By the Colors of Moonlight

Author: Christie
Rating: PG
Distribution: Anyone who has previous archiving permission. Anyone else, please ask.
Summary: Cordelia gives Angel an overdue gift. Takes place immediately after To Shanshu in L.A. Contact:tinamishi@yahoo.com

The shopping bag was on the couch, sitting neatly against one of the cushions like it should have the remote in its hand and a Diet Coke on the table. The rest of Cordelia's apartment was dark. The door to her room was ajar, and I could hear her soft, even breathing from within. I was glad she was sleeping peacefully. The door immediately to its left was also ajar, and Wesley's low snoring filtered through. It was a room Cordelia used mostly for storage, her treadmill and a large stereo its only permanent fixtures. Now, it held a makeshift bed for Wesley and the few things we were able to salvage from the old office and apartment. I was out during the darkness, and usually took Wesley's "room" when they got up for the day and I turned in for my "night".

There was an envelope propped against the bag, and I read the front of it without needing to flip on a light. Cordelia had written my name in neat script with a silver pen. Removing my duster, I stepped toward it, wondering why she was leaving presents for me in the middle of the night on her couch.

I peered into the bag before picking up the envelope. I knew I should read the card first, but curiosity piqued and I couldn't help it. Inside, art supplies. Pastels, watercolors, charcoals, and pencils, sketch pads in three sizes and three different paper weights. A myriad of erasers, shading tools, and other accessories littered the bottom of the bag.

More confused than ever, I tore open the envelope.

A card with Superman on the front. Inside, the printed words, "You're My Hero."

I couldn't help but smile. She always compared me to Superman. Conveniently leaving centuries of evilness out of it. My eyes skimmed over her flowery handwriting, in the same silver pen as my name on the envelope.

"Angel,

I was out shopping for you when the whole thing with the visions and the scroll happened. So I never got to give you this present. I don't know if you'll use them, but I know you're a good artist, and I was hoping that by drawing when the urge hits, you'd find something that makes you happy. I know art isn't something that anyone lives for, but it's a start.

Whatever you do, please know that me and Wesley care about you and love you a lot. We are as scared of losing you as you are of losing us. Please don't discard the value of your life, because sometimes I feel like you're the only real thing in mine.

Have fun, and remember, it's okay if you don't color in the lines.

Love,
Cordelia."

I must have read that card twenty times, standing there, in front of the couch, in the dark. When the words blurred and my knees buckled, only then did I realize I was crying.

Something hit me then, so profound, I had to sit down to process it. I liked my life in Los Angeles. I had liked it for a long time. I pretended like I didn't, and I convinced myself that I didn't, because it seemed to be what everyone expected me to do. Mourn over your losses in Sunnydale. You won't move on. You can't.

But I had moved on. Oh, I would always have the memories. I could never forget. But I could be happy without her. I could be happy and content with what I had. And what I had was a family. It was little, and makeshift, and sure, we fought a lot, but we were family all the same. Willing to go to the line for each other. Nothing felt more safe than that.

I pulled the bag toward me and rummaged through it, pulling out a medium sized sketch pad and a heavy weight charcoal pencil. It was all I would need.

Cordelia's room was mostly dark, only the moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains that framed the window. She had a heavier shade, Wesley had installed it after the office and apartment had burned to the ground and he and I had taken up residence in Cordelia's haven. But it wasn't pulled tonight. I was glad.

It cast a silvery glow across her sleeping form, causing her dark tresses to shine iridescent. She slept on her side, back to the window, causing the insignificant light to halo her slight figure. One hand was cradled beneath her face, the other tucked somewhere below the covers where I couldn't see. Her hair was loose and fanned out behind her, several strands curling down across her cheek and dipping into the cavern of her neck and collarbone.

Perfect.

I quietly pulled the chair from her vanity closer to the bed and lowered myself into it, careful not to emit the slightest of sounds. I watched her for moments longer, etching the flawless beauty into my mind before pencil went to paper.

Then, I drew. Lines became shapes, shapes became forms, and Cordelia became alive on the page as I sketched her in slumber. In this state, she was most vulnerable, most trusting, and most beautiful. She was peaceful here. I wanted to keep her peaceful forever.

End

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