just fic


Title: The Exiles
Author: PushyDame
Posted: 01-22-2003
Rating: PG-13, I guess, for occasional language.
Email: pushydame@earthlink.net
Content:
Summary: Fast forward a bit. The Beast is defeated. The One is defeated. And, as much as I'd like to block it out, Connor and Cordelia did sleep together. Post-victory, fall-out ensues and questions that couldn't be (or weren't) asked during the impending apocalypse are now bubbling to the surface. Cordelia goes searching for answers in an unlikely place.
Spoilers: Thru AtS "Habeas Corpus" and other Season 4 spoilers/speculation, current season of BtVS (confession: I'm a sporadic watcher of Buffy, so references should be mostly general or plain wrong but, to be safe, assume anything is fair game).
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Nothing Fancy. Otherwise, just ask.
Notes: Completely un-beta'ed
Feedback: Love it beyond all reason. Bear in mind, this is my first Angel fic, so please be gentle.
Thanks: Special thanks to Gabby and Daisy... a girl couldn’t ask for two better stalkers, er, I mean cheerleaders.


Part 1: Point of Departure

The Jeep barreled down the highway, road signs marking their official exit from the Los Angeles city limits long behind it.

She watched another insignificant-looking mile marker whiz past, took a steadying breath and broke the silence that hung in the SUV since their departure without looking at her companion. "You don't have to do this, y'know."

"I know."

"I needed a car, not a chauffer."

"I know."

"Rental would've been fine."

"I kno--"

"Dammit, Wesley, enough with the I-Know's already!" Cordelia clamped a lid on her frayed temper. It wasn't Wes' fault that she was wound tighter than rusty watch. Nope, she had no one to blame for this humdinger of disaster but herself. Correction, herself and the Powers That Be. But she told herself to stick to the issue at hand. "I'm not talking about the damn car and you know that. You shouldn't have come. He'll blame you. Stupidly, of course, but he will."

Wes cut a brief glance in her direction before turning his eyes back to the road. "It's been a long time since I sought Angel's approval, Cordelia. I seriously doubt that it will ever be forthcoming again even if I did."

Cordy managed not to roll her eyes. "Pleeease, you fought the good fight, helped him defeat The Beast, saved the world, put Angelus back in the bottle, et cetera, et cetera. He's coming around. They all are. In time, you'll be right back where you belong. Which is precisely why you shouldn't be here, with me."

The silence stretched again, more charged now. It was the first time they had really been alone, just the two of them, since....

"You never asked why I did it. Never called me a deceitful bastard." No response from the passenger side of the Jeep but he wouldn't let himself hide from her this time. "Doubtless you've saved up some very choice words on the subect of my betrayal. I admit, I've been rather surprised that you haven't let me have it with both barrels before now. Grateful, but surprised."

Oh, this was just fabulous. "Wes, can we not get into this...."

"Seems as a good a time as any."

"No, now pretty much sucks."

The look on his face said he wasn't letting the subject drop.

"Fine," she forced out, "what's a little more verbal bloodshed at this late date? Look, if we were having this conversation months ago, before my ascenscion stuff and Angel being sunk to the bottom of an ocean... Well, let's just cut to the Cliff notes version that would start with something like 'you sonovabitch' with plenty of 'why didn't you trust us?' and 'what the hell were you thinking?' and 'you broke his heart and mine and I don't know if I can ever forgive you's thrown in for good measure."

"And now?"

"Now, Connor and Angel aren't subjects I get to have superior opinions on." A bubble of bitter laughter escaped her lips as she squeezed the bridge of her nose as the first sign of a splitting headache. "Christ, Wesley, I'm the freakin' queen of Road-to-Hell and Paved-with-Good-Intention Junction. Not exactly in a position to judge anymore."

"Cordelia, you didn't ..."

"Don't," she warned in an inflexible tone, one she'd become more and more familiar with, one that was necessary to keep her voice from shaking. "It happened. There's no going back. Not now. Not ever. So let's skip the self-delusion part where we try to rewrite history into something all soap opera-ish and forgivable, okay?"

"I'm just saying," the former Watcher paused, considering how best to proceed. "If you're right, not that I entirely agree with your theory, but if Angel is capable of forgiving me for taking Connor--"

"You thought you were protecting the baby," Cordy looked at him fully for the first time, letting emotion momentarily soften her face. "True, you were wrong and stupid with the whole loner thing, but your heart was in the right place." She swallowed hard, capturing his intense blue eyes. "If you'd been right... if the prophecy had been true, you'd have saved them both. We both know that Angel wouldn't have survived the next sunrise if he'd hurt his son."

He blinked and cleared his throat against a suspicious lump. "But it wasn't true."

"No, it wasn't--and don't think I've forgotten that little factoid, either," the corner of her mouth curled up in a small smile. "But Angel got Connor back, admittedly much older and with tons of baggage, but they have a second chance, as murky as it's looking right now. And so do you. If you'd lose the bitterness about who fell in love with who and who deserves forgiveness and who doesn't. Cause that train? It'll run right over you without even slowing down. Which brings us back to my original point...."

Cordy paused as he pulled into the nearly deserted motel parking lot, strangely fascinated by the glowing sign promising available rooms.

He joined her, staring at the hypnotic blinking of the sign as he turned off the engine. "Cordelia, you don't have to do this alone. Don't make the same mistake I did and cut yourself off when so much is still unknown, when you're not entirely sure--"

"Wesley, go home," she interrupted, unbuckling the seat belt and reaching into the back seat for her lone bag. She wasn't going to do this alone but no way was she telling Wes that or she wouldn't get him to blow town with a stick of dynamite. "And forget whatever plan I see forming in that beady brain of yours. Trust me on this, being in a sentence next to my name pretty much comes under the 'counter-productive' chapter of How to Get Your Life Back."

Wes gently grabbed her wrist as she started to slide out the door, reluctant to let her go. "Promise me, if you need anything--"

Her fingers stopped the words moving out of his mouth. "The things I need, no one can give back. But thanks for the offer. It means a lot, considering all that's happened." Whatever else she might have said got chocked in her throat, so she impulsively threw her arms around his sinewy shoulders and pulled him close, trying not to cry. "Take care of yourself, Wesley."

"I always do," he murmured into her shoulder.

"Pfftt, spare me," Cordy chuckled despite herself as she pulled back and made sure her eyes were dry. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yes, but it's nice to be reminded," he smiled. "I lo--"

She couldn't hear the words, not now, not yet, maybe never again. "Good, because this mascara isn't waterproof and I've got a reputation to live down to in this hellhole."

Wesley took the hint, ignoring the voice in his head that said he should fight her on this one, among others. But some things he couldn't hold his tongue about. "He will come, you know."

Cordy didn't pretend to not know who he was talking about. Angel. "He's got a mission to follow in L.A., one I'm no longer part of."

"Are you asking me to keep your being here from him?" The ex-Watcher didn't seem opposed to the idea, just curious.

"No! Geez, lying and deceit sooo not effective in the gettin' back of the trust. Have you not been paying attention?"

"He'll want to know where you disappeared to. And the fact that I was conveniently absent when you--" Wes stopped at the odd, shuttered look on his friend's face. "You don't think he'll ask where you went because you think he won't care that you're gone."

She didn't deny it. "It won't come up. Just sayin', don't fan the flames of fires that are already out. You got your second chance, Wesley, don't blow it by being all heroic on my account. It'd just be a wasted effort and that would piss me off like you wouldn't believe."

"Not going to be a problem."

"Where have I heard that before?" Her hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Probably Egypt. Somewhere near the River of Denial." His dry response was accompanied by a slight twinkle behind the glasses.

"You want to make with the funnies now?"

"I want you to come to your senses and tell me what the hell is going on. The things you asked about, the books you wanted me to get...these aren't things one should toy with."

"Wes," she hesitated, hand holding the door ajar. But after a few seconds, her shoulders dropped and she gave him that flat, uninformative not-quite-a-smile so familiar to the high school version of the former May Queen he'd first met so long ago. "Go home."

The thud of the closing door drowned out his muttered expletive, but he knew how to pick his battles better than he once did. His Jeep rounded the cornered and drove out of sight, leaving one Cordelia Chase staring up at that damn neon sign again.

Sunnydale Motor Inn. Vacancy.

Oh, yeah, like that's a big, fat surprise.

***

An hour later, she was unpacked, restless and sliding onto a barstool that four years ago she wouldn't have spit on if it was on fire. At a demon bar, no less. How pathetic was her life that this was actually an improvement in her current social standing? On second thought, the bartender was giving her a weird look.

Given that said bartender was a little blue around the gills, literally, she was kinda insulted. Granted, her Ferragamos were two-seasons-old but they were still the closest thing to fashion this bozo had ever seen.

Bozo came over, wrinkling his nose like he caught a whiff of something offensive. "You want somethin'?"

Alright, playtime was over. The eyebrow arched ominously. "What? You only serve ugly demons in this dump?"

The bartender's third eye squinted. "You ain't like any demon I ever seen before."

"Well, duh," she snorted.

Cordelia Chase might be screwed up six ways to Sunday and a pariah among her closest friends but, dammit, she still had it, demon or no demon.

"Listen, Sparky, let's cut through the chit-chat and get down to business, shall we? I'm in the mood for a little information, so why don't you point me in the direction of one of your local terrors of the night and I won't contaminate the place with my half-human cooties any longer than necessary, okay?"

"I'm gonna do this why?" he drooled. The cretin actually drooled at the end of his sentences. Double-ewww.

"Because if you don't, I'll leave and take all my lovely Ulgarian coins with me."

The barkeep suddenly smiled, or it could've been a grimace depending on your interpretation. But either way, the mention of those smelly old coins of Wesley's had his undivided attention. "Got a particular demon in mind? Or will any, run-of-the mill night terror do?"

"Very particular. Vampire, platinum blonde, accent, very bad manicure. Officially listed as William the Bloody, but we just call him Spike."


Part 2: Check Your Baggage

Wesley Wyndam Price stared down at the number lit up on his cellphone and debated whether to press the SEND key or not.

She didn't want their help (or interference, more likely). She wouldn't ask for it and flatly refused to admit she needed it. She'd rather strongly intimated that no one back in Los Angeles was to know of her coming here or why. The last was something he wasn't in a position to share, regardless, as he knew little more of her intentions now than he had when she'd shown up on his doorstep asking to borrow his car.

Maybe she was right.

The collective relationships among their group were fragile at best.

Angel and Connor were dual lodestars of anger and confusion; Gunn and Fred's romance had yet to recover from the incident with the professor responsible for Fred's five years in slavery in Pylea; and Lorne had his hands full trying not to overload his empathic circuits with all the supercharged auras loitering about the place. But, somehow, they had managed to reach a tenative detente at the Hyperion Hotel. Important emphasis on tentative.

Much to his own surprise, Wesley had even seen burgeoning signs of his old rapport with Angel and Gunn, albeit with reservations and complications apparent on all sides. The loss of their close friendship had been especially difficult during his forced isolation. And, to hear Cordelia tell it, if he intervened with the group now and insisted they come to the Hellmouth on her behalf, it would undo what little progress that he had made in that arena.

Bugger it. He'd lost all the friends he bloody well intended to.

"Angel Investigations, we help the helpless...."

"Gunn, we have a situation."

"Not to point out the obvious, English, but we always got a situation. So what's it this time--demon uprising, armageddon, another apocalypse?"

"It's Cordelia."

"Dawg, why didn't you say it was an actual emergency?"

***

How many times had she marched up the walk to this house and wondered if any of them would survive the night? More than she wanted to remember.

So what's with the sticky feet, Chase? Casa de Summers didn't suddenly relocate to a hell dimension. Same stretch of concrete from the sidewalk to the front door it's always been. Positive you can still walk, have been all day.

Five minutes later, she wasn't any closer to the front door than she had been half an hour ago.

Okay, she could admit it. Little surprised to find out her soon-to-be partner-in-crime was shacked up at Buffy's house. With Buffy. Vamp falls for Slayer, Slayer falls for vamp. Not an original concept.

But Buffy and Spike?

Vision hint or not, still a big whodathunkit.

While the admitting mood was still flowin', wouldn't be untrue to say she didn't want to believe it. Not that there wasn't a perfectly delicious dose of irony to be savored at the idea. But mostly, Cordelia didn't want to have to ask little Miss Kung-fu Fighter for help.

Force homicidal blonde vampire full of evil-doing to help her whether he wanted to or not? Definitely preferable to groveling to Angel's ex. Cause getting the Slayer's okay would mean explaining. And the explaining thing? Not high on the want-to-do list.

Hence the non-movement.

Okay, Cordelia, get it together. You've survived the end of the word--repeatedly, demon pregnancies, dire prophecies and a bad haircut or two. Knocking on a door? Less than nothing. So suck it up and put Plan A into action.

Cordelia spun on her high heel and headed towards the cementary.

Screw Plan A.

***

The Hyperion, Los Angeles


Lorne was halfway through his second Seabreeze and froze with the glass in mid-air. "Fred?"

The lanky brunette didn't stop what she was doing. Matter of fact, she looked pretty intense about shoving books, computer paraphenalia, weapons and various articles of clothing into designated duffel bags. Focused and stone deaf.

"Fred, hon?"

"Heard ya the first time."

Nix that. Cranky, not deaf.

"Not that I think for a moment that I'll like the answer, but care to share what you're doing with the roasted peanut gallery? And, more importantly, will I like it better after a few more drinks?"

"Packin'."

"Which explains the luggage, sweetums, but leaves a few digits off the 4-1-1. Going anywhere I know?"

"Sunnydale."

"I think I'll have those drinks now," Lorne mumbled, forgoing the glass and drinking straight from the pitcher.

The mention of Sunnydale brought Gunn in from the next room. He watched his girlfriend cautiously and tried to soften the blow. "Fred, I know what Wes said, but don't get your hopes up. I'm not all that sure that Angel's going to listen to anything we say after the word 'Cordelia'. Recent history pretty much guarantees that he'll veto this little trip to his old stompin' ground long before we get to word one about the reasons he should go."

Fred glanced up from the bags impatiently. "These aren't for Angel."

"Oh." Lorne and Gunn looked at each other, baffled. Fred obviously had a plan whether the two of them had a clue what it was or not. Then a proverbial lightbulb turned on. "Oh!"

"I really don't think--"

"Maybe we should--"

"I mean, give it a couple a days--"

"Because this could--"

The chin of her heart-shaped face jerked up and she glared their ramblings to a screeching halt. "Finished? Good, cuz Cordelia needs our help, whether she wants it or not. And last time I checked, that's what we do... we help the helpless. Says so right there on the business cards."

"Not to disagree, sugar plum, but the Princess is not exactly in the helpless category. What with the visions and the demon mojo goin' on, she's about as helpless as a gorilla in an ant farm."

The young physicist's knuckles turned white around the handle of a small, nasty-looking blade she was about to toss into the weapons bag and Gunn quickly tried to run interference before she was tempted to used in on the Host.

"Baby, I think what Lorne is tryin' to say it that maybe we should consider that if she wanted our help, she'd have asked for it. And maybe she's got her reasons why she didn't. Because I got the distinct impression from Wesley's call that Barbie might not be too thrilled to see us in good, ole Sunnydale."

"Yeah, cuz Cordy is so good about askin' for help," Fred drawled back, shoving more things into bags.

Lorned tried again. "You know I'd do anything for Cordelicious. Hey, I'm even willing to get blood in my best silk suit. But if you're countin' on Angelcakes to run to the rescue... well, don't."

"Maybe I don't care if Angel stays or goes! Maybe I don't care if he likes the idea of us goin' or not! Maybe if we'd spent a little less time worryin' about what Angel wanted and a little more time worryin' about what Cordy needed when she came back from the Higher Realms, well, MAYBE none of this would've happened!" Fred flung the bag she was loading down on the floor and took big, heaving breaths, trying to compose herself.

"Leave it to the little piece of Texas toast to have the big point."

"Word."

"Look," Fred gulped, composed but struggling a little around the edges. "I know things are still bad and that Angel is hurting and that Cordy screwed up big time and I'm sorry. But she's our friend, too. Family. And she needs us and this time we have a chance to do something about it before it's too late. Seems to me, helpin' the people we care about should be more important than whether or not it's easy, don't cha think?"

"Damn, girl... when save up for the big speeches, you save up," Gunn gave her a small smile. "Give me five minutes to throw some undies in a bag and don't leave without me."

Fred tossed a watery smile back. "Deal." She turned to Lorne with a question in her eyes.

The green demon grimaced and took a final swig of Seabreeze. "I suppose it's too much to hope that this 'burb has a karaoke bar, huh?"

She grinned down at the bags. "Probably."

Lorne eyed the array at her feet with mock (well, almost mock) disgust. "You're obviously not getting anywhere near my delicate wardrobe. Wrinkles are hell on lame`."

Fred giggled before bellowing, "Connor!"

She heard Lorne's groan from the staircase. "Oh, yeah, taking the rugrat is so gonna help lower the tension level that's about to break out in this place. Fred, lambkin, has no one ever told you about adding fuel to an open flame? Cause you're about to start a four-alarm fire...."

Lorne made it halfway up the stairs before he stopped cold.

Down below, Connor jogged up from his habitual hideaway in the basement training room, complete with the natural wariness and lack of conversational preamble. "What?"

Fred gave him her most level, no-nonsense stare. "Pack a bag, we're going on a road trip."

Connor looked back, suspicious. "Why? Where to?"

"To find Cordelia."

He shut down the few glimpses of openess he occasionally showed. More wary, more suspicious, more cut off. Like father, like son. "She won't want to see--"

Hands on hips, Fred's stare shut him up. "Five minutes. Bag. Pack it."

"You heard the woman, junior," Gunn advised as he strolled back into the room, the strap of his own bag looped over one shoulder. "She ain't playin'--get your stuff and make it snappy."

Lorne glanced nervously over from the staircase, "Uh, kids...."

The tone of his voice made Fred and the guys look in his direction, following to the point he was staring at so guardedly. Four anxious gazes locked on the black-draped wraith looming silently on the balcony, waiting for his reaction. One they obviously didn't expect to be very good. Especially since they had no idea how much he'd overheard.

Fred was the first to break the creepy, tomb-like silence. "Angel..."

"Don't want to talk about it, Fred," he warned, giving no encouragement for further discussion.

Fred and Gunn exchanged a look and both swallowed, ready to wade in again when something big and black sailed over the railing. The trio in the lobby jumped back as it landed at their feet with a loud thud. They looked from Angel to the dark object and back again, not sure how to interpret it, afraid to guess at its meaning.

Angel stared back at them, surrounding his old leather traveling bag like it was a possible bomb and kept his words to the point. "Let's go."


Part 3: Heroes and High Heels

So this was Plan B.

Cordelia scanned the concrete and marble sea of tombstones of yet another Sunnydale graveyard. Speaking of which, no one ever notice the disportionate plot yardage per capita? Hello, people! Not much had changed. Business obviously still boomin' on the Hellmouth. It was prime feeding time, begging the obvious question--where was the bleached Fanged One?

Uh, wait, guess it's less with the eating and more with the saving these days... seeing as Spike's one of the good guys. And who said Sunnydale had reached its weirdness potential?

She wiped her open palms on her pants and turned in a slow circle, looking--again--for signs of the familiar undead. "Okay, if I was newly converted to the forces of good where would I be? Patrolling against miscellaneous creepy crawlies and denizens of the deep, that's where. So where the hell is he? I mean, how hard can it be to find one dumb vampire?"

"Take a recount, girlie."

The growled announcement came from behind her, accompanied by a chorus of confident chuckles.

"I am not believin' this," she sighed, rolled her eyes and slowly pivoted to face a semicircle of four vamps who apparently got turned at a skateboarders convention. "Although... starting to think the dumb part was dead on."

Plan B? Starting to suck.

"Let's put our cards on the table," Cordelia nonchalantly unzipped her messenger bag, pulled out a crossbow and methodically loaded it, tossing the bag on the ground. "These heels? Not meant for running. And I just got this jacket out of the dry cleaners. So this is your chance to put the fangs away and remain among the un-dusty. Cause, gotta tell you, not in a happy mood."

The vamps laughed again, louder this time.

She arched an eyebrow.

The laughter tapered off when their fearless leader smirked. "Eww, I'm so scared. Are you scared, Charlie?"

"Petrified, dude."

An arrow caught Charlie in the chest and he looked down at it, surprised, right before he went all poof.

"Suit yourself." Cordy let a tiny smile slip out. Guess I need to work on the patience thing.

Her satisfaction was short-lived. The Three Vamp-Stooges charged and the short, stocky one swung first. His fist caught her across the cheekbone.

"Sonuva--" Cordy blinked against the stars that suddenedly clouded her vision, free hand raising to inspect the damage. Her fingers drew back with small spots of blood on the tips. She went from seeing stars to seeing red. "Why do guys always go for the face!"

She slammed the crossbow against the culprit's skull and caught the next in line with a roundhouse kick. But the third demon was too close, tackling her. The impact drove her back against a headstone and the crossbow went skidding across the ground. She shoved the heel of her hand up under his chin--the better to keep his teeth away from her bare throat. Heaving a quick breath, she tapped the right cuff of her jacket against the cold granite edge of the stone at her back.

Click.

Right on cue, a stake popped into her palm courtesy of Ms. Burkle's handy dandy mechanical genius. Cordy drove it home, straight to the big vamp's heart.

"Thanks, Fred, yikes!" she whispered, then rolled quickly to the side to avoid the linebacker move by the formerly undusted's pal. Short and stocky was back for Round Two. Luckily, his tackling aim wasn't as good as his backhand. He ran head-first into the tombstone Cordelia'd vacated; she scrambled to her feet and drove the her stiletto heel through his back. Dusty pants #2. One left.

Unfortunately, the one left also happened to be the biggest of the bunch. A change of scenery apparently didn't correspond with a change in her crappy luck.

The two of them circled, each feeling the other out, waiting for an opening. Even with her half-demon-ness, Cordy didn't kid herself--time was not on her side. Physically, she wasn't a hundred percent and the tiny, damp spots of red on her blouse meant her throbbing cheek was cut open. Big Ugly could smell blood--her blood. Never a good thing with a vampire.

Now that the initial rush of adrenaline was over, it was a contest of brute strength and strategy. Vamp had all the brute strength, so she better damn well come up with a new strategy.

A persistent voice in the back of her head urged her to crack open the demon-girl piggy bank of power and day-glow his ass out of existence. She told the voice to shut the hell up.

Cordy flicked her other wrist so the second stake would slide into place and grinned. Wood in both hands. Hey, Gunn's not here--somebody had to say it. Think it. Whatever.

The last vampire standing decided he was done with the circling and waiting and made the big leap. But before she could use either weapon she had in hand, Cordy was literally knocked off her feet.

"Move it, sweet cheeks," a voice at her ear ordered, irritated. "Unless you'd prefer to be on the menu...."

The owner and her rolled on the ground for a few tumbles until Cordelia finally ended up on top. She muttered a choice word or two under her breath about grass stains and looked up to pinpoint the vamp she'd been squared off against. Too late. Big Ugly was already eating pavement on the other side of the cementary. She'd never catch him--not in these shoes. So she turned her attention to the jerk who'd ruined her perfectly good fight, stake raised just in case.

"Cheerleader?"

"Spike!"

His hand shot up to manacle her wrist holding the stake high. "Easy there, girl. I'm one of the white hats now. No reason to resort to pointy objects."

Cordy snapped as she stood, brushing at her streaked pants. Now he'd ruined her fight and her pants. There had to be limits on this relationship so now was as good a time to break him in as any. "Has Buffy not covered the part where sneakin' up on the non-enemy can lead to premature staking?"

"What?!? I'm supposed to put a bell around my neck so you and the rest of the world can hear me comin'?"

"I heard you comin', doofus. Just didn't expect you to tackle me for no damn reason!"

"I was savin' you from a vicious bloodsucker! Now that's gratitude for ya! I can see your years with the poof have done nothin' for your social skills."

"Gratitude? Gratitude!" Cordy gasped, grabbing two handfuls of leather and jerking him to his feet. "I was winning, you big poser! Piles of vampire dust? Winning. Limping away with massive blood loss? Losing. See the difference? Geez, Spike, I learned that in high school--and I was stupid bait girl. What's your excuse?"

"Now don't be so hard on yourself, luv... you did the bait thing like a pro."

"Really?"

"Delicious. One of the best looking Happy Meals in Sunnydale High. I'm a vampire--I know of which I speak."

"Thanks, that's sweet," she tossed him a mega-watt smile.

"Anytime."

"Is this a private flashback?" Xander's voice chimed in from several feet away. "Or can anyone join in?"

Cordy and Spike looked toward the sound and found the rest of the Scoobies staring like they'd seen a ghost. Or ate bad nachos, take your pick. Was there a nice way to say 'good to see you but wish I hadn't'?

You wanted to be an actress once, Cordelia. So act. "Hi, guys. Long time, no see."

"So, Cordy," Xander smiled, wrapping one arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side in a half-hug. "Hanging out in the graveyard for old times sakes?"

"Yeah, something like that," she smiled back, echoing his uncertainty, but letting her hand pat his back casually enough.

"Hiya, Cor," Willow waded into the awkward pool next--oddly more confident than the others, which was a definite switch from their high school days. Her wave of 'hello' turned into a concerned gesture towards her face. "What happened to your...?"

Cordy waved dismissively at her cheek. "Oh, it's nothing--I was in the middle of getting my ass kicked when Spike rode in to save the day."

That comment earned her a quick glance from the blonde vampire but he didn't contradict her. Which only left doing the social two-step with the Slayer while she thought of a way to arrange a private meeting with Spike so they could get down to business. But first....

"Cordelia."

"Buffy."

"You've cut your hair. It's... nice."

"Thanks, it's less fuss this way. You--you're lookin' good. Resurrection obviously suits you."

"Thanksss..." Buffy's brow wrinkled and she wasn't sure if she should laugh or become very worried. "Did you just say that you picked a hairstyle for its low maintainence? Because, if you did--who are you and what have you done with the fashion slave we all knew in high school?"

"Excuse me? Cordelia Chase was a slave to no one," Cordy drawled back, the tilt of her head making dark wisps of hair fall in front of one eye. "Besides, one of us had to have style. Otherwise there'd be no balance to the universe."

Everyone smiled and sighed in that 'ha-ha' way people do when they're uncomfortable and running out of things to say. Which they did. You could tell by the sudden lack of talking.

"So..."

"So, um," Willow tried again. "You, do you want to come back to the house? We're ordering foodage."

"Let me guess," Cordy looked in Xander's direction. "Pizza."

His eyes rounded slightly. "They deliver other food?"


Part 4

"So... this is where you lived?" Gunn asked, looking around the mausoleum, er, mansion. Then he glanced back at Angel as the somber vampire led the way through the interior. "Explains a lot, man. The brooding, the championship status in the "Dark and Depressing" category of Jeopardy, the f'ed up taste in music, the hair."

Angel didn't comment.

"Sure doesn't sing out in bold Ethel Merman colors, does it?" Lorne chimed in, his lemon yellow suit the only bright spot in the place. The Host was starting to feel queasy. "No, this is much more of a Yoko Ono-Wes Craven-I Need Prozac motif."

"I kinda like it," Connor said quietly, looking around like the others were, but careful to keep his face neutral when he realized he had their attention.

"You would," the black man muttered as he followed Angel deeper into the building.

Connor hung back with Fred and Lorne in the group, feeling ill-at-ease with Gunn. Cordelia said it was because he and Gunn were too much alike in certain ways. Tough-talking, stubborn, reluctant to trust, afraid of losing what little they did. She also said that ultimately those were things Gunn and his father had in common, so just give it time. He watched Angel disappear into the distant shadows of the house. But she had said a lot of things. Now his father didn't say much at all.

Fred put her hand on Connor's shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts. "I think it's cool," she gave him an cautious smile, "In a Frank Lloyd Wright Meets Dracula sorta way. Don't worry. A little dustin' and it'll be homier. I hope."

"Sugar, even Martha Stewart couldn't make this place all warm and fuzzy," Lorne said.

"Aaah, she's my HERO!" Fred exclaimed, eyes wide.

Lorne's brows knitted together. "There are times, like now, when you frighten me, kitten."

"Who's Martha Stewart?" Connor asked, lost at the reference. Was this some new demon he'd never heard of?

Fred gasped, clearly horrified that anyone didn't know her idol. "You, young man, have to watch more television! Even I know who Martha is and I was in a hell dimension for five years."

"Just tune into CourtTV. That's where she'll be appearing next if the SEC has its way," Lorne chirped, supremely pleased with the joke.

Neither Connor or Fred laughed.

"I don't get it," Connor said. "And what's an Ethel Merman?"

It was Lorne's turn to gasp, clutching green hands to chest. "Fred, you find the TV in this tomb and I'll let my fingers do the walkin' and locate the nearest video store!"

"There isn't a television." Angel walked back into the living room, with Gunn not far behind minus his luggage.

Fred and Lorne exchanged glances that implied a lack of television was un-American.

"Call it a hunch, but I doubt there'll be an abundance of leisure time during our stay here on the Hellmouth." Wesley's voice traveled from somewhere out of sight. They all turned in the direction of the sound and waited for his body to catch up. A few seconds later, the ex-Watcher stepped into the light. He nodded a general greeting and then addressed Angel. "I took the liberty of having the utilities restored. This seemed the logical place to headquarter. I hope I didn't overstep."

"You didn't, that's fine," Angel waved off the former Watcher's concern, whether he did so out of indifference or impatience was unclear.

"Which means we're actually staying here and not the Ritz?" Lorne joked and hoped someone would jump in and correct his misapprehension.

"Seein' as we're cash poor..." Fred started.

"... and this might be the only place in Sunnydale Cordelia wouldn't come," Wesley finished. "I thought it best to avoid detection until reinforcements arrived."

"Barbie's got no idea you called us, does she?" Gunn grinned briefly at his former best friend.

"Er, none," Wes grinned back.

"It'll be like a surprise," Fred beamed and then started thinking of all the possible ways Cordy might react, the buzz of relief that she hadn't had to track down the Seer alone fading slightly. "A good surprise, right?" She looked to the others to ring in with their agreement. They, in turn, traded more reserved glances, which was starting to worry and irk Fred in equal measures. "Right?"

"Cordy's in trouble. She needs our help. She's here," Angel finally broke the uncertainty, walking through the assembly like Moses parting the Red Sea as he stalked out. "What's the surprise?"

"What if she doesn't want our help?" Connor called out in a low voice.

Angel stopped and turned back briefly with his usual surly, verbally tight-fisted expression. "She'll get over it."

It was such a Cordy-like response that Gunn and Wes had to duck their chins to hide the quirk that threatened the corners of their lips. Fred didn't bother to hide her wide smile. Even Connor felt a hesitant grin curl his mouth.

If only it were that easy.

Lorne watched them as Angel's footsteps faded to nothing. When they all looked at him expectantly, the demon did a double-take. "Why's everybody lookin' at me? Am I that sallow chartreuse color again? Because apocalypses always leave me feelin' a little peaked."

"No, dude. This is just usually where you break into song," Gunn replied.

"Julie Andrews is a particular favorite, I believe," Wes added. "Or perhaps Cher."

"What? I can't have a serious mo'?" The Host huffed, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Listen, boys and girl, I'm all for the Hollywood happy ending complete with fabulous soundtrack. But this hell-town is one big pile of karmic ka-ka. The kind of place where sure things go haywire in new and bizarro ways. Hey, my internal antennae may never be the same again. And you don't have to read auras to know... when Angel and the Princess cross paths? Well, let's just say the ka-ka is gonna hit the fan."

***

"Don't run away from this! You owe me that much!"

"I owe you? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it."

"If only I could. You, Connor... nothing I do gets that outta my head! So for once, can we not talk? What can there possibly be left to say? Please, you tell me, what?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Except this... if you need someone to blame, you blame me. I expect your hate. I deserve it. Connor doesn't."

"Since when does what we deserve have a damn thing to do with any of this?"

"Cordelia?"

The sound of her name jerked Cordy from the hazy derailment of her train of thought, folded carefully in a corner of Buffy's couch. "Huh?" She winced at the sudden motion, one hand automatically going to her abdomen. The way the Scoobies were looking at her made her wonder if she had done the unthinkable and actually dozed off. "Sorry, were you asking me something?"

"Yeah," more with the weird eye from Buffy. "You were giving us the condensed version of what's been going on with you for the last few years. Mission. Visions. People named Fred, Gunn and Lorne. Some or all of whom are either be demons or lawyers. Still unclear on that last part. That's about the time you completely spaced."

"Visiting Neptune, Pluto?" Xander joked, then noticed how the funny fell flat.

"Did you just address me as a cartoon dog?" Cordelia regained her old Queen C form quickly, extra glarey for her ex-boyfriend's benefit. "Because if the answer to that question is 'yes', I should warn you... I still know how to get in touch with Anya. Between the two of us, there is a short but very sensitive list of body parts we could wish right off you, buster."

Dawn and Willow both bit their lips, trying not to laugh at Xander Harris scrambling for high ground in sheer panic. Buffy looked tempted to slap her forehead, or maybe Xander's. Spike was pleased by the boy's discomfort and didn't bother to hide it; his smirk pretty much guaranteed that he'd lord this moment over Xander's head for weeks ahead.

"Wha--huh? No, er, NO! Dogs entirely NOT part of the conversation," he fumbled, recovering as best he could before finally giving up. "I swear, that was moderately funny in my head. Which only goes to prove that I'm an idiot. Go ahead, go on and say it, I'm the comedic equivalent to canine phlegm."

"Again with the dog references," Cordy gave him her best mid-level glare, followed by her patent, time-tested arched eyebrow.

"Please leave Mr. Happy outta this, I beg you." All of sudden, you could hear crickets chirping inside the Summer's living room. Xander blushed and muttered, "Shutting up now."

"Too late for that, sport," Spike mocked. "The HMS Humiliation has left port."

"Domesticated and he rhymes?" Cordy drawled, flicking a glance at the vampire who had spent the better part of the night pretending he wasn't studying her. It was like a flashback to freshman Biology class, except with a certain stylish brunette as soon-to-be dissected. "Never let it be said there are no surprises left in Sunnydale."

"Yeah, we're Surprise City," Buffy muttered, trying to get Cordelia back on track before Xander's humiliated silence ran out. "So, you were saying... about Angel?"

Inside, Cordy stifled a groan. She'd been saying about everyone but Angel. She'd been saying only the polite essentials about Angel. Verbal fluff. Just the bare minimum to ward off any suspicions that he was a subject she didn't want to talk about.

Okay, granted, Cordelia didn't want to talk about him. And she damn sure didn't want to talk about him with Buffy. But a certain amount of courtesy-speak was expected, considering Cordy had spent the last four-plus years attached to the hip with Angel. Um, no hips, just with Angel. Working with Angel.

She couldn't even keep her own thoughts straight. And, just to round out the evening, Buffy's question--subtle, not--about her ex was obviously a sore spot with Spike. Like that was gonna be big on the helpful front.

"From Deadboy the Sequel," Xander drawled sarcastically, shooting a disgusted glare at Spike, "to Deadboy the Original." Humiliated silence apparently only lasts about a minute. "Oh, joy."

"Don't call him that!" Cordy and Buffy bit out at the same time. They immediately looked at one another, grew uncomfortable and acted like they weren't.

It was all she could do not to slap herself on the back of the head. Great way to avoid the subject, Chase. Jump to his defense like Sensitive Sally, over juvenile name-calling by Xander Harris of all people. Fabulous job. The promotion to full-fledged moron will come any second now.

The youngest voice in the room ended the agony. "So, Cordy, does this mean we can do the shopping thing while you're here?" Dawn asked as she stood and started gathering empty pizza boxes.

Cordelia smiled at the girl, feeling the first moment of real warmth she had since her arrival in Sunnydale. In her head, she knew that Dawn Summers hadn't really been apart of her history here a la Dawn's role as The Key before becoming Buffy's little sister. But thanks to Dawn's insertion in their collective memory and vice versa, she somehow felt like she'd known Dawn all her young life.

Funny thing was, despite Cordelia and Buffy's own iffy track record as actual friends, Dawn remembered Queen C in a much fonder light than her sister ever would. Maybe it was the clothes. Or maybe it was because, compared to the Slayer melodrama, Cordelia represented an entirely human, rule-your-school cool role model. Whatever the reason, Cordy liked it and she liked Dawn.

But she'd learned her lesson about making promises she couldn't keep.

"Maybe, Dawnie, it depends," she made a face to soften the blow. "I'm only going to be in town a couple of days. Me and a friend are taking a trip. Besides, I'm sure your social calendar is too packed to fit in an old-ster like me. What with the friends and the cute boys. Especially the cute boys," she winked conspiratorially with the teenager. Cordy unfolded herself off the couch to help clean up, grabbing empty soda cans and leaning shoulder to shoulder with Dawn as they headed towards the kitchen. "They do still grow cute ones in this town, don't they?"

"They better not," Spike's voice warned from the other room.

***

Cordelia waited until Buffy herded Dawn upstairs to study for a math test that loomed the next day along with dire threats involving an outfit that was the right size when it was bought but apparently was showing near-indecent amounts of tummy flesh now that Dawn was sprouting like a beanstalk. Buffy's threats didn't seem to care any real heat, which was convenient because her little sister wasn't paying any real attention.

Willow and Xander were likewise absent, on the way to the airport to pick up Giles. Xander hadn't wanted to go, but Willow gave him her 'resolve' face and he gave in. Looked like the redhead was an old hand at running interference between Xander and Spike. The imminent appearance of Giles was a little disturbing, i.e.. add another check in the Unwanted Complications column. Luckily, he wasn't here yet.

Which left Cordy where she'd been angling to get all night... alone with Spike.

For his part, Spike didn't seem the least bit surprised by that fact. On the contrary, he seemed to be expecting it when the Seer silently nodded her head towards the back door. Expected it. Not necessarily liking it.

Continue on...