Into That Good Night

Author: Chrystler

Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to those Whedon and Greenwalt fellas.

Summary: Cordelia is ready to go gently. Others aren't ready to let her.

Rating: PG-13, but deals with themes of mortality and towards the end sex will factor in to the equation. Doesn't it always?.

Spoilers: Up to `Billy' and based upon spoilers and speculation for `Birthday'.

Author's Notes: I'm ignoring the whole AJ arc until I know where its going and can decide whether or not it warrants inclusion in my personal canon view. :) So Darla hasn't shown up, but Cordelia knows about her and Angel. *__* Indicates italics.

Distribution: If anyone wants it, please ask.

Dedication: To Claudia for the encouragement.

Feedback: The good, the bad and the ugly to chrystler_wolf@yahoo.co.uk

Into That Good Night

Chapter 1

Wesley closed the large tome with a heavy sigh that caught inside his chest. He didn't need to look at the young women in front of him to know she was frozen rigid. It didn't take vampiric senses to be able to feel the waves of tension emanating from her body. His body felt leaden. His heart, tight and weighty. His throat, dry and hollow. The former Watcher took off his glasses and rubbed at the already spotless lenses. A futile gesture to delay the inevitable. To stall the awful moment when he would have to look into those hazel eyes and see reflected there the terrible knowledge of their owner's fate.

Cordelia remained stock still, hardly breathing despite her racing mind and churning stomach. So it was true. That which she'd always known yet always hoped to be proved wrong. That which she'd denied - to herself for as long as physically possible and to the others for even longer - was now that which could not be pushed away. Could not be ignored or neglected, any less than it had ever been able to be forgotten.

Her eyes watched the pale figure of her friend slowly place his glasses back on his nose, her mind hardly acknowledging his presence.

"Cordelia," his voice was uncharacteristically husky. The un-Wesley-ness of the tone brought her out of her numb reverie. Her eyes locked with his steely blue ones, filled with such pain, such tenderness, such love. The swell of emotion registered with a start in the dim recess of her brain that wasn't still anaesthetized by the book's findings. All this, for her? Her mouth twitched into a small surprised smile almost unconsciously.

"It's okay, Wesley. I knew. I guess I already knew," her voice came out in bursts, but it was much steadier and clearer than she'd thought it would be. Be strong, Chase, she resolved internally, you have to be. For them. And it won't be for long.

"It's not okay, Cordelia. None of this is `okay'," the words were spat out with a fervid ferocity. Wesley's burst of intensity took her a little by surprise. This was an Angel-level emotional release; white rage and stubborn steel.

She reached out, placing a steadying hand on his arm. He whipped his head away but let her fingers remain on his forearm gently moulding his flesh beneath their tips. When she spoke, however, her voice possessed a hard edge.

"Hey! So, no. It's not `okay', but what can we do, Wes? This isn't a big bad demon you guys can go kill with your pointy swords and kick-ass axes! And now we know there isn't a pretty little answer, all tied up with string, just waiting to be found in one of your big old books!"

Here she grabbed a large volume from the desk and let it drop, the pages exuding clouds of dust as it hit the counter with a bang. Wesley flinched slightly.

"Look at me. *Look* at me, Wes!" Cordelia realized her voice teetered on the shrill. She took a breath, fighting to keep back the simultaneous urges to cry and smash things into tiny pieces. When Wesley turned back to face her the tears were in his eyes.

"I'm dying, Wes. The visions are going to kill me. This puny little human body can't handle them and all the Champions, and former Rogue Demon Hunters, and Renegade Street Vamp Fighters, and Physics Genii in the world can't change that."

She spoke with a even finality that caused each word to whip across Wesley's chest with greater force than desperate emotion would have done. His face drained an even whiter shade of pale than before, but he managed to mutter in a tone almost suggestive of defiance, "You don't know that."

Cordelia held his gaze for a beat and bit her lip.

"Yes. Yes. I do." She lied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Englishman was still noticeably shaky, but his emphasis had shifted from his own horror and shock to an overwhelming concern for the young seer whose life hanged in the balance. He managed to pour the tea without spilling too much scalding liquid over the table, automatically added sugar and milk to Cordelia's cup and just a splash of the latter to his own. Picking up the tray, he wove his way around the reception desk towards the circular sofa in the center of the lobby on which the brunette girl was curled, hugging her knees to her chest.

She took the cup he offered, glancing up her thanks, and was once again taken back by the worry and tender sadness etched over the former Watcher's handsome regular features. He sank down next to her.

"How long have you known?" he asked softly, not catching her eye.

She considered her answer. "Articulately? Since Pylea. Instinctively? A lot longer. Maybe as long as I've had them."

She gestured at her head, indicating the migraine-inducing visions.

"I didn't want to acknowledge it, I suppose, until the pain became so bad and I couldn't keep *not* realizing it any longer."

Wesley studied her face. She looked tired, drawn. The eyes that for so long had alternately sparkled light and flashed fire, equally to his amusement and annoyance, were dull and sunken. But that wasn't the worst thing he could see in her face. The most painful thing to behold was the calm. A blanket of resignation muffled her beautiful features. Cordelia, who had never backed down from a fight, wasn't even going to front up for this one.

Wesley felt as though his skin had been grazed on the inside, the wounds raw and oozing. He trembled involuntarily, and instantly hated himself for being so weak when her saw her expression morph into a look of concern. *She* was dying and she was worried about *him*.

With effort, he pulled himself together.

"What happened in Pylea?" he questioned, the researcher in him taking over as the friend quailed.

Damn you, Wesley, she thought, is there no detail you'll let drop?

"Nothing really," Cordelia replied out loud, sipping her tea attentively to avoid looking into his face, "I guess, you could say I had... what was that thing that Angel had just before he came back to us?"

"An epiphany?" offered Wesley.

"Yep. That's it. One o' those." she tried for a flash of a grin and it almost came off. Before Wesley could point out that something must have sparked her moment of realization, she blurted out, "You can't tell him."

"What?"

"Angel. You've got to promise me you won't tell him."

"Cordelia, I..."

"Please, Wesley, I'll never ask you for another thing. `Cause well, I'll be dead and all soon enough. But even so, you have to promise me, Wes. He can't know. Not until it happens."

Wesley stared at her in confusion. What could possibly be gained from not telling Angel? On the contrary, maybe they *could* find a way to prevent the visions taking the seer's life.

"What can't Angel know until it happens?"

The two friends on the couch swung round hurriedly in the direction of the voice issuing the terse enquiry.

"Oh great!" breathed Cordelia through gritted teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She hadn't expected any of this to be easy but she also hadn't expected things to go so far awry from her plan. Damn him to hell for that vampiric, noiseless-sneaking-up ability. But then, thought Cordelia, being a vampire, the damning to hell thing was pretty much a given.

She slumped back on the couch and closed her eyes. Now there was going to be the scene. The one she'd wanted so much to avoid, when all her little secrets came spilling out in one ugly, messy heap. All of them. Even the ones she'd vowed he'd never know. She'd only wanted to spare him more guilt and anguish, and herself the loss of all and any dignity she may have remaining. After the pain worsened and she'd been forced to realize the unvarnished truth, that Groo had been right and humans weren't supposed to bear the force of TPTB's inter-cranial messaging service, she had cried and screamed and punched walls and eventually, over time, become resigned to her suspected fate. He *never* would. She knew him well enough to know that. Knew him almost too well. She felt the shift of weight as Wesley stood up beside her, and let her head slip into her hands, all too aware of what was bound to follow.

The vampire repeated his query, urgency joining the suspicion in his tone as he glanced from Wesley's tense form to Cordelia's huddled one.

"What can't I know?"

Wesley inhaled slowly in anticipation of speech. Cordelia squeezed her eyes tighter shut.

"Angel, I think you might want to sit down."

"I really don't think I do, Wes. I think I want to know what the hell's going on," his eyes flashed, impatience driven by a sudden wave of fear.

Wesley glanced apprehensively at the speaker's imposing figure, noting the tension resonating in his every muscle. This was too big to be kept hidden, no matter what Cordelia might mistakenly feel was for the best. Angel now knew she wanted to keep secrets from him, which meant there was no way he'd be content to let the matter drop. He would have to know everything. The greatest thing Wesley could do for the ill-fated seer now was to bear the burden of breaking the news to one rather highly-strung, unpredictable vampire himself.

He leaned down and spoke softly into Cordelia's ear, "Go."

She quickly brought up her head from her hands, bewildered, "What?"

"Go. I'll fill Angel in on the situation. I have a feeling things are likely to get broken and that's not what you need right now, so go."

She looked up at him amazed, grateful, touched. Wesley was perhaps the greatest friend any girl could have.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, rising from the couch and hurrying to grab her coat from behind the desk.

She passed within a foot of Angel, stood in the lobby arms folded across his chest, seconds away from implosion, but never once glanced in his direction.

She was strides away from the door when the voice she could hardly bear to hear spoke again.

"Hold it right there!" Angel commanded icily, "You're not going anywhere until someone tells me what this is about."

She shot Wesley a pleading look. She couldn't. She just couldn't. She'd rather drop dead on the spot than have to remain there watching Angel shatter into little pieces in front of her eyes. Then worse, spectate helplessly as he leaped into his inevitable knee-jerk denial. Hear him demanding that it simply wasn't going to happen. That she would live. That they would find a way to save her. Him finding a way was what she dreaded most of all.

Her co-conspirator responded to her silent request with chivalrous strength. Tapping into those hidden reserves of steel that had taken such a battering of late, Wesley drew himself up and contradicted the vampire with even firmer orders of his own.

"Cordelia, leave. Angel, go into the office and pour us both a drink. I think we'll both be grateful for something to dull the pain when you smash your fist through my desk."

Cordelia smiled inwardly. Dry. Businesslike. That was more like the Wesley she knew and loved. The one who would stand tall for her until the end. She headed to the door and pushed at it, almost out into the sunlit street when she risked stealing a glance in Angel's direction. His dark eyes were fixed upon her, his handsome face creased into a frown of worry and confusion. Cordelia's heart caught in her throat, suspending her body for a second before she rediscovered her legs and ran. Ran from the hotel. Ran from him. Out into the light where he couldn't follow. Soon she'd be going somewhere else he wouldn't be able to follow.

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt the damp patch on her shirt where the drops of saltwater had landed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wearily, Wesley reached down to rescue a chair from its resting place on the floor. Just one of the many casualties the Hyperion fixtures and fittings had sustained in the onslaught of Hurricane Angel. He dragged it to the desk, avoiding the priceless ancient tomes slung carelessly over the floor, noting superficially the 14th-century volume sticking incongruously through the broken glass of the computer screen. Shards of monitor had joined the pieces of ceramic mug and crystal vase in creating a mosaic of destruction against the art-deco tiles of the hotel floor.

Angel was nothing if not thorough, he mused sadly, as he picked up one of the books to restart a search he already knew to be futile and sank down on to the seat.

"Owwww! Bloody hell!"

His exclamation melded with the now familiar sound of splintering wood echoing in the empty lobby. A painful jolt of hard floor meeting soft buttock coursed through his already aching body. It turned out the chair's injuries had been more serious than had first appeared. The man who had faced adversity over and over again in the form of demons, vampires, lawyers, zombie cops and hell-dimensions, sat among the strewn debris of the Hyperion Hotel and, for the first time in along time, allowed his head to yield to his heart.

The tear-choked howls carried on the still air out into the remorselessly indifferent late afternoon California sun.

Chapter 2

She watched the glowing fiery ball slip slowly into the ocean, savoring every ethereal shaft of golden light as they cut through the encroaching dusk, trying to imprint every different hue worn by the heavens on her mind's eye. Furious yellow deepening to rich orange, orange slipping into delicate pink, pink feathering into blood red. A grand performance, more spectacular than a fireworks display, put on by Nature every evening for everyone, everywhere.

The shifting colors reflected off the planes of the young girl's face, burnishing her cheekbones with bronze, lighting tiny flames within the depths of her hazel eyes and weaving threads of amber and copper in her dark hair.

Cordelia wondered why she'd never bothered to look before. Something so extraordinary, so full of grace and light and hope. Yet it had never seemed important, never been something she'd given a moment's notice. Instead, for much of her life, she'd concentrated upon the ephemeral; shoes, clothes, high-school popularity, the brief tainted rush of delivering the perfect put-down. The woman who had once been Queen C of Sunnydale High furrowed her brow, wishing she'd been able to possess this kind of perspective all those years ago, considering all the sunsets she'd missed, and full of wonder that something so simple could be so complicated.

The sun rose and set every day. Expected, taken for granted, unappreciated. Yet contained within that single occurrence lay the entire existence of the Earth. Overworld and underworld alike were ruled by the sunlight. Death happened everyday too, especially in their line of work, and whilst private worlds could be rocked by it, the flow of life continued unstemmed with the next sunrise.

Cordelia shrugged to herself. Death. No biggie. Not cosmically.

Yeah, right.

Tell that to the crawling fear which kept grabbing at her gut making her want to wretch, snatching at her vocal chords making her want to scream, snagging at her muscles making her want to sink to the floor and huddle there until it ceased. She was past throwing up, past screaming, past hoping against hope that the cause of the fear would evaporate if she willed hard enough. Her fight was gone but the fear remained nevertheless.

No biggie.

Tell that to Wesley who had spent the best part of the day desperately ransacking every text he could get his hands on. Every book, every scroll, that might possibly tell of a human seer who had survived their burdensome gift. In the end his fevered research had only uncovered confirmation of that which she had seen in her mind-splitting vision. The last human seer's final vision had been literally mind-splitting. As had the human seer's before that. There had been no others. She was the third in recorded history. Cordelia wasn't about to lend much weight to the old adage, `third time lucky'.

No biggie.

Tell that to Angel, who had been around death, caused death, hell, *been* dead for a quarter of a millenium. Angel knew better than anyone that death was pretty much as big as deals got. It had been three hours since she'd run from the hotel, run from his questioning eyes. He'd have the answers by now, and Cordelia would put the little money she had on betting his response, unlike Wesley's, hadn't been an offer to make a pot of strong tea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had her back to him, lent over the railings gazing out at the gently swelling Pacific Ocean, the final burnished rays of the day gently brushed their long fingers over the lines of her body, lending her the glowing appearance of an otherworldly being. He drank in the scene, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, trying to delay the moment when he would have to step forward and shatter her serenity. One more thing for him to take from her. One more part of her for him to destroy. He was on the verge of moving towards her and placing a cold hand on her shoulder when she spoke, the sound surprising him back into stillness.

"I know you're there, you know. I can feel the huge cloud of angst unsettling the atmosphere. Like before a thunderstorm."

Normally, such a Cordelia-ism would have made him smile, now it just felt like a knife being twisted in his chest, and yes, he had first hand knowledge of that sensation. He moved next to her, instinctively taking up a pose to mirror hers. Elbows on rail, hands clasped together, eyes on the horizon. His mind hurt from the crowds of thoughts and half-thoughts, feelings and fears. There was so much to say, so much to express, so much to work through... how the hell did you start conversations like this?

"Hey." Great opening there, Angel.

"Hey."

Silence settled between them. He cleared his throat to break it.

"Um, Wes told me..." the rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat. He knew the words. That you're going to die. Soon. All because of me and my stupid mission. The news coming from Wesley's mouth had been unbelievable, refutable, plain wrong. From his own it seemed desperately, horribly real.

She saved him, cutting in, "Yeah. I didn't want you to have to go through this."

A tiny pause.

"Is it still standing?"

"What?"

Three years still wasn't enough time to learn to follow the meanders that passed for Cordy-logic. God, he wanted more time.

"The hotel. Is it still standing after the battering I presume you gave it?"

She indicated towards the gashes and bruises on his knuckles, turning her face to meet his for the first time since she'd spoken. That face. Her face. Rendering all the wind out of him.

He gasped hoarsely, "Just about.... Cordy, I..."

A swiftly raised hand shushed him. "Don't! Please don't! I already know everything you're going to say." She started to reel off her mental list, "How sorry you are, how it's all your fault, how it doesn't have to be this way, how you're not going to let me die, that you'll find a way to get rid of the visions, or discover some hokey spell to make me stronger."

Cordelia paused for breath before fixing the vampire straight in the eye. "I know it all, Angel. I've had this conversation with you in my head a hundred times over. I was hoping I'd get to avoid the actual version, so just... don't... say... any of it."

It was more than he could stand. The hazel eyes defying him to challenge their fate. Desperate rage welled up inside his soul once more.

"What do you expect me to do, Cor? Shrug my shoulders and say `Oh well, there goes another seer. Has anyone seen this weekend's listings guide?'!"

Shouting at her wasn't the most productive approach, he knew. It was, however, the only course of action he seemed to have at his disposal right then. She shrank a little from his scathing tone, but there was too much pent-up anger, grief and frustration for him to be able to moderate his outburst now.

"You didn't want me to find out? You thought, what?! That I wouldn't care?! That I didn't deserve to know?! I know I hurt you, Cor, but I thought we were over that. Things have never been like this before."

He gestured from himself to her, "You and me, Cordelia, I thought... I thought we were closer than ever. And you didn't think I needed to know that the visions you get *for me* are going to kill you?!"

She burst in, her voice rising, matching the emotion in his, "Yeah, because what you really need is yet one more thing to feel guilty about, one more reason to lock yourself away from the world and brood, one more victim to add to the list! Buffy, Drusilla, Darla - there's a role call of `Females Angel Flagellates Himself Over' I *really* want to join! What's happening to me *is not your fault*, okay? When I'm gone sit in a darkened room and enjoy wallowing in the self-pity and self-blame all you want, but don't you *dare* start while there's still breath left in this body!"

She pressed her hand against her quickly rising and falling chest in time with her last few words for emphasis. He watched her with uncomprehending eyes.

When he replied the fury in his voice had dropped to a pained halter, "How can I not?"

She only threw him a frustrated pleading glance. Her anger had dissipated along with his, but her full lips still trembled with emotion and her large eyes glistened with moisture. How could he let something so beautiful slip away without a fight?

"It *is* my fault. You saying it isn't doesn't make it so, we both know that. No me. No mission. No visions. No pain. No death. I caused this, Cordelia, why didn't you want to give me the chance to make it better? I'll find a new way to the Powers. The Oracles folded time once, there must be some other entity with that kind of power who can stop the visions. Their deal is with me. You, and Doyle, should never have been brought into it."

He half-expected her to dissolve into tears, thanking him. The resignation suddenly replaced by hope. Instead she grimaced as if biting back anger and tore her gaze away from him back out onto the now dark ocean.

"Always you."

The words would have been matter-of-fact but she couldn't prevent the note of bitterness from creeping in.

"I see why you and Buffy thought you had the soulmate thing. You're just the same. It's always about you. As if everyone else are just minor players caught up in the grand drama that is The Saga of You."

"No, Cor! I may have acted like that sometimes, but truly, I get that it's not about me anymore..."

"No you don't. You don't get it at all. You never have, or else you wouldn't be all `oh woe is me, poor Doyle, poor Cordy, poor Wes. Look how badly their lives turned out because of me'. It's bull Angel! Do you know why things have happened to us the way they have? It's not because we're just some hapless fools who happened to accidentally get caught up in Slipstream Angel! It's because we *chose*. We *chose* to be here. And although I bet none of us could pinpoint the moment, the second, in which that decision got made, there just came a time when we realized we'd already made it. That it wasn't necessity keeping us here anymore, there was simply no where else we wanted to be. *I* chose this, Angel. You didn't force it upon me, I chose. And it's not *your* mission. It never was. It's *ours*. You, me, Wes, Gunn, Fred - this is what we've chosen. *Chosen*. Knowing the consequences, knowing not all of us would see it through, not even sure if there was a `through' to see.

*That* is the deal, Angel. It's about time you realised it."

He hardly waited for her to finish before shooting back, "You didn't choose anything, Cordy. You got stuck with the visions, and got stuck with me. You can't tell me this is what you wanted from life. I've been there for the auditions, the casting calls, the hundred plus attempts you've made to get yourself a something different. Better. The life you should have had. Why are you pretending anything different now? To make it easier for me? Because let me tell you, there is *nothing*, *nothing* you can say that will do that."

He suddenly felt the lapels of his leather jacket tugged harshly, pulling him towards her, then released just as quickly as her fists balled up to pound on his chest.

"God, you're so dense! You're a big, stupid, dense lug of a vampire!"

"Cordy!"

He grabbed her wrists gently, preventing a further physical onslaught, and peered into her conflicted face confused, uncomfortably aware that his bemused expression was probably only reinforcing her assessment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was then that the tears started to fall. Hot and fast, they edged over her cheekbones before careering down the hollows of her cheeks and plummeting into the soft wool of his sweater. Angel, at a loss for anything else, did what he'd been wanting to do from the start, wrapping her in his arms and holding her, pressing her, tight against him. Cordelia allowed him, her frustrated anger dissipating into wracking sobs. Her mask of distant strength crumbling into clutching, grasping need. Need to be close, need to touch and to be touched. Need to lose herself in the familiar sense of perversity that washed over her every time she realized it took a dead thing to make her feel truly alive.

Angel guided them both towards the nearest bench a few yards down the ocean front, Cordelia clinging round his neck. Each warm gasp of her breath gently falling on his cold skin wounding him in ways her pummeling fists never could.

Entangled, they sank down on to the bench, Angel's chest absorbing Cordelia's sobs. His cool lips brushed against her hair as he waited for her distress to abate wondering why, out of all the factors arrayed around the young girl in this arms, it was his apparent stupidity that had compelled her to flooding tears.

After a minute, which Angel had tried his best to will to an eternity, her wracked gasps slowed. Cordelia began to regain her composure and attempt to control her breathing. Wiping at her damp eyes with her hands, she shifted out from the embrace. The cool night air rushed to fill the space she had occupied and Angel shivered involuntarily at the temperature change next to his skin.

The moment hung between them, broken only by her quiet sniffs. Angel wanted to reach out, touch her, bring her close again, but her altered demeanor cautioned him against it. When she finally brought her eyes to meet his, her strength held steady once more. She had become proud, brave, dignified, untouchable Cordelia again.

As she faced him under now darkened skies of her native California, he wondered dimly how it was that she had always been here. At times like this she didn't seem the modern, glossy, all-American girl he knew she was. Angel had been lucky enough in recent years to view her in the sun. He knew how in the sun she sparkled; light and dazzling, all suntan and toothpaste smiles. Under the sun she was the Cordelia Chase the world saw, used, caved into, wanted and discarded at will.

In the moonlight however, the cool rays through which his usual existence was filtered, she was something else entirely. The silver light painted her skin pale, accentuated her darkened eyes and not her flashing smile. At night she no longer sparkled but shone with a quiet luminescence; ancient and otherwordly.

Both Cordelias drew the vampire. One pulled him towards the heady warmth of her humanity, her laughter, her pulsating life force and instilled within him a desire to allow himself to be burned up in its heat. The other bewitched him with the tantalizing promise of hidden wisdoms, of a power beyond and outside them both, whispered of nobility and love, of courage and endurance, and gave him a glimpse of the eternity within and without himself; leaving him yearning to be immersed in the gleaming silver pools of metallic moonlight. All this encased in the fragile frame of the young girl, who moments previously had been sobbing brokenly in his arms.

Waiting for her to speak, with breath as bated as it was unnecessary, she bewitched him now.

"Maybe... maybe it did choose us too. No, no `maybe'. It did. I know it did. Sometimes I know things without knowing how I know. And I know Buffy's not the only Chosen One. The Powers chose you too, and I guess they chose me. But the decision was mutual. I still chose them too. And I choose them again every day. Don't you see?"

She looked up at him in supplication.

"The auditions, the reason why every so often I make another pathetic attempt at an acting career - it's not about trying to find an escape route. It's just the opposite. I wanted there to be something else I could do, something else I could be good at so that I was still choosing. So that I'd know, so that you'd know, I *could* be somewhere else and yet wasn't. Because. I. Chose."

Her last words separated with her emphasis. An emphasis, Angel realised with a inward smile, which was for the big, stupid, dense lug of a vampire's benefit. The smile worked its way slowly to his lips before resting a little short of his eyes. The gesture was enough to enable Cordelia to tell he had finally got a clue and she rewarded him with a smile of her own and a rueful chuckle.

"That's what that last disastrous commercial shoot was about," she paused, the smile falling as the reminiscence deepened, "The visions were getting worse and we'd only just made up. I needed to prove my choice again. It didn't quite work out."

She managed a half-grin, attempting to counter the dismay that had repossessed Angel's face at the mention of the visions. His eyes fell from hers as the habitual weight of guilt resettled upon his shoulders. Cordelia reached out, her fingers catching his chin, tilting his face back level with hers.

"But then there was Pylea, and I *did* choose again. Chose this. So none of this is your fault, Angel. It's nobody's fault. It's just the road the choices *I* made have led to. Do you understand? It's important to me that you understand. If you don't understand I'm really in trouble, because I'm not sure there's another soul in the world who will."

He looked into her beautiful moon-darkened eyes, silently pleading, wordlessly asking him to grant her this little sliver of peace and Angel found himself sliding into the mercury moonlight with a tiny nod.

She held him there with her gaze for the longest time, before breathing only a gentle, "Good."

The spell broke and Angel felt himself quickly resurfacing. Scattered senses regathering their bearings. Bench, ocean, night, LA, twenty-first century. Her hand dropped from his chin and she gathered her coat around her against the cool night.

Standing, she shot one final look at the liquid moon reflected in the ocean, then turned sharply and offered her hand, "Let's get back. I want to check on Wesley."

Chapter 3

Scrunch. Snap. Crunch.

The lack of light in the Hyperion lobby meant Cordelia's first damage assessment was being done by ear. She didn't want to imagine what pieces of essential equipment were being crushed into further oblivion by her boots as she felt her way hesitantly towards the light switches on the wall behind the counter. Her outstretched fingers finally fumbled across their goal and glaring electrical illumination sprang cheerfully into action, revealing the true extent of the devastation.

"Jeez Angel!"

He stood in the doorway, just returned from parking the car, a strained expression on his face. Half- shocked realization at the full force of his violent outburst, half- desire to repeat it. Being back in the place he'd first heard the news, he felt he was reliving the moment again. Anger swelled up once more but now, under the scrutiny of her gaze, the crippling pain soon overcame the ire. He stared back at her helplessly.

"Anger management issues much? I hope to God you're insured. You are insured, right?" she spoke matter-of-factly, Sunny Cordelia re-emerging under the brash artificial lighting.

Her offhand query got no response as Angel dumbly shrugged off his coat, his heavy steps further grounding the debris as he moved to hang it. There were much more crucial issues than his lack of insurance still to be addressed. Cordelia had ducked into the office, she reappeared in the frame of the second door only a few inches from his elbow as he hung his coat. He started briefly, taken aback by her capacity for swiftness of movement at a time when all his own limbs felt like lead.

"He's not here. He must have gone home."

"His bike's still outside."

"Maybe he got the bus."

"He could be upstairs. It's pretty late."

"I'll go check. Could you make up some coffee? I feel a little drained. If you can find an intact cup, that is."

She was already on the staircase before she'd finished her sentence. Angel watched her go with eyes that felt older than usual. He had seen her make similar movements a hundred times over. He couldn't count the number of times he had watched her disappear up the staircase hurriedly to wash imaginary slime out of her hair after a hard night's evil fighting, or to change into whatever clothes she deemed better suited for that day's task in hand - whether it be meeting a client or dismembering a demonic corpse. Never before had the sight of her figure disappearing through the archway filled him with the dread panic it did now. She wasn't allowed to be out of his sight, dammit! If she was out of his sight he might not be able to stop her from dying. If that happened then she'd be out of his sight for ever. That couldn't be borne thinking about. It wasn't going to happen because he wasn't going to let it.

He couldn't. It wouldn't. Would it?

This merest notion of the possibility caused his unbeating heart to seize inside his chest as if being tightly wound by barbed wire. For a second Angel thought he might pass out, until her oh-so-penetrating whisper from the top of the stairs severed the constricting metal strands.

"He's asleep in one of the guest rooms."

Her tone softened as she moved down the stairs and began to speak normally again, "He looks exhausted. Sprawled on the bed fully clothed."

Angel managed a nod, collected himself and began to go through the motions necessary to provide Cordelia with her requested caffeine fix. Luckily the coffee machine was one of the few survivors of his earlier attack. She joined by his side.

"Not the greatest day all round, huh?" she surmised sadly, her sheen of brassiness evaporating as suddenly as it appeared.

Angel found his voice catching deep in his throat as he struggled to articulate a simple, "No."

He managed to locate a pair of ugly but unshattered mugs at the back of a cupboard, poured the coffee, and handed one to her. She surveyed the lobby for a sturdy chair and drew a blank. Instead, Cordelia settled herself on the lower steps of the staircase and gestured for Angel to do the same. She took his cup so as to prevent spilling as he lowered himself down. He smiled his thanks wordlessly, wondering when it was he had started to take such tiny acts of intimacy for granted.

On an uncharacteristic impulse, he found himself taking her free hand in his. She cast him a short, surprised glance but increased her own pressure on the clasp, in gratitude, in understanding edged with latent need.

"I won't let you go." he whispered huskily.

The only reply was a small sad smile.

"There's a way to stop it. There has to be. And I'll find it, Cordy, I promise you, I'll find it."

Her sudden flinch caused a trickle of hot liquid to spill over the edge of her mug and on to her jeans.

"No." she said almost too quickly. She ran on, hoping to cover her moment of panic, "I mean, there isn't anything you can do. Humans aren't meant to be seers. End of story. It was in my vision and all Wesley's books say the same thing."

"So what? We've prevented the things you see in visions from happening before and not every answer is found in books, you know that, Cor. It's not even as if Wes' collection is all that extensive. There's lots of places to try yet. Wes might even have found something whilst we were at the beach, I told him to keep looking." Angel made to move back over to the desk in search of some miraculously helpful notes written in the former Watcher's close hand but Cordelia's tight grip on his hand wouldn't allow him.

"He already looked once. Wes is thorough. He wouldn't have missed anything."

Angel turned back to her in incomprehension.

"What is this, Cor? I'm trying to save you, and you won't even consider the possibilities. I don't understand. You don't give up like this. What is it? What's going on with you?"

His voice cracked as a new horror struck him, "Do you... do you *want* to die?"

"Of course I don't want to die!" she returned, her voice rising. "I want to live and stay here with my friends, watching them fight and laugh and grow old or grow human - depending on who they are - and be able to fight and laugh and grow with them. I want all that. I want it so much it makes me ache inside but sometimes you just can't get what you want, and there are always... costs..." She trailed off, attempting to stem the flow of emotion before it was too late.

Angel didn't know whether to hug her or shake her, "But you won't even let me try?! It's almost as if you don't want to be saved!"

She sprang up, sending her coffee mug flying across the room, its landing smash reverberating in the acoustics of the lobby.

"You can't save me, Angel!" she burst out vehemently, "You can give me the power to bear the visions or you can take them away, but you CAN'T SAVE ME! You can only DAMN ME!"

Raw, shocked silence descended upon them. Cordelia felt herself swaying, dizziness and nausea caused by brutal realization flooding her body. She had uttered that which she had sworn never to reveal and now the floodgates were down and she had no strength left to fight the tide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He caught her before she fell. Just as he always did. As he'd vowed he always would in that moment back in his friends' ramshackle office when he had steadied her vision throes for the first time after his return. His head was swimming with countless fragmentary thoughts, but ensuring her well-being didn't need an ability to think clearly. It was an instinct now. As natural to him as breath was to her. Angel drew her close, the nearness of her soothing his own confusion. She had said he could solve the problem of the visions but yet he couldn't save her? Angel was used to being spun on his ass by Cordelia's utterances but this was an entirely new level of uncomprehending disbelief.

A few seconds passed before she came to and Angel felt hands on his chest pushing him away. They stood a few feet apart, facing each other like adversaries not best friends. His brow furrowed in confusion; her eyes misted once again with tears; both shaking a little.

Angel spoke first, "Cor, I don't..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence, the lack of his understanding was palpable. She shifted a little from foot to foot, face lowered, before tilting up her chin, locking his eyes with hers, and enunciating in a low slow tone, "You can't save someone who's already saved."

Okay, Angel would readily admit he might not be Einstein but since when had Cordelia been the Delphic Oracle?

He shook his head in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. "I swear, I haven't the least idea what you're talking about. How is letting someone die saving them? You said I could give you the power to bear the visions. Make you stronger somehow? And you don't want me to? Please Cordy, I'm begging you, because I'll do anything, *anything* if it means I won't lose you."

She gave a short bitter laugh. "Anything?"

"You know I would."

"You really haven't even thought of it, have you? The more obvious solution to our little dilemma," her words now came out hard, mocking. "Humans not strong enough to bear the visions, demons are. Hmm, who around here has the ability to make me a little less than human? I'm dying anyway, what does the method matter?"

Angel's eyes grew large as he finally understood what she was suggesting. She continued mercilessly with her charade.

"I'll tell you what, I'll go wake Wes, then he can get on the phone to Willow for a copy of that handy curse whilst you bite me. There'll a be a good few hours before I rise to get all the ingredients together, and if not, I'm sure you can pull off a little gypsy hocus pocus before I drain the life out of *too* many people."

His voice came out bruised and grated, "Never."

"Really?" she flashed darkly, dropping the act, "And you make the whole eternal ensouled damnation bit look such fun too!"

"It's not an option." he managed, still hoarse but with complete finality.

"Damn skippy, it's not an option!" Cordelia screamed at the top of her voice. The hotel walls roared it back at her.

When the echoes died away, she made an effort to speak again, more calmly now, "Angel, do you get it now? I die now - the way the Powers want me to - I die for something good, something worthwhile. I die knowing people love me, knowing who I am, knowing I was the best person I could be. You did that. You and Wes and Doyle. Gunn and Fred have played their parts too. You know what I was back in high school. I was a bitch. A shallow, self-centered, mean, petty bitch. I hurt people, I caused them pain. Not because they deserved it but just because I could. I was so caught up in my own self-preservation, `Don't let anyone in, keep them at arms length otherwise they might make you feel something, and God forbid you should feel something, because feelings lead to vulnerability, and vulnerability to hurt, and a Chase doesn't let anyone get the better of them. So be a bitch, keep them out, keep them down.' "

She sank back down on the steps again and continued her monologue, "I should have been vamp fodder back in Sunnydale, most probably would have been if it wasn't for... the B-word."

She threw a guilty half-smile in Angel's direction, "And then I came to L.A. and was this close to being just another family-less, deluded, fame-seeking, mortuary slab decoration here too. You haven't forgotten how we got here? That Russell Winters creep? You saved me, then Doyle gave me a sense of purpose, and when Wolfram and Hart tried to take it all away I realised just what that meant, and you saved me again. And you keep saving me, Angel, every day. Every day I spend with you I'm a little more saved."

She glanced up earnestly to gage his reaction to her speech. What she saw shook her to the core. Angel's eyes were pooled with tears. *Angel* was crying. She'd not even known he could. Cordelia launched herself into his arms, taking his face between her hands, gently wiping away the salt water whilst her lips pressed little kisses along his jaw and cheeks and uttered whispered reassurances and pleas for him to stop.

"Please, Angel, stop. I can't bear it. Please."

He only hung on to her with greater vigor and buried his face in her neck trying to inhale her, all of her, so she'd never be able to leave him. This beautiful girl who had just broken his heart in the sweetest way imaginable.

Chapter 4

"Here," Cordelia handed him a box of tissues with a mischievous grin, "In case you feel like doing your `peeling onions' impression again."

He thanked her dryly. They had moved out into the garden. The ostensible reason had been their joint desire to get away from the chaos of the destroyed lobby. Angel had other motives he hadn't voiced. First and foremost, he wanted the chance to view Cordelia in the moonlight again. Secondly, he wanted to save her further upset by letting the shadows hide any tears of his yet to fall.

She settled down next to him cupping a new (chipped) mug of coffee in both hands. She had changed into a warm sweater she'd found behind the counter, and the way she'd pulled the sleeves down over her wrists made her look younger and more vulnerable than ever.

"Funny."

He wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. That certainly wasn't a word he'd use to describe much right then.

"What? Funny?"

"Yeah. Funny. I've known you forever and I never knew you could cry. Proper tears and everything. It's funny."

"You haven't known me forever, Cor."

They spoke in hushed tones. A natural adherence to the laws of the night.

"Sometimes it feels like it. Or maybe I just like pretending I have. Sometimes it feels like I've known you five minutes. I suppose it feels like that to you all the time, what with having a couple of centuries under your belt and all."

He smiled at her, his dark eyes warm and soft. The safest place she'd ever known, thought Cordelia.

"No, it doesn't. Some years pass like minutes, some like centuries. These last few years? Best three hundred of my life," he managed a genuine grin and was rewarded with one in return.

"Yeah, apart from all the demon fighting, evil lawyer scheming, exploding apartments, resurrected exes, hell dimensions and pretty much nearly being killed on a regular basis, it's been a damn fine run," she returned.

He studied her closely, "You make it sound like it's already over."

A trademark half-smile, a raised brow, an averted gaze. Words so quiet they were hardly audible, "For me it almost is."

He shut his eyes tight as a roughed wave of grief washed over his soul, grazing it raw, "Don't say that. Don't ever say that."

"It's the truth. It might not be the next vision, or even the one after that, or maybe I'll get really lucky and have three or four only mildly debilitating visions before the one that kills me, but it's going to be soon. I can feel it."

"Maybe some people aren't ready to accept that truth."

"Maybe they'd better."

"Maybe it would kill them, too."

"Now you're being melodramatic."

"First, not melodramatic. Second, do you really imagine I could keep doing this without you?"

"That's what you thought about the B-... about Buffy, but you went on. You were okay. I'm guessing it's more likely I'll *stay* dead but you'll cope. You're strong, Angel, and it's not as if all those hopeless are going to stop needing help because I'm not around. You'll go on, and one day the pain won't be as bad and the next it'll be even less, until the day comes when you're happy again without realizing it. Only not too happy. Because that isn't a good look on you. I mean, sure the wardrobe improves, but the insides? Ugly." she finished, punctuating the last word with a wrinkle of her nose.

How could she do this? Make him want to laugh and cry all at once. God, he was going to miss her. No, no missing. Not yet. Not whilst she was warm and alive and huddled into his shoulder. It was then he remembered.

"Cordy?" the slightest bit of suspicion had crept into his tone. She tensed a little in anticipation.

He continued, "You said I could give you the power to stand the visions..."

"I thought we'd already covered what a great idea *that* would be," she interrupted.

He carried on, ignoring her, more certain by the second he'd missed something important, "*Or* I could take them away." She noticeably shrank and moved away, still clutching at her coffee mug. "The first one isn't an option, you're right. So maybe you could explain option two to me? Because I'm thinking it sounds like a winner."

Ohgodohgodohgod. As if things weren't complicated enough already. Cordelia bit her lip nervously, "I've told you before, Angel. I can't lose the visions."

"You can't lose the visions but you can lose your life? Cordy, that's madness!"

"It's a little quirky perhaps, but it's not madness."

"Quirky?" Angel spluttered, not believing his ears.

"Without the visions I don't have a life. Not the one I want. I'd rather be dead."

"Of course you'd have a life, the same life, just without the pain and the headaches and the falling into the furniture! Or are you going to tell me you enjoy that now?!" Angel's total confusion was tipping over into frustrated anger.

"No, I wouldn't!" she sat rigid now, eyes fixed on the darkness ahead, not on him, "If I didn't have the visions I wouldn't be here - with you and Wes - fighting the good fight."

"And I told you before, the visions aren't why you're important. Do you think I'd need you any less? Do you think I'd stop caring without the link, or that Wes would?"

"Yes and no, respectively. And that's why I wouldn't be able to stay."

He could only look at her in exasperation.

"I'm not explaining this well," she turned back to face the vampire, crossing her legs over the top of the bench, "You do the most amazing things for me. Things that I never dreamed I could ever expect anyone to do. How many other girls can say they've had men jump into hell dimensions to save them, not once but twice? And I'm so grateful, Angel, and I love you so much for it. But it's such a huge risk. Look what happened with Billy. Innocent people got hurt, Wes and Fred got hurt. Having the visions, being the link, means that when you do things like that I can justify it, because the visions help us help others. Without them, you'd just be doing it for me, and who has the right to say Cordelia Chase is more important than anybody else? Not me. Not you."

Angel's irritation had expired. Instead he could only look at her in awed reverence. When did she become so selfless, so noble? Had it always been there, it just took the most awful of challenges for it to be revealed? He didn't have any answers and it struck him that he really should. If only he'd realized everything she was so much earlier. If only it wasn't so close to the end that he'd finally realized she was everything that mattered.

"Cordy, you do know - when I did those things - I wasn't thinking about the damn link, I was only thinking about you," he half-growled, low and intense.

Her gaze melted. This was what it was to be loved. Loved with all the strength and ferocity of a demon filtered through the unswerving constancy and gentle sweetness of a good man. Who wouldn't exchange short life for this? It was more than most people found in three score years and ten. In Wes and Angel she had two people (count `em, *two*) who cared more for her than for themselves; and that, decided Cordelia, was... substance.

She took his hand gently in hers.

"I know," she breathed, struggling to keep back her emotions, "But that's what makes it impossible to be stay here if the visions are gone. I'm an easy enough target for your enemies as it is. While I have the visions I *have* to stay to get the messages to you, without them I'd just be even more of a liability. Cordelia Chase, Kidnap Central! All the evil dudes would be telling each other in bars, `You want to get the Do-Gooder Blood-Sucker going? Get your mitts on that loudmouth brunette chick. Guy'll go crazy trying to get her back even though she's got no superpowers or is any aid to his cause. Keep him distracted for hours whilst we massacre a few innocents.' "

"That is the worst impersonation of an `evil dude' I've ever heard."

She pulled her hand from their clasp to swipe his shoulder, but returned it immediately.

"You do get my point though?"

"No."

"Yes, you do. You're just a stubborn dork who doesn't want to admit I'm right."

"No. It's not enough reason."

"So you think me not being able to live with myself knowing I was your Achilles heel isn't enough reason?"

He had to admit he hadn't thought of it quite that way.

"Wes, Gunn and Fred don't have superpowers either, and they don't see it as a problem. They just want to do what they can."

"Pfft! Wes is the `Fount of All Bookish Knowledge'! The Warrior for the Light would be fighting pretty much blindfold without him. And are you really telling me that without a second thought you would jump into a hell-dimension portal and rescue a psychotic criminal for Fred or Gunn?"

"Yes!... no... I don't know."

"I do. And you shouldn't feel guilty about that Angel. It's good that you have that distance, it enables you to see the bigger picture. I don't think you have that with me. And that... it means so much to me but... it's also a little scary."

Angel began to see where she was coming from. The closeness in which they took such strength also made them both vulnerable to exploitation. And if they were put at a disadvantage, then so were the people they were supposed to help.

"So you leave. It would hurt like hell but at least you'd still be alive."

"Haven't you been listening?" It was Cordelia's turn to be exasperated.

"I like having a purpose, having a place. I like belonging. I never belonged anywhere else. Not in my family, not in Sunnydale, not at those phony Hollywood schmoozing parties - though they can be kind of fun. Everything I love and need is here in this hotel, and I'm afraid that without it..." she trailed off, suddenly intent on the contents of her mug.

"Afraid that without it, what?"

"Afraid that without it... I might turn back."

She paused.

"I might turn back into what I was. If I left, I'd lose everything, I'd lose myself. I wouldn't belong again and I'd rather die then go back to that, Angel, I swear. I couldn't stay without the visions and I couldn't live if I went away. Catch 22. See? Take away the visions and I'm still damned."

"No. Nothing like Catch 22. Or damnation. You stay and we work on your guilt issues and my portal jumping tendencies. Simple."

She burst out laughing, the warm rich sound exploding the cool stillness of the air. It was infectious and Angel found himself smiling without really knowing why.

"Oh, that's good! *You* advising *me* about guilt issues! Wait `til I tell Wes and Gunn about that one!" she giggled.

Her shaking mirth subsided a little, amused expression slipping into one of tender affection. She ran a finger down the line of his jaw, the lightness of her touch making him shiver. The pools of silver moonlight stretched, gleaming, all around her again. Enticing him with their whispers of an aged and ageless eternity. Angel stared into her dark glistening eyes, noting the tiny shimmer of the spherical moon caught within them. Part of his mind tried to capture every detail of the way she looked at that moment. The purity of love emanating from her delicately drawn features, the expressive eyes, the full lips, the perfect imperfection of the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, dappling her skin like the craters of the moon. Another part of his mind flashed up other images of her from his mental library. The same aspect kept appearing in different instances. Cordelia sat on the stage of a disused theater, one arrow pointed at a former friend's throat, one at

her heart; Cordelia on the airport runway not long ago, ready to take a life if she had to because she felt responsible for the actions of others. In the images Cordelia stood strong, beautiful - crossbow in hand. It hit him like a thunderbolt. Diana. That's what he saw in this young girl. Hunter, Moon, the woman who could never be owned. Goddess.

"Retard," her lips muttered.

Maybe not.

Maybe she was just Cordelia. Best friend, fashion victim, Ph.D. in Angel Baiting.

Maybe she was both.

And he loved her.

"What would I have to do? To take the visions away?"

Instantly, she closed down. The warmth and intimacy in her demeanor went out like a light. The moonlight withdrew its gleaming silver fingers.

"You don't need to know. Because I'd never allow it."

"Cor..."

"Drop it, Angel. I mean it. I don't even know for sure that you could."

"If you tell me maybe I could help you with that."

"You really couldn't."

"You don't know that."

"I said `leave it', okay!"

"Dammit, Cordelia! Stop doing that! You can't tell me there's even the slightest hint of a possibility I won't lose you and then snatch it away again with no explanation. I need to know. If you explain and it's something too terrible then at least I'll be able to go on in the knowledge there was nothing else I could have done. If you don't tell me I'm always going to wonder and *I* couldn't live with that. So please, whatever it is, just *tell* me. What. Do I Have. To do?"

Okay, the man has a point. He deserves to know everything now you've come this far. So you never wanted to be here. Too late, girl. You've no other options left. Time to bare your soul. Oh crap, how to begin to explain? Best just blurt it out, Chase. You're good at that.

"Comshuk me."

"Excuse me?"

"Comshuk me, Angel!"

PART 2

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