Title: Catharsis
Author: Natauni
Posted: 02-01-01
Rating: R
Email:
Content:
Summary: What you see is rarely all there is
Spoilers:
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution:
Notes:
Feedback:Part 15 of Catharsis has been lost. If you happen to have a copy of this missing chapter, we would appreciate hearing from you! Email me at florrie59@yahoo.com.
Part 16: Idle Conversations
Remember that old saying about needing to watch out for the quiet ones, because they're the ones who'll eventually get you? They were only partly right. It's not just person you have to worry about, it's also invariably the depth of the fear buried inside their secrets.
Hindsight is the only vision we have that's guaranteed to be twenty-twenty. Sometimes, no matter how much you might wish it were otherwise, you don't see something's arrival until it's upon you. You may sense it in a distant sort of way, may start to label it paranoia, but then suddenly 'boom' it all explodes into your world and you're left wondering how in the bloody hell you could have not seen it before now. How you could have missed the forest for the trees.
It just so totally blatant in that moment, and you can barely forgive your ignorance and your sheer naiveté for letting the wolf through your front door.
Said animal is standing in Cordelia's living room right now. And I guess we should have expected it. After all, as I've already said we'd all known from the start things weren't right with Cordelia. She may not have been acting rabid, but she certainly hasn't been herself. She was too...too everything. To tired and angry. To apt to be a good soldier. Too thin. She was too good at not letting us see her when she fell - and we were too good at believing she rarely did. We allowed ourselves to think she really just sailed through her darker experiences effortlessly. We chose not to dig deeper to make sure the wound was clean. We didn't talk about it, because we didn't know how too.
Tonight, though, an old sin came back to haunt us. And the sad thing is we never would have known it existed if she hadn't been unable to find a way to hide the corpse. She says it's none of our -business.- That was our wakeup call.
There are days you realize you've lost someone in measurements to small to count. And then the chasm opens up and you wonder how in the bloody hell you can put things back together again.
It started when Angel declared group crisis status because Cordelia had had a vision. The call came in while I was in the middle of trying to decide whether I wanted to cook or just go out again for supper. Eating regularly has become something of a nuisance as of late - both because we never seem to be anywhere near a kitchen at the commonly accepted meal times and because, frankly, I don't like eating alone. There's something ironic about our lives at Angel Investigations in the sense that we seem to manage to both work and play together while rarely burning out on each other's company. I guess it come down to a matter of definitions: we aren't a business or a 'social group' or even a team...we're a family. None of us has -had- a family for so long - if, ever, so the feeling catches us all of guard sometimes.
I guess we sort of latched onto each other and enjoyed the experience of our little entwined community. Then Darla nearly destroyed what we'd so carefully built up and once it was fixed, or even partly fixed, we were suddenly so possessive of it. Now, even if we do respect each other's personal space we still end up together more than apart. Our new bonds are so, so incredibly fragile this far. And I can't help but have this sinking feeling everything is about to blow up in our faces all over again.
There's no clear indication of why I feel that way yet. I just have my instincts - and they're not happy with anything at the moment. In fact they're screaming bloody murder.
I pray to the Powers they don't bend us too much farther, because I don't know where we finally break.
So I hauled my noble self out to Gunn's place and then the two of us hauled ourselves over to Cordelia's. Of course the end result of this mad dash through city traffic is rather anti-climatic. There was no screaming demon or ambulance or fire truck or any other sign of doom awaiting when we arrived. The fact of the matter is the apartment looked just like it has every day since the day I first came here. And our entrance was no more abnormal. The door was locked and it took several moments before there was a response to the doorbell, and I heard the click of the deadbolt.
Then the wide panel of wood was carefully swung open and I knew something was horribly, horribly wrong.
It was in his eyes. I've seen grief on this man's face and exhaustion and anger and depression and even apathy, but the one thing I next to never saw on Angel's face was this full-blooded rage. It was there now though - simmering behind a thin mask of composure that cracked momentarily every few seconds before he managed to pull it back under again. I'd noted earlier when he called that Angel had sounded stilted...unnaturally put together in the way he spoke.
He still seems that way now...held together by will.
I don't want to know what he's holding back, and yet I know...almost uncannily... that we're about to find out.
"Come on in - but be quiet please. Cordelia went to clean up before you guys arrived and according to Dennis she fell asleep on her bed. I don't want to wake her if we can avoid it." That same voice again, calm and low. He he's being completely polite... and totally fake in his composure. For a moment I nearly asked if it wouldn't be better to -wake- her. After all wasn't this a -group- meeting?- Then I saw - really saw the way he held his hands at his sides and the lines around his mouth. And I prayed she'd stay asleep.
"You said you wanted to speak to us Angel?" Why do I have the eerie feeling I just addressed a higher court concerning the matter of my innocence?
"Yes I did." He steps back and lets us pass by before closing the door behind him. I smell coffee as I hang up my jacket. Apparently Angel has fallen in Cordelia's old habit of never letting anyone into her apartment without the offer of liquid caffeine in some form. In truth I would have preferred tea, but the brew does spark my taste-buds automatically, so I go to get myself a mug and some cream from the lower shelf of the fridge, instinctively waiting to let Angel lead in the conversation.
Unfortunately Gunn isn't as aware of the importance of patience when our friend has that expression on his face. "So what happened man? You gonna tell us or make us stand here all night?"
Oops. Definitely the wrong thing to say, and the way Angel rips open the bag of blood he pulled from the fridge is proof of that as he empties it in a mug and pushes the buttons on the microwave. His eyes narrow on the young street fighter as he all but stabs on the power button and, his next words are dangerous.
"How about we trade hmm, guys. I'll tell you about how Cordelia got to see a girl right about her age turn into corpse right after you explain how on earth you could have let her be -raped- without mentioning it to me!?
Part 17: Bottoming Out
You know somebody really ought to tell Angel that he needs to look up the concept of 'subtlety.'
Silence. I don't think I've ever witnessed a silence so suspended or so… numb…before. The stillness I'm talking about here isn't introspective or shocked… it's outright frozen. They're just standing there - staring at each other while the words hang in the air. Like a bull elephant in the living room.
"She was -what?-" Wesley is the first who actually manages to speak. The words sound more like a strangled whisper than anything else.
The look of absolute horror on both he and Charles Gunn's faces is enough to take the wind right out of Angel's sails.
"Raped, Wes. I think she was raped. Or pretty much so anyway from what I can sort out. I'm still rather confused on the details." Angel's voice is gentler now as he tries to bring himself back under control. I don't know if it was hearing his own fury made manifest or if it was the way both men almost crumpled inward in disbelief at his statement, but the fury that has been holding him upright up until now suddenly rushes down out of him and his entire form seems to deflate as he raises a shaky hand to run it over his forehead. Meanwhile, Wes and Gunn seem to have moved out of the stationary faze as well. Both are making the unsurprising gravitation toward the partially ajar bedroom door - presumably because they need to see her. Angel heads them off before either get more than a few feet, however. He's sympathetic, but he doesn't want to risk her waking. Not to mention the real reason he called them here….
He does try and reassure them though, "She's asleep…she's okay for now. Dennis is keeping guard." Then a shaky breath… I think we really, -really- need to talk."
***
This is all my fault.
My fault. This whole mess …Barbie's walk on the whacked out side and her continued downhill slope that all of us have had to watch and yet have had no clue what to do about. Not to mention that poor kid Jaime who apparently didn't ever manage to recover from her attack by that god-damned demon. She FEELS what happens in her visions Gunn...how could you have forgotten that? She totally lost her marbles: why didn't you watch her closer - why didn't you see it coming? You've seen this same thing happen to victims in the projects… Why didn't you see it here?
You blew it again Gunn. You failed again. Wes wasn't there he -couldn't- have know. You're the one who shouldn't have been so blindsided.
You didn't see it and you didn't say anything about what happened. How could you have been such an idiot?
You're a complete and utter bastard, Charles Gunn. The world's biggest repeat screw-up.
"Gunn you're no more responsible for this than any of the rest of us should have been." Wes' chastisment surprises me: I hadn't realized I was speaking any of my thoughts aloud. "We'll do no good if we start pointing fingers. We have to deal with this rationally." Funny how much the voice of reason makes you want to puke sometimes. Wesley, as always, seems to be the one taking in this mess with the least display of rampant emotion. He was standing with me leaning up against the far counter up until a few minutes ago, when Angel's monotone recitation of what he'd seen and heard earlier in the afternoon finally cracked under the pressure of the demon's confused heartbreak, at which point English moved over to where the vampire was pacing and force him to sit down in one of the chairs around the kitchen table. Even now, his face is pained but serious…cataloguing not just what he feels, but what must be done. "I know we're all shocked and we certainly have a great deal that we're going to have to deal with within the next few hours but we can not start trying to apportion off different amounts of guilt…it will not help in resolving anything. We need to prepare ourselves to focus on helping Cordelia…"
Angel isn't saying anything anymore, he's just staring at the tabletop clenching and unclenching his fists.
"This happened almost two months ago. -TWO MONTHS.-" I can't believe it really. Oh yes I know the original vision occurred - I was there when she had it and I helped try and stop the attack but still, something about the entire idea just doesn't want to compute in my brain. "Shouldn't somethin' like this of happen before now…I mean Cordy's tough…if she made it this far, why would it finally break her now? I mean yeah Jaime would've upset her, but still why lose it now…?"
"She's only breaking now because she is so strong. And because we never got far enough in to see it coming. We let her carry it alone…she shouldn't have been able to carry it this far. But we let her convince us it was okay…because we're so self-involved." Because it was easier.
"Bloody hell." Wes this time. "I don't know where in hell we're supposed to even start with this."
That's the question all right.
I wish we had some kind of answer.
Part 18: Asleep
You want to know what the worst part of having a complete breakdown is?
The sheer embarrassment and humiliation that always comes in the inevitable hours following.
Yup, that's the long and short of it. Hindsight is always what gets you in the end. You may get a really good drama in while it's happening. You may even finally start to bleed out and display all those wounds that you'd thought you'd kept so well hidden for so long, but the true destructive power of collapse isn't the actual act of coming unhinged, it's the morning after. While you're in the midst of catastrophe and fear you're not really aware of what you're doing: how idiotic you look. Instead you just feel. And feel -everything.- It's as if the entire world starts screaming right along with that voice that used to be buried deep down inside of you. Except now it's yelling it's irrational head off.
There's no way to turn the volume down. And it's a feeling of release…
It's not until the mute button is hit that you start to see straight again. That's when you wake up in your bed two hours later and realize what an utter crap-pot you've managed to turn your life into.
Rage. Embarrassment. Utter self-loathing at my own obvious display of weakness. That and about a zillion other emotions are washing over me right now as I lie here with my head on my pillow, staring at the ceiling above me and wondering how I managed to turn my life into such a colossal screw up. I'm sure if there were some kind of shrink nearby at this moment he or she would try and spout of some condescending garbage about how all of this is normal. Breakdown is 'cathartic', would be the exact phrasing. They'd spout off some kind of crap about how I've made a good 'first step.' And I'd probably rebut by telling them to get out. Because the idiots don't get a damn thing… How can they, when I've refused to even face up to it myself? Not until this forced the issue for me.
I didn't make a first step….heck I didn't even make damn first -WOBBLE.- do you hear me? I fell flat on my face. And what's worse I did it in front of my friends. I set myself up to take this fall by the nature of the way I lived my life up till now. And there is no way to fix it because I can't choose to disenfranchise myself.
Now, in the aftermath I'm faced with the cold hard reality of truth. There's no walking away from me.
I blew it. No I more than blew it. I completely and totally -begged- for this to happen by keeping my mouth shut so long. By pretending until I actually started believing my own lies. This has nothing to do with what happened to that poor girl we found a few hours ago… Well okay yes it does but only in the most distant way humanly possible. Jaime isn't the issue here, she isn't even the symptom. The disease isn't my visions or my carefully veiled cynicism or even my never-ending quest to prove to the world that I'm unbreakable no matter what it throws at me. It's my refusal to admit the reality in all of this.
I'm not okay. I haven't been fine in the past nineteen plus years.
I don't even know what 'okay' is supposed to be.
I was violated. I am violated. The manner changes but not the legacy, and I am totally powerless to understand what causes it - much less how to stop it. I have been pounded on and broken down and forced to the floor by so many things in my life that I'm almost used to the feeling of being on my knees now. Oh sure the methods and deliveries varied throughout my life but the facts…the realities haven't ever really changed. I've been used. Used by my mother who thought having a child might keep my father from leaving her. Used by my father who had me groomed and ready to take my mother's place before I was really old enough to understand I was his replacement hostess. Used by my 'social class' - by the mindset of greed and domination that told me how to be valuable when I couldn't even seem to find value in the fact that I was simply ALIVE. When I thought love was a commodity. That you bought or your traded it.
I was used. I was used by -myself.-
And that's the worst part of it all.
Because I, more than anyone else, have been a miserable testament when it comes to providing true stability
You want to know what I have in my life today? Wesley and Gunn: two good men who I love but who haven't been allowed to see even a third of the real me because I don't dare let them in for fear they might use it against me. Angel: a man I would die for, whom I called and still call my best friend, despite the fact that he walked away without much more than a blink after I made vows to him that some might have compared to marriage. I don't lack the support system - I just don't know how to use it. No, I've got this damn stiff upper lip and this martyr complex and my 'calling.' I don't need anything else. I'm Cordelia Chase.
Well I've got news for you of mighty May Queen and head bitch of Sunnydale. I QUIT.
I can't do things this way anymore.
And I don't give a damn about my illustrious 'calling.'
I mean what is it really anyway other than a suicide pact with myself? Did I really thing I could handle this 'mantle of knowledge' alone. That seeing and coping were the same thing? There's a reason most seers I've read about go mad. It's because the toll on caring this much is higher than expected. Sooner or later they either found help, or their mental bank accounts all hit broke…
Doyle gave me his greatest gift. He gave me his sight.
But he also ruthlessly sought connection every single moment of his existence. And to think I thought it was a personality quirk. Or that he was out of his mind.
I don't know how to do this. Not by myself. I. Just. Don't. I spent the first sixteen and a half years of my life pretending not to give a shit about ANYTHING…except for maybe myself, and even that I did poorly. I've never picked well. Not my friends…not my social club. Not even the people that I let in my heart. I didn't understand the truth.
Love. Love is the biggest double negative in the world. It's the one thing I have to have, and yet apparently, I'm violently allergic to.
I don't know how to find it, and if by chance it latches onto me, I don't know how to take care of it. To make it permanent.
I'm an expert at moving forward, but damn it I want a -HOME-. I want a place where I know I can stay.
Part 19
She's cried more in the past twenty-four hours than I suspect she ever did in the rest of her lifetime.
Not that I'm talking about loud, sloppy, sobby tears here though, of course. Oh no, not Cordelia Chase. Weeping with her is quite possibly the only display of emotion she -doesn't- tend to over-emphasize. My best friend knows what subtle mourning is better than most do. Yes, her whole form can display anything from furious shaking to a pathetic, nerve wrenching little tremble when she lets go, but it's a silent process regardless. She makes very little sound when she cries - the few times I've witnessed any kind of moisture on her cheeks it's always been silent. I suppose that's part of what makes it so unbearable: it's like watching somebody twist your guts around. Still, maybe the rarity and painfulness of the event is what makes me so sensitive to it when it does happen.
After all the trauma of the past few days I know the smell of her -tear-glands.- It's practically a self defensive measure for me at this point. That's how I knew she was awake or having a nightmare almost even before Dennis could try and alert me.
Still, the only thing more common at the moment then her tears is this panicked lingering sense that I have no -clue- how to handle any of this properly.
And I can't afford to screw this up. So I'm left walking on the proverbial eggshells.
Women are perilous, frustrating, baffling creatures. So breakable and precious and so needing of protection - and yet so -strong- to in the sense that when you'd think they'd most need support, they rise up and go it alone. When you think they are most understood, they keep on surprising you. And when you give them space figuring they need you the least, you end up losing them to the neglect - it's a desperate balance. One that you frequently can't maintain…
I haven't been a man in a lot of years. Not that it's changed much of anything. I certainly didn't claim to understand women before I was turned and now, centuries later, with Darla and Dru both under my list of extremely long term relationships, I'll still admit to knowing virtually nothing. Except that tears still undue me. Perhaps Cordelia and I first bonded partly because she did cry so very little.
Unfortunately my ability to cope, like my people skills, undoubtedly got a little rusty as a result of the frequent under exposure.
I've never been good at watching the women in my life weep. Kathleen used to totally undue me when we were still children with so much as a lower lip tremble, and Buffy…. Well let's not even go there. Let's simply not. I know - I -know-, somewhere in the logical part of my mind, that all these tears lately are healthy. They mark the end of the silence and the secrets and the impenetrable Cordelia Buhda we'd all been coming to detest. I mean at least she's not simply pretending everything's okay now. This is classifiable as progress. Right?
Still though, I have to steel myself as I carefully push through the gap in her bedroom doorway and peer inside. When Dennis alerted us to the fact she was indeed awake, I was elected to be the one to go and greet her.
"Angel." The word is a whisper as she pushes herself upright slightly to greet my entrance. It looks like Dennis must have covered her with a blanket after her shower so she wouldn't get chilled.
"Hey there." Well she's not -crying,- crying, persay. I suppose that's a small, if selfish grace for me. She was just a few moments before now, though - I can see the tracks running down the side of her face. "How you doin'?" Gently. -Gently_ Angel. If there's ever been a time for kid gloves it's now.
***
Oh God. Just look at him. Just look at that expression on his face. I'm not sure yet if the man is afraid to approach me or afraid to not approach me. If I had any say in the matter I'd probably just cover my head with the blanket right this instant, and tell him I'm going to just go ahead and go back to being dead. No wait, that was more his alley. Go back to being seriously embarrassed…yeah that's probably a more likely summary of the situation.
Where is that gaping whole in the apartment floor when you need it the most? I mean, honestly, with all of the raisings I've either seen or helped fight against couldn't a Hellmouth come just once when I could actually use it effectively? He's easing down onto the side of my bed and reaching for my hand.
Don't look at him Cordelia. Look him in the eye and you're gonna loose it.
You've certainly done enough of that recently, already. The man doesn't deserve to take on your mental health issues. He's got enough of his own.
"You're awake. Dennis said you'd sorta conked out in here after your shower earlier." His thumb is rubbing the juncture between my thumb and pointer finger soothingly and there's a level of warm honey to his tone I don't think I've ever heard aimed at me before. Angel's got out the 'talkdown' voice. The one he uses on lunatics. It's a kind of tonal-vibey combination of sound and rhythm that all but lulls you into a state of trust. I'd be angry at it except it's working. Damn, isn't knowing that it's deliberate suppose to negate the effects.
Don't treat me if I'm about to break, Angel, please. I feel as if I've been in enough pieces recently already.
"How long have I been out?" It's the first thing I can think to say as I withdraw my hand from him and begin playing with on of the tassels on the corner of the blanket. "Have Wes and Gunn…"
"You've been out about three hours. And yeah, they're both in the living room. Don't worry about it. We're just trying to do some research on that demon now we've got the time. Kate called about thirty minutes ago and said she'd have an old contact at the police station come and get your statement tomorrow morning so you won't get any hassle. Meantime your only assignment is to eat a good healthy dinner and get plenty of rest."
Okay. Now I'm getting a little bit annoyed and I draw on that emotion over the embarrassment as I try and swing my legs out of bed. "I'm not sick, Angel. And that's NOT all we need to do. I want to know if that girl has…had any family. If not I want to make sure she at least got a decent burial."
I can not… CAN NOT let him start babying me. That's not how I cope. Practicalities Cordelia. Make yourself useful. That's all that's gonna keep your from going out of your mind.
Angel is blocking my attempts to get up though. "Jaime….her last name was Atkins, and we've already called and located her family. There's nothing -to- be done…they were here in town and they made the identification. If you want we can find out where the wake's gonna be held after the coroner is done with the autopsy. Meantime, I want you to stay here and just -relax.- Maybe talk to us if it'll make you feel better."
Relax?! -Relax?!- I'm being held hostage in my bed by a touchy-feely two-hundred pound vampire! I push his hands away a little harder. Damn, this man is impossible to budge.
"Let's me UP, Angel. I don't walk to talk."
"Maybe not. But I think we've pretty much all established that like it or not you're still going to -need to.-
"
***
Notes to Part 19: PS - to all you who have commented you're not quite sure yet what happened to Cordelia regarding this Jaime girl, no worries yet. You're not supposed to since they're still ironing out that themselves. Cordelia will get her chance to tell the whole tale. MAJOR clarification will be part of the next part.
TBC?