straight.
"It's Cara -- those slice 'n' dice things are after her," she said, sucking in deep breaths. "She was on the grounds of some big old house, behind Mann's Chinese Theater."
"Yeah, that's a hostel. Maybe she's stayin' there," Gunn said, moving for his axe.
"That's not all. I saw you." She turned to Angel. "You -- you bit someone." Her voice was filled with disgust.
"Cara?" he asked, unnerved. Please, just for once, let Cordy's vision be wrong. Just when I have her back...
She nodded, her whole body straining to move away from him. "I think so."
"When, Cordelia?" Wesley looked grave.
"We have to leave now." She reached for her jacket, struggling to her feet.
"Hey, you should stay here -- rest," Angel said, fishing for his car keys in the pocket of his duster.
Cordelia avoided the hand he put out to restrain her. "I have to come. If you wig, I might be the only one who can bring you back."
She was right. It was her scent, her touch, that had grounded him at Caritas. He was going to need her with him when they found Cara. She had to stop him from killing, not just for Cara's sake, but for his own. She had to keep him away from the darkness.
He pocketed her painkillers, and grabbed her water bottle.
Continue on...