Déjà Vu

Author: Little Heaven

PART ONE

Chapter Five: 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.

Chapter Six: Showdown

"We're here." Angel's voice cut into Cordelia's nap. She lifted her head from Wesley's shoulder, looking around to gain her bearings. They were pulling up outside the hostel she'd seen in her vision. Several windows were still lit, casting squares of light over the garden. A few people scurried past, heading out to nightclubs, or home after dinner and a movie. Angel pulled the Plymouth over to the curb and parked. They all sat in silence for a moment.

Angel lifted his head, alert, testing the air. "She's coming." She wondered what he could smell. Fear? Sweat? Ugh, gross, he could keep the super-nostrils if that was the case.

Now her footsteps were audible, and Cara appeared out of the darkness, coming along the sidewalk towards the hostel. She appeared not to notice the black car across the road.

As Cara turned up the path towards the hostel door, Cordelia saw a movement in the shadows, between the trees. The Ginsu were waiting. Their sandy colored bodies were dappled in the mix of moonlight and shadow, almost camouflaging them, but the intermittent glint from their long blades gave them away.

"Angel," she whispered, but he'd already seen them, or smelled them. Without warning, he vaulted over the driver's door and sprinted across the road, a short battle sword clenched tightly in his fist. She gripped her knife and followed Wesley and Gunn as they all ran towards the garden, weapons ready. The few passers-by noticed, and scattered.

Cara's scream rent the air. She'd made it most of the way to the hostel door before five talon-waving figures encircled her. They were tightening their circle, cutting off any means of escape for the terrified girl. The blades protruding from their fingers swished through the air, getting closer to Cara's face, her hands, her legs, slicing her skin. The closer they got, the more they cut, and the louder she screamed.

Angel had disappeared. Cordelia tensed with momentary panic. No, she hadn't seen him get injured. He must be hanging back somewhere -- it made sense that he'd keep clear of Cara. Drawing a long breath, she tried to remain calm. She was no use to anyone as a gibbering wreck. Just stay out of the way and try not to get killed.

Gunn moved around to the left, his custom-made axe swinging in a wide arc as he lopped the head clean off the nearest Ginsu. It fell to the ground, bouncing twice and then rolling away like a macabre soccer ball. The rest of the demon stayed upright for a moment, before toppling backwards and slamming full-length onto the grass, black goo gushing from its severed neck.

The other four Ginsu stopped terrorising Cara, wheeling around to look at Gunn. He stood there, bringing the handle of his axe down into one hand, his head tipped on one side, his whole stance a challenge, as he eyed the closest one. "C'mon, Patti la Belle, 'fraid of breakin' a fingernail?" he taunted, his voice icy.

Whether the Ginsu spoke English or not, Gunn's body language certainly provoked them. The remaining four demons began to converge on him, clicking in agitation.

Cara was momentarily unguarded. "Cordelia, get the girl to safety!" Wesley shouted, raising his crossbow.

Cara obviously needed no encouragement to run. She stumbled backwards a few steps, before turning and lurching across the grass to where Cordelia waited. Blood streamed from a gash on her forehead, dripping through her left eyebrow and running down her cheek. Her hands and legs were scored and bleeding, and red drops spattered on the grass as she ran.

***

Wesley watched just long enough to make sure she was out of the way, then let fly his first arrow. It pierced the arm of one Ginsu, which wheeled angrily in his direction. The chainsaw growling was quite disconcerting. Wesley fumbled for another bolt, his hand coming to rest on one made of wood. No, that was for later -- just in case.

"Wes, look out!" Gunn yelled, and Wesley ducked, moments before a giant blade swished through the air where his neck had been. He dropped and rolled, putting some distance between himself and a really close shave.

From his new position, he could see Angel, crouched in the shrubbery, waiting for Cara to reach the other side of the garden, as far away as possible.

"Angel, any time now would be good," Gunn shouted from where he was fending off three very fractious Ginsu.

Wesley rolled again, avoiding another talon. He hoped Angel was in a fit state to respond. Now was no time for their trump card to be smelling the roses. He glanced over, noticing Angel rise to his feet, advancing hesitantly. He didn't look good, actually, panting hard, his eyes glowing amber, tugging at his hair with trembling hands. Was he losing control? For a second Wesley's heart sank, but Angel shook himself, tightened his grip on his sword, and launched into the fray.

***

Cordelia made it to the sidewalk. She had her arm around Cara, and could feel the girl sagging, slowing down. Her feet dragged and tripped along the uneven ground. Cara was about to faint. That would kinda ruin the 'getting to safety' part of the plan.

"Come on, we have to hide," she said, dragging Cara into the nearest clump of bushes. They crouched, breathless, watching the fight raging on the lawn.

Two of the Ginsu were down now, and it also looked like Wesley had been injured. Angel was battling hard, leaping in the air to avoid his feet being cut out from under him, and then spinning and kicking his assailant in the face. Cordelia averted her eyes, somehow finding it much harder to watch him fight now -- now that she knew how he felt.

"How did you know?" Cara said, her voice wobbling. "How did you find me? Oh -- God." She looked down at her hands, staring at the blood dripping from her fingers. Big flaps of skin hung open, glistening in the moonlight like ghoulish petals. It was too much, and she fainted.

"Oh, for the love of..." Cordelia muttered, letting Cara slump to the ground. It was impossible to keep the girl sitting up when she was completely limp and all slippery with blood. No big -- she'd wait for the guys to finish their slash-a-palooza, and then call an ambulance. By the look of things, everyone bar her and Angel would need stitches.

She fished in her jacket for her cellphone, breathing a sigh of relief as her hand closed around the small plastic and metal case. Just holding the piece of modern technology made her feel better. But -- it sounded like it was clicking. She pulled it from her pocket and held it up in front of her face. It wasn't even turned on.

Her spine prickled as she saw the reflection in the small screen of the Ginsu hunched behind her. "Of course," she said out loud. "Should have known -- they always come in a set of six."

Sharp pain screamed through her side, just above her hip, followed by the warm trickle of her own blood. Ignoring it, she spun as best she could from her squatting position, falling onto her butt, facing the demon.

One wild kick knocked it back a mere step, and the blood-curdling clicking noise rattled more loudly in its throat. She threw her knife at it, and missed completely. Great, there went her only weapon.

The Ginsu just stood there. Why didn't it attack? It moved its head slowly from Cara to Cordelia, sniffing. It was trying to work out which one of them was the target. She was covered in Cara's blood. Oh God, it would probably give up in a moment and just kill them both.

***

Panting hard, a habit that never left him, Angel stood over the body of the slain Ginsu. The air was thick with human blood. Cara's was all over the grass at his feet, and he fought off the urge to bury his hand in it, wipe it across his face, over his tongue...

After a moment's intense concentration, he dragged himself away, and looked over to Gunn, who was hacking away at the last of the five demons. "Need help?"

"Nah, go see if English is all right," Gunn said, between blows.

Cordelia's scream ripped through the still air. Angel hesitated. Wherever Cordy was, so was Cara. He couldn't go there, it wasn't safe. Another scream. He looked from the dazed Wesley to the battling Gunn.

"Angel!" She screamed.

There was no choice. Cordelia needed him. He began to run.

Her cries led him around the side of the building, where she was trying to find a door, anywhere she could get to safety. She was moving slowly, too slowly, dragging a semi-conscious Cara with her. The sixth Ginsu was tracking them like a wolf, pacing, waiting for them to fall. It stood between Angel and his Seer, unaware anyone was approaching.

Angel could smell Cara again, stronger now that he had rounded the corner. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he could trust himself to go on, and then something else pricked in the back of his nose. Cordy's blood. It coated one of the Ginsu's talons. It would die for hurting her.

His game face emerged, and he flew at it, striking out with his sword. The two of them tumbled into a heap and went backwards through a bush.

Angel hit out, rage infusing him with extra strength. "Don't you ever. Go. Near. Her. Again!" He slashed furiously, chopping off lumps of flesh with each livid word. They rolled back, slamming against the wall of the hostel, coating the paintwork with black goo. The Ginsu roared, flashing its fingernails in all directions, trying to survive the onslaught.

When it grew silent, Angel stood up, casting the sword to the ground, and spinning around to see if Cordelia was okay.

"Angel!" She ran towards him, holding out her arms. He caught her in a fierce embrace, clutching her against his chest. She was all right, thank God. Her hands clasped the back of his neck, as if she were holding herself up.

"You okay?" he asked, his demon face buried in her hair. She nodded against his cheek, and he pulled away, dipping his head to kiss her.

Her reaction was immediate, recoiling, avoiding the fangs. "Angel, I can't," she gasped, stumbling backwards, looking down, evading his gaze. She began to tremble. "Oh, God, what have I done? Angel, I'm so sorry."

"What?" He didn't understand.

She held her hands up in front of her, looking at them as if they had betrayed her. They were covered in blood. Cara's blood.

He inhaled. He couldn't help it. Cara's scent covered him. It was creeping all over him like ivy, the tendrils of scent curling into his nostrils, growing up into his brain.

He reached up with a trembling finger and drew it through the moist red patch on his neck. He held it in front of his face, staring at the blood for an endless second, before putting it into his mouth and sucking. It tasted better than anything he could remember. His gut twisted. So hungry...

"Angel, stop it, you're scaring me," Cordelia said, balling her hands into her jacket pockets.

He looked around. The lush drapes, the rich, thick, woollen rugs, the roaring fire. He knew this place. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, cold saliva rushing in anticipation.

"She's not just for you, I get to watch." Darla's breath cooled his ear.

He growled low in his throat and advanced, scenting the air.

"Angel, it's me, Cordy."

What was it saying? Something wasn't right. Didn't smell right. The smell was stronger -- behind it.

***

Cordelia felt her stomach drop. He didn't even know her anymore. She was covered in gypsy blood and she couldn't help him.

With a snarl, Angel sprang forward. She screamed, expecting him to grasp her shoulders and bite deep. But he shoved her aside, stopping to kneel over Cara, who was on her backside on the grass.

Cordelia watched in horror as he pushed up Cara's skirt, exposing her thigh. He dipped his head, and buried his fangs right into the spot she knew bore the birthmark. The slurping noise was awful, but not as horrible as the noise coming out of Cara's throat -- a scream of pure terror.

Cordelia felt the bile rising. As much as she knew Angel had no control over this, a tide of revulsion still engulfed her. Part of her registered this as *her* Angel killing Cara.

But through the disgust, another feeling struggled free. A fierce spark, that grew and burned in her chest. He needed her now, just as she had needed him a moment ago. It was her turn to be the strong one. She'd promised him she'd stop him from doing this, and she damn well would, whatever the cost. The spark in her chest burst into flame.

With a scream she threw herself at Angel, landing on his back. Kicking and punching, she pummelled his arms, his back, his head. For a moment, he broke away from Cara, and Cordelia's heart soared. One strong arm reached behind, grabbing her around the bicep. His fingers crushed into her flesh, and then she was tumbling to the ground, falling on her back, all the air jolting from her lungs. She couldn't get up, couldn't breathe. Couldn't block out the noise of fangs sinking into flesh and Cara's thin wails.

"Angel, put her down!" Wesley's voice was thin but menacing, and he used the same expression that one would when scolding a naughty dog. Cordelia rolled onto her knees, dragging air back into her chest. Thank God for Wesley. He would make things better -- he had to.

Angel lifted his head again, distracted. He turned his face to the sky, and Cara's blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Cordelia, do something. You said if he freaked you could bring him back." Gunn reached for Wesley's crossbow, his voice betraying his distress.

"I can't, I'm covered in her blood," Cordelia coughed, holding her shaking hands towards them as evidence. "I got it on Angel and it changed him. He didn't even touch her. And I can't..." She stopped, pressing her sleeve to her mouth, unable to get another word out. It was her fault.

There was a crunching sound as Angel's teeth sank once more into Cara's thigh. She'd stopped struggling now.

"Move aside, Cordelia," Wesley said, his voice cold and determined, though his body wavered.

She looked at them, open-mouthed. "Oh, no, no."

"I gotta do it, Cordy, get out of the way." Gunn raised the crossbow, pointing the wooden bolt at Angel.

He was right. It was what Angel would want. He'd rather be dust than a killer. She hauled herself to her feet, backing away.

Time slowed down. She saw Gunn's finger, squeezing the trigger, Angel hunched over Cara's failing body, Wesley swaying and putting his hands on his knees for support. And in that split second before Gunn fired, her heart broke, and she knew. She finally knew how she really felt. Too late, once again.

In a blur, the world snapped back into real-time. And then everything happened at once.

A pulse of blue light burst from Cara's body.

"Gunn, wait!" Cordelia screamed, but the crossbow fired even as she opened her mouth. The bolt embedded in Angel's back, as the explosion rocketed him into the air.

Cordelia barely had time to register that he was flying towards her, on the crest of a blue shockwave. He landed, knocking her into Gunn and Wesley, and the four of them went down. There was some shouting, a lot of tumbling, and then painful quiet.

Cordelia tried to move. It wasn't easy with Angel, a dead-weight, sprawled across her back. At least that meant he hadn't dissolved into dust. Something sharp jabbed her ribs -- possibly the crossbow, possibly part of Wesley. He was way too bony for a pile-up like this.

Finally, she managed to free one hand and wipe the dirt and grass from her face. It was the only movement in the eerie stillness. Just laying there and waiting for something to happen felt like a good plan.

Wesley's voice, coming from somewhere by her left knee, broke the silence. "Ah, right. Of course. I think I've worked it out."

Chapter Seven: The Test

Angel's eyes snapped opened. He could see clouds scudding over the night sky. His limbs buzzed and twitched. He felt warm, like he'd fed recently, and the tang of blood in his mouth told him it was true. Human blood. Cara's blood -- he could taste her essence in it. He sat bolt upright. Oh God, what had he done?

"Hey." Cordelia leaned her elbows against the top of the rear passenger door. "I'm glad you're awake. No way am I strong enough to carry you inside."

He looked around. They were parked outside her apartment building. "What happened?" He tasted the inside of his mouth again with growing terror, shifting in the seat, agitated.

"You don't remember?" she said, raising her eyebrows. He shook his head, puzzled and disoriented. Why wasn't Cordy angry, or frightened? Surely she had seen him...

Reaching up with trembling fingers, he touched the corner of his mouth. They came away smeared with congealed blood. "Cara," he gasped. "I killed her?"

"Don't get all amateur dramatic society on me. Cara's fine. Wes and Gunn are with her at the hospital." Cordelia rolled her eyes, but her voice was soft and reassuring.

"But I fed from her."

"Don't worry, you didn't get past the appetizer," she said.

The car felt like it spun for a moment, and he didn't care what or who had stopped him. Just that he hadn't killed anyone. And that Cordy was still talking to him, which was a miracle after what she'd seen him do. Cara, however...

"I -- I should go, apologise to her." He started struggling to get the door open, frantic. His hands shook and he fumbled the lock.

"I don't think she wants to see you right now. Or anytime, well -- ever," she said, holding out her hand. "Come on, you look like hell."

They made their way inside in silence. "Dennis, hot bath please?" she called, tossing the car keys onto the mantelpiece. The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom.

"Why are we here?" Angel stood in the middle of the room, shuffling his feet, wishing he could get over the adrenaline-like rush that came from drinking human blood. It disgusted him that it felt so good. If only he could stop the trembling...

"I don't know," Cordelia said, shrugging. "After Wes and Gunn threw you in the back seat, I just started driving, and here we are. I didn't want to go back to the hotel."

He sat down on the sofa, and rubbed his face restlessly. "What happened?"

"It's my fault." She sat beside him, close enough so her arm was pressed against his. "I wiped Cara's blood all over you." She held out her hands, still tainted with the offending substance, although it looked like she'd tried to wash them.

"She never touched me?" he said, looking up into her face.

"Well, some of her did," she sighed, flexing her stained fingers. "I'm sorry."

She blamed herself. How was it that every time he tried to protect her, he seemed to end up hurting her? He reached out and touched the side of her face gently. "It wasn't your fault. You're the only thing that's kept me sane these last couple of days."

"You weren't going mad, Angel. It was part of the prophecy," she said.

He shook his head, not understanding. "How?"

"The prophecy didn't mean you had to sleep with her -- it meant you had to feed from her. Wesley finally worked it out. Kinda after the fact, unfortunately."

He frowned. "So -- the hallucinations?"

"Would you have bitten her willingly?" she asked.

Of course not. He would never have fed from Cara, not without a one-hundred-percent guarantee that it was the right thing to do. Even then he couldn't have been sure he'd stop drinking in time. And he wouldn't have risked killing her. "You're sure that was it? That it worked?"

"Well, there was a big explosion. And in the ambulance after, Wesley looked at Cara's birthmark, and it was gone. Not even a hole where you..." She made a biting motion. "I'd say that all adds up to a great big 'duh'," she said, her face softening into a smile. "You're not crazy, Angel, you never were. Everything you were feeling was put there by someone -- or something."

"Not everything," he murmured, cupping her cheek. He leaned in for a kiss, and she shrank away, her face screwing up. Of course, she wouldn't want him now, not after what he'd done. He hung his head. So close, and yet...

"No, Angel, I'm sorry." Cordelia took his hand. "I would, but right now there's a really sick twist on 'you've got something in your teeth' that's grossing me out. You wash up, then perhaps after, there could be -- kissage."

She got up and went to the linen closet, getting towels and washcloths, while he watched her from the sofa.

That's when the relief hit, surging through him, combining with the blood-rush and forcing him to his feet. He'd been to the very brink, the precipice of total darkness, and this time his friends were there to pull him back. Cordelia had been right. Letting them in had saved him. Without them, he would have run from this, Cara would probably be dead, and he'd be alone again.

Last time he'd totally blown it, driven them away. This time, he still had his crew, his soul, and most amazing of all, Cordy still seemed to be considering whatever they had between them.

Pacing, he rubbed a hand over the back of his aching neck, feeling the powdery dried blood coming away beneath his fingers. He could smell it, sharp with iron, and dizziness made him lean on the edge of the sofa, leaving red-brown fingerprints on the upholstery.

Images crammed into his mind, jumbled, yet vivid. The fighting, Cara's thigh, quivering beneath his watering mouth, the blue light that filled his being, the sound of the crossbow firing, and finally, one endless moment where he heard Cordelia's anguished voice. 'Gunn, wait!' It rang over and over in his head.

He was on the floor, on his knees, gasping. "Cordy!"

"What?" She came running from the bathroom.

"Get this stuff off me," he said, his voice desperate and breaking. "Please."

"Okay, it's okay." She reached down and took his arms, pulling him up. "Come on." The look on her face spoke so clearly of the hurt she felt, seeing him like that. He stumbled and lurched, grateful when she wound both arms around his waist and guided him to the bathroom.

He tried in vain to undo his shirt, shaking fingers refusing to obey, and then he felt her tugging at his duster, pulling it down over his arms, and he just gave up, letting her undress him as he leaned against the vanity.

She continued, business-like, unlacing boots, peeling off socks, unbuttoning his pants and easing them down. He stepped out of them and stood before her, naked now apart from his boxers.

Cordelia had seen him like this a thousand times before, yet he felt nervous, his throat dry. She was standing back, waiting to see if he would go that last step by himself. He took the moment to turn away and rinse his mouth out in the sink, erasing the taste of Cara from his tongue.

Leaning on the counter top, he felt her hands on his waist, small and warm, just the lightest of touches, and then her thumbs slipping into the waistband of his boxers.

"You ready?" she asked, her voice husky. He nodded, and she slipped them down, letting him kick them away. He turned back to face her, trembling, afraid if he spoke it would break the spell, and she'd laugh, or make a joke, or worse, shove his clothes back at him and leave.

As soon as his eyes met hers, he knew his fears were groundless. Her face was flushed, a picture of desire. She smiled, not the big flashbulb-going-off that she normally used, just the faintest upward turn at the corners of her lips.

Taking his arm firmly, she guided him to the tub. He sank through the perfumed foam with a short sigh. The dried blood -- his own and Cara's, dissolved and curled away in little eddies as he moved his arms, reaching for the sponge. His fingers were still shaking. He fumbled and dropped it.

"Here, let me." Cordelia leaned in and retrieved the sponge, squeezing body wash onto it. She drew it over his chest, under his silver pendant. With firm movements she soaped his shoulders, then ran the sponge up behind his neck, making sure she removed all traces of blood. It felt so good. He closed his eyes, sighing.

Leaning forward, he let her work the soap over his back. "Ouch," he winced, feeling the sharp sting as she scrubbed over what felt like a deep puncture wound. "What was that?"

"Sorry, sorry." She grimaced. "Uh, Gunn shot you. Don't be mad."

"No, he did the right thing," he said, taking a deep, unnecessary breath. They'd tried to kill him, just like he'd asked them to in the car, while Cordy slept. He'd always wondered -- if it came down to the crunch -- if he could truly rely on them to respect his wishes. Now he knew.

Her eyes were moist. "It was really hard, Angel," she whispered. "I had to step back and let him fire."

He nodded. "I'm so proud of you, Cordy." The words felt inadequate. Reaching up, he slid his hand behind her neck, pulling her face to his. He kissed her softly, delighting when she responded in kind, sighing into his mouth, and leaning into him, her hands pressing against his chest. She slipped her arms around him, fingers playing against his back as he tipped his head to the other side and kissed her again, deeper, harder.

He could hear her heartbeat accelerate, feel the heat coming from her flushed face. He sensed her want -- arousal so keen it almost jumped out and bit him. He wasn't going to make it. He couldn't just sit there while she kissed him like that, when all he really wanted to do was drag her, fully clothed, into the water, press her against the floor of the tub, and ...

"Ow," she winced, breaking away, her hand suddenly going to her side.

"You're hurt," he said. The memory of her blood on the demon's talons emerged from the mental fog.

She shook her head. "It's nothing."

"Let me see."

"I'm okay, Angel, really," she protested, as he reached up and grasped her shoulders.

"Turn around," he insisted, twisting her carefully away from him. His hands made wet prints on her top as she gave up, facing the wall while he lifted her clothing. The scent of her blood wafted out as he tried to peel away the fabric. He removed his hand from her shirt, not wanting to hurt her. "You should have shown this to someone."

"I didn't feel it, truly. I guess I had other things on my mind," she said, shrugging. She looked down at herself and laughed. Grass stains, blood, ripped clothes. "Look at me, I'm a mess."

"Hadn't noticed," he fibbed. She was still the most beautiful woman in the world, regardless. He couldn't stop a huge smile spreading across his face.

"Well, I feel gross." She stood, and for one awful second he thought she was going to leave. But, to his amazement, she began kicking off her shoes instead. She looked down at him, eyes shining. In them, he could see fear, affection, confusion, desire and pain, jumbled together in a look that simultaneously broke and mended his heart.

Never breaking their gaze, she began to remove her clothes, tugging the shirt away from the wound on her side, grimacing, but not stopping. He smelled her fresh blood, and it only served to arouse him more.

Within a minute, she was standing naked beside the tub. Her skin puckered into goosebumps, although the room was warm and steamy. He could not tear his eyes away -- she was so beautiful, and she was -- his. All his. A naked goddess, allowing him to see her in her full glory for the first time.

And then Cordelia stepped into the bath, one long, beautiful leg at a time. She turned her back on Angel, sinking into the water between his legs, and lay back against his chest. He looked down her body, taking in her tanned breasts, and the flat expanse of her stomach angling into the water.

"Oh, Cordy," he whispered, slipping his arms around her, bringing his hands up to cup both breasts, feeling their weight, the nipples pressing like hard little buttons on his palms. He brought his face down to her neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive spot just below her ear.

She sighed and wriggled in his arms, pressing further back against him. He longed for one more inch of skin against skin, but it was too soon. He let go, smiling at the little noise of protest that escaped from her throat.

Retrieving the sponge, he dabbed at the slash on her side. For a moment, Buffy floated into his mind, damp and shivering, the cut on her back rough beneath his fingers. If only he'd known then how fragile his soul was. The fear of losing it again was still so strong. What if...?

"Angel?" Cordelia's voice brought him back.

"It's all right, just a shallow scratch. You'll be fine," he said quietly.

Angel returned his attention to the sponge, brushing it over the back of her neck, down between her shoulder blades, sneaking around under her arms. He flicked the rough foam on the underside of her breasts, making her gasp and arch upwards. His other hand flattened over her stomach, pressing lightly, sliding lower, and disappearing beneath the bubbles.

Her eyes flew open wide as his fingers slid between her legs. He began to stroke and tease, threatening to enter her, but drawing back at the last moment. She threw her head back against his shoulder with a low moan, and his lips closed over hers, his tongue flicking gently, and then taking possession.

With a splash she turned over, causing a small wave of water to slosh over the side of the bath. "I want you, I want you," she whispered, her lips against his.

Angel swallowed hard as her breasts pressed against his chest. He brought his knees up, cocooning her, keeping her still, while he slid his hands over her perfect, perfect bottom. He squeezed the cheeks gently, cupping them, pulling her pelvis against his hardness.

She reached up and wound her arms around his neck, nipping at his lower lip. With a growl he complied, tasting her warm silky tongue, the kiss deepening, becoming frantic.

She was moaning softly, her hands gripping at his neck, his shoulders, and her stomach rubbed against him. He wanted to claim her right there in the bath, make her his in every way.

"Cordelia," he growled, turning his head away.

"What?" She looked up at him, breathing hard, her eyes smoky.

"We need to -- talk." He moved one hand to her back, running a finger along the dip of her spine.

"Now?" Her voice was heavy with disbelief.

"Are we doing what I think we're doing?" he murmured, nuzzling her cheek with his nose and lips.

"Well, duh! I thought you knew all about the birds and the bees." She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling.

"If the prophecy didn't work..."

"It did," she cut him off, planting little, warm kisses along his jaw line.

"Do you have a stake?" he asked quietly, struggling to keep his train of thought.

She stopped abruptly, kneeling back, looking at him with wide, sad eyes. "Yes," she said. "But..."

"If I turn, there'll be a minute or two where I'm weak, in pain, disoriented. You have to do it then." He leaned forward, cupping her face in his hands as her eyes filled with tears.

"No, Angel." She bit her lip. "I've already had to face losing you once tonight, and now you're asking me to do it again? I can't."

He pushed her hair back from her damp face. "You were very brave, and you know it was the right thing to do. I need you to be brave for me again."

"I wasn't brave, I was so scared," she said, the words rushing out. "I was going to lose you, just when I..." She put her hand over her mouth, suppressing a sob.

For a second she was silent, and then she took a deep breath. "The prophecy worked. I saw it. I saw her leg, the mark was gone. But if you think it didn't work..."

"No, I think it worked," he said, and he felt in his unbeating heart that it was true. "I'm sure it worked. I just want to cover all the bases. Which means you have to promise me -- just in case. I don't want to hurt you, ever again."

"I promise," she whispered.

Those two small words set him free. Free to finally feel the happiness she brought to him, free to love her with every fiber of his being, free to totally let go and share everything with her.

***

Cordelia marvelled at the look on Angel's face -- something lifted from it as she spoke. With a groan he drew his legs up beneath him, sliding his arms around her waist, lowering her back against the foot of the bath, reversing their previous position. She sighed as he pressed down against her. She could feel his anticipation growing, every muscle tensing.

He brushed his lips against hers, just once, before wandering away across her face, stopping at her cheekbone, backtracking, then moving purposefully towards her ear. He tripped down the pathway between jaw and neck, lingered in the valley of her throat, and then rushed joyfully towards her breasts. Everywhere he'd been left tracks of fire on her skin, like he'd planted a trail of tiny candles that burned just for her.

She curled her hands in his hair, holding his head to her as he lapped and sucked, fuelling the desire she felt for him. His teeth nipped playfully, teasingly; his tongue circling, dragging over sensitive skin, drawing gasps from deep within her.

And then he was on the move again, turning his attention to her stomach. His chin dipped into the water as he kissed her belly button, and then his whole face submerged into the bubbles.

His hands slid down to her thighs, gently parting her legs, pushing them against the sides of the bath. He nuzzled his mouth at her entrance, and his tongue found the hard little pebble there, his rough tastebuds caressing her into a frenzy.

Cordelia threw her head back, crying his name over and over. He was relentless, driving her closer to the edge. Oh, God, thank-you for a lover who never had to breathe. She was vibrating, her thighs and stomach quivering, and she let go of his head to grip the sides of the bathtub. Just to hang on to something solid as the rest of her world flew away in a whirlwind of sensation and heat.

He was watching her. She gulped in another lungful of air and looked down at his face, chin resting on her stomach, rivulets of water running down out of his hair. Hello, soapy goodness. And that devastating smile spread from ear to ear. Twice in one night -- that had to be a record on the Angel smile-o-meter.

Slowly, he uncurled himself from the kneeling position, splashing the cooling water, and she shivered, just a little.

"Cold?" he asked. She nodded reluctantly, never wanting to leave the sanctuary of the tub again. But that would lead to pruneyness, which wasn't attractive. Best to get out now.

He was already up, in more ways than one, she noted with a smile. Strong arms grasped hers, pulling her to her feet. Gone were the tremors and trembles of earlier, he was steady, solid, hard -- so hard...

"Cordy," he laughed, as she threw herself into his arms, craving to finish what had been started. "I can't dry you like this."

"Don't care," she murmured.

"Well, I do." He unwound her from his chest, stepping onto the sopping carpet.

He picked up the towel she had fetched, raising an eyebrow as he saw the second one beneath it. Cordelia could feel herself blushing. He knotted his around his waist, raising the other like a matador's cape, sweeping it around her and pulling her close.

Gently his large hands began to rub, making slow, wide circles on her back. She felt like a cat, arching against his touch, purring with pleasure. He reached down, cupping a hand behind her knee, bringing it up to his hip, running the towel over the back of her thigh.

She surrendered completely, leaning her head against his chest, hands clasped behind his neck, pliant in his arms as he caressed the water from her skin.

***

Heat was radiating off her in waves. She was the sun, shining just for him, filling him with light, with warmth. He remembered a time when he would have done – did do the unthinkable -- just to feel anything besides the cold. And now it was gone.

"Angel?" Her voice was thick as honey, dripping over him, coating him.

"Mmm?" He'd stopped moving. How long had he stood there, oblivious in her embrace?

"Enough with the drying already," she whispered, discarding her towel. It flowed down her body in ripples, pooling around her feet. "Come to bed."

He lifted her in his arms -- a feather -- carried her to the bedroom, and laid her on the bed, standing back to admire her.

"Too beautiful." He shook his head. She had no right to be that perfect.

"Less puppy eyes, more touching." She held out her hand, her hazel eyes dancing in the dim light from the hallway. He curled his fingers with hers, and let her pull him down.

"I love you, Cordelia," he whispered, cradling the side of her face with his hand.

"Angel," she sighed, reaching down, tugging the towel away from around his slim hips.

***

She gazed at him, stretched beside her, propped on one elbow, his long body a study of shadow and light. His skin pale, criss-crossed with cuts, and dappled with bruises and dew-drops of bathwater that the towel hadn't captured. Muscles, taut and hard. Beautiful, beautiful Angel.

"Cordy?" he whispered, his eyes asking permission to pass the point of no return.

"Follow me," she breathed, taking his hand in hers, drawing his fingers over her breast, thrilled at his touch. Shivering, she raised his palm to her face, licked it, tasting soap and skin, drawing his forefinger and thumb into her mouth, sucking hard. His other arm trembled beneath him, and his eyes flashed with desire.

She took his wet fingers; dragged them down her neck, moistening the hollow of her throat. She ached for him even more, watching her proud warrior submitting, meekly allowing her to guide him where she most needed him to be. He must have known, better than any man, how to touch a woman, yet he let her take the lead.

She pressed his hand to her mouth again, running the pads of his fingers around her lips, her tongue darting out to meet them. Arching upwards, brushing the cool roughness of his hand across her breasts, she painted her own salvia around one nipple. Then the other. They puckered beneath his fingertips.

His strength failed him, bringing his face down into the pillow of her breasts. He took a small nip of the flesh, sending sparks flying. "God, Cordy, you have no idea," he rasped.

"Shhh," she smiled, pulling his hand down, over her stomach. Fire erupted beneath it, her thighs dampening. He shifted, drawing himself up over her, kneeling beside her. His free hand curled into her hair, caressing, cupping her head and tilting her face up as he bent to kiss her.

His lips slid away, down her neck, back to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth. She felt herself lifting, pressing against his teeth, needing more. She pushed his hand lower, between her legs, fingers entwined with his, plunging them into her. His head snapped up, eyes locking with hers.

"Think I need lessons, do you?" he said, panting, a half-smile playing across his face.

"I want..." she gasped, pushing his fingers -- her own -- deeper.

"I know what you want, Cordy." He thrust, once, sending her hips flying off the bed.

"I want -- more," she moaned.

"You'll get it," he said, his voice coarse. He placed his other hand over her stomach, caressing, pressing gently downwards on her womb, as if he were trying to absorb the heat through his palm. Holding her still, he began to move, his fingers plundering her, his thumb stroking her clit.

Her own hand slipped away, curling in the sheet. Small tremors shook her thighs, her belly. Sparks of heat crackled in her toes, arcing upwards, seeking release.

He must be coated in her by now, dripping off his fingers and wetting the sheets.

God, she was gonna come again, and he was right there, watching her, his eyes so full of love... And then his face went fuzzy and the room turned upside-down. She could hear her own voice, chanting his name, distant, gasping.

When he came back into focus, he was smiling. "Told you I knew what you wanted."

"You forgot something," she murmured, retrieving him from between her thighs. Twining her fingers with his, still slick with her juices, she reached for his cock. She pulled along his length, squeezing, making him touch himself. He gasped, his eyes rolling back, stomach quivering.

"God, Cordelia," he groaned. The want on his face fuelled her own even more.

"I want that, too," she whispered, stilling their hands.

"Then take it, baby," he said raggedly, sliding his arms around her, rolling her on top. She knelt astride him, the anticipation delicious as she hovered over him.

"Angel, I love you." She bent forward, kissing his scarred chest. His fingers laced in her hair, holding her head to him, as she gently lowered herself down, over him, enveloping him.

He filled her completely, and she gasped as she settled all the way.

"Okay?" he asked, stroking her hair.

"Better than," she said, sitting up, leaning her hands on his chest, feeling his hard nipples under her palms. Slowly, she began to move, getting used to his size, his feel. His hands slid onto her hips, guiding her, urging her on. The air in the room began to hum. "Do you feel that?" she whispered.

He sat up, clasping her to his chest, forcing her to stillness. "I feel..." he brushed the tips of his fingers across her face. She could smell herself on him, and it was intoxicating. She crushed her mouth to his, eating him, lips, teeth, tongue. No more playing.

He must have sensed the shift -- one moment she was in a tender embrace, the next, on her back, Angel above her, hovering between her thighs, barely inside her.

"Angel," she whimpered.

"Shhh, baby, I'm yours," he said, and his body came down on her, driving into her. The tenderness was gone, replaced by fever. She clutched at his back, accepting it, wanting it more than the air that was rushing in and out of her lungs. His hips cannoned against hers, faster, higher, harder. She felt his cool tears raining on her face. Heard the incoherent sounds of pleasure rumbling in his chest. Felt the tempest begin where his body melted into hers.

Her whole world exploded in a shower of brilliant white light, and even as she drifted back down from heaven, she felt him flood into her, gasping her name. She forced her eyes open to watch him come, and his expression made her cry. His face, normally heavy with guilt, with sorrow and regret, looked so different in that one moment of release. Pure happiness, unadulterated bliss.

***

This was the worst part, Cordelia thought -- the waiting. She pulled her robe tighter around her, and drew her legs up onto the chair. The stake clutched in one hand felt solid against her palm -- but not comforting.

The craziness of what they'd just done took her breath away. Weak, weak, weak, she chastised herself. So much for being his rock -- his safe haven. Dammit, he was vulnerable and shaken, and she should have known better.

Even the tiniest little sliver of doubt about the prophecy's validity should have been one tiny sliver too much. They should have just made the best of what they had. No-bone Angel was better than no Angel at all.

Sure, he believed that the prophecy had worked. She knew there was no way in the world he'd ever have risked any of this otherwise. But earlier he'd also believed that he was powdered-wig-boy and that Cara was a Happy Meal. It didn't exactly make for a sparkling track record in good judgment.

She sighed, trying to get off the mental ferris-wheel. Hugging her knees, she waited.

The moonlight had gone now, and the gentle patter of raindrops against her window was almost comforting. Far away, a weak flicker of lightning lit the sky, just visible through the curtains. A gentle, low rumble shuddered around the heavens. Her spine prickled. This had better not be the Powers getting all metaphorical on her.

"Cordelia!" Angel sat bolt upright, gasping. She jumped, almost falling off the chair.

"Angel?" She gripped the stake tighter. He put a hand up, clutching at his chest, his eyes scanning the room. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Oh God, she couldn't do this, not again. Not now. "Angel?" she repeated, her voice shaking.

"Cordy." He swallowed hard, getting his bearings, his wild breaths subsiding. "I dreamed -- how long have I been asleep?" he asked, glancing at the window.

Okay, not a particularly evil question. Her heart dropped back out of her throat and resumed its proper place in her chest. "About an hour. You dreamed what?"

"It -- it doesn't matter." He looked heavenwards, his eyes misty. "I'm still..."

"Angel." She breathed the word out in a long sigh. He was still Angel. No more Angelus.

***

"Oh, God," Angel whispered. The sense of relief was palpable. It was more than that. It was totally overwhelming. He ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, God."

"It worked." Cordelia's eyes were wide as saucers. "Angel, it worked!" she shrieked, leaping onto the bed. "Don't you get it?"

He just sat there staring at his hands. What on earth had made him take such a risk? What had made him so sure that his soul wouldn't be ripped from him again? *I think maybe we're not alone in this*.

Kate's voice in his head was the last thing he expected right then. But the sudden memory brought clarity. Something had let him into her apartment uninvited that night. Something had tricked him into feeding from Cara. Something had told him it was safe to consummate his love for Cordelia. He didn't know what. He didn't want to know.

"Angel, don't you get it?" Cordelia repeated, her pretty features pulled into a frown.

"Yeah, I get it," he said quietly, and at last, he really felt he did.

Another rumble of thunder made the air vibrate outside. The rain was thick now, enveloping the apartment in a snug cocoon.

"Do you want to celebrate?" Her voice dropped to a low purr, and as she advanced on all fours, her robe slipped open.

He smiled, letting go of all the fear, reaching behind her head and pulling her face down to him. "I think I do."

"I love you, Angel," she said, her mouth against his. He kissed her, lips parting, allowing their tongues to dance together.

His hands entered the tent of her robe, slipping the light, silky garment aside as he cupped her breasts. "Cordy," he moaned into her mouth. Her lithe body descended on his, rubbing against his instant erection through the thin sheet.

"Mmm, déjà vu," she murmured, reaching down to push the offending barrier away, curling her hand around him.

"Get used to it," he whispered.

End.

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