Queen of the Night

AUTHOR:  starlet2367@home.com

RATING:  NC-17 for language and sex.

SUMMARY:  In order to have a future, Cordy must face Angel's past.

SPOILERS:  Everything up through "Dad."

DISTRIBUTION:  Please ask.  I won't bite.  <g>

DISCLAIMER:  Too bad they're not mine.  I think about 'em enough.

NOTES:  Thanks to the Angelfic list for guiding me through Plotland.  <g>  Also thanks to Kazz, my C/A co-conspirator.  Finally, thanks to the folks at ME who have given me so many hours of viewing pleasure.  I promise, I saw "Birthday" *after* I wrote this.  Any overlap is pure coincidence.

 

***

 

"Hey, Dennis, I'm home," Cordelia called as she closed the apartment door behind her.  "How was your day?"  She wandered into the living room, sorting through her mail as she went.  It was mostly bills and flyers although there was also a green envelope, addressed in Willow's handwriting.

 

She ran her finger under the flap and found a Solstice card with a note that said, "Wishing you light and peace."  Nothing from Tara, though.  She thought back to the funeral and the sweet girl who had been so obviously in love with her friend.

 

"Hope everything's okay," she said, dropping the letters onto the end table.  Dennis rearranged them into a tidy pile.  "Thanks," she murmured.

 

She walked toward the bedroom, shedding clothes as she went.  Her blazer came off, exposing a navy, scoop-necked t-shirt streaked with dried formula, remnants of her afternoon feeding session.  Connor might still be a tiny baby but, she thought with a smile, he'd certainly inherited his father's perfect aim. 

 

She pulled the shirt over her head, a dreamy look coming over her face as her fingers brushed the formula.  Cordy had never considered herself a kid person, but Connor was changing her mind with his intelligent gaze and cherub's mouth.  And that brow--just like Angel's. 

 

The t-shirt went into the hamper and the blazer on the pile of dry-cleaning on the bedroom chair.  She shucked off her jeans and put them in the drawer, pulling out her oldest sweats.  It had been a long week after an incredibly long couple of months, and all she wanted to do was sit down and relax.  Maybe watch a movie with her ghost.

 

She padded barefoot into the kitchen and poured a glass of wine.  The Chardonnay, pale and golden, filled the wineglass like sunlight.

 

"Hey, Dennis, how about a Friday-night movie marathon?  I was thinking we could watch...watch...."  Her face contorted with agony.  "Oh, God!  Vision!" 

 

Light struck the back of her eyelids like a boxer's fist.  Sound thrashed in her ears.  There was panicked breathing, then a scream.  The glass slipped unnoticed from her fingers, shattering on the floor and spraying wine in a sticky arc. 

 

She cried out as she saw, through Seer's eyes, the dead-end of an alley.  Two vamps, then a third, dropped onto the pavement from somewhere above, grinning like hyenas going in for a kill.

 

Cordy screamed as the next flash threw her backwards, sending her sprawling on the floor.  The girl in the vision struggled frantically, unable to free herself from the unrelenting grip of her captor.

 

Harsh laughter echoed.  The girl whimpered, her muscles going slack with fear as clammy lips pressed into the curve between her neck and shoulder. 

 

Cordy screamed again, her body convulsing as the vision exploded in a blast of light.

 

She lay on the floor panting, barely conscious of the wine seeping into her clothes and the shards of glass cutting into her skin. 

 

Please, she thought.  Someone help me.  But it was no use.

 

Because as soon as that vision ended, another began.

 

***

 

Across town, a phone rang once and stopped.  After a moment, it rang again.  The machine on the hotel's reception desk picked up, only to record silence.

 

***

 

Wesley locked the door behind him and glanced at his watch.  Good God, he was late.  Traffic on the freeway had been one long, angry snarl all the way from the Hyperion.  He'd only had time to dash upstairs and change his clothes.  Now the cab he'd called earlier sat at the curb, its driver honking rudely. 

 

He was due to meet Gunn at the pub in 20 minutes, barely enough time to get there on a normal night, and laughably impossible with traffic like tonight's.  If only he'd dodged instead of parrying, he thought with a wry smile.  He might not have ended up with a snootful of demon slime.

 

He dashed out the lobby door, reviewing his mental checklist:  Glasses, keys, watch, billfold.  Yes, yes, yes.... He felt the breast pocket of his blazer.  No.  Suddenly he remembered that, in his rush, he'd left the blasted thing on his dresser.

 

He threw open the cab door.  "Could you wait just a moment, sir?  I seem to have left my wallet in the flat."

 

The cab driver snarled.  "I ain't got all night."

 

"No, no, perfectly understandable."  Wes agreed, trying to hold his temper in check.  "I'll just be a moment."

 

He opened the security door, ran through the lobby and shoved the key in the lock.  Just as he entered the apartment, the phone rang. 

 

Whoever it was could bloody well leave a message, he thought, scooping up his billfold and shoving it into his jacket.  The ringing stopped.

 

"Fine," he muttered locking the door behind him.  "Don't leave a message." 

 

The phone rang again, one time.  He stood very still, a tingling awareness spreading over him.  Wasn't that Dennis's emergency code? 

 

His heart, already beating quickly, seemed to leap into the back of his mouth.  He fumbled the keys, dropped them.

 

"Blast," he muttered, grabbing them off the hallway floor with trembling fingers and finally, finally undoing the latch.  The door slammed against the wall in his hurry to get across the room to the now silent phone.

 

"Please, please, don't be Dennis," he prayed, hitting the callback button as he shoved his glasses up his sweaty nose.  The phone rang once, twice, and again.  A machine picked up.   

 

"Hi, this is Cordelia.  You know what to do."

 

Wes's forehead creased with worry.  "Cordelia, are you there?  Cordelia!  Dennis, it's Wesley.  I got your message.  I'll get help!"

 

Outside, the cabbie honked impatiently.  Ignoring him, Wes hit a speed dial button. 

 

"C'mon, c'mon, somebody be there."  He could imagine the phone on the hotel desk, knew in his gut it was ringing to an empty room.

 

"Hi, you've reached Angel Investi..."

 

He hung up before the message could complete itself and hit another speed dial button.  If Angel didn't have that cell phone turned on, Wesley would kill him with his bare hands. 

 

Ringing, ringing, still ringing.  Finally, on the other end, "Yeah."

 

"Angel?" Wesley squeaked.

 

"Wes?" Angel's voice tensed with worry.  "What is it?"

 

"I got a call from Dennis.  The emergency code.  No answer at Cordy's.  How far are you?"

 

There was a tiny pause, then Angel's voice, edgy with panic.  "I'm close.  Fifteen minutes."

 

"Go.  I'll call Gunn," Wes said.  "Where's Fred?"

 

"At the hotel with the baby."

 

"I'll call her on the way."

 

He slammed the phone back in its cradle then picked up his cell phone and dialed Gunn as he ran out the door. 

 

"Yo."

 

"Gunn, it's Wes."

 

"Where are ya, man?  I been waitin'."

 

"Gunn.  Something's wrong with Cordy.  Dennis just called me.  Angel and I are going straight over."

 

"I'm right behind y..." Gunn said, disconnecting mid-sentence.

 

Wes jumped into the back seat.  "Silverdale," he told the cab driver breathlessly.  The driver grunted, threw the car into gear, and pulled away from the curb.

 

Wes pulled a bill from his wallet and, with a trembling hand, slapped it through the safety cage between the seats.  "Quickly.  A friend's life may depend on it."

 

The driver looked into the rearview mirror.  Whatever he saw on Wes's face had him hitting the gas.

 

***

 

Angel rammed the car into low gear and the engine whined through the acceleration.  He'd been patrolling, though admittedly without much interest or luck.  It was a damp, chilly Friday night, and anyone with sense--human or otherwise--was heading for home.

 

Of course, it made traffic a bitch.  He wove in and out of the lanes, dodging slower cars and running yellow lights.  Other drivers honked rudely, though he hardly noticed.  All he could think about was Cordy. 

 

Whatever was happening was bad enough that she couldn't get to the phone.  Which meant she was injured.  Or that she was in the process of being injured.

 

His hands clenched on the steering wheel.  He didn't know yet what was happening to her, but he did know one thing.  Whoever or whatever was hurting her would die by his hand, if he had to hunt them to hell and back.

 

He wheeled the car around a corner, going so fast the suspension creaked. His watch ticked away the minutes as he sped through the city: five, then ten.  But he was almost there.  Yeah, he could see her apartment building ahead.

 

The possibilities were endless: demons, vamps, human predators.  There were so many horrific things you could do to a woman's body, so many layers and levels of pain. 

 

He knew them all. 

 

Torture and death had been his art for over a hundred years.  But that was then.  Now, he had sins to atone for, family to take care of.  And Cordy was family, even though they weren't related by blood or marriage.  She was his Seer and she was his best friend.

 

The tires squealed on the asphalt as he yanked the car into a parking space. At this time on a Friday night the apartment's lot was nearly empty.

 

Angel vaulted the car door, his black duster flying behind him in the chilly breeze.  He felt the hard slap of concrete under his boots and the sing of blood in his veins as he pumped his arms.  Faster, faster. 

 

He didn't bother with the elevator.  The stairs were a blur beneath him, each footfall echoing the mantra in his head:  Let. Her. Be. Safe.

 

He burst through the stairwell door and ran headlong into a couple waiting in the hallway.  They looked at him in surprise, and then horror.  The woman screamed. 

 

What?  Oh.  Game face.  "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled as he blew past, shaking his head to get rid of the ridges and fangs.  He heard the panicked shuffle of feet behind him and a door slamming, but didn't care because he was finally at Cordy's apartment.

 

No time for keys, just a quick kick.  Cheap locks.  How many times had he told her to change them?  The door ricocheted against the wall, then stood open as he advanced into the room, prepared for anything.

 

"Cordy!" he yelled.  "CORDELIA!"

 

He could hear her heartbeat, too fast, and her breathing, too shallow.  And blood--he could smell it.  He hurtled into the kitchen, skidding to a halt when he saw her sprawled on the floor.

 

"Cordy," he said, falling to his knees next to her.  " I'm here." 

 

He let his predator's senses take over, his highly developed hearing and smell scanning the apartment for other beings.  Every sound was normal, every scent as it should be.  No one was here now, and no one out of the ordinary had been here for some time. 

 

He brought his full attention to Cordy, running his hands gently over her arms and legs, checking for wounds.  She was splattered with wine and surrounded by shattered glass.  There were several small cuts on her arms and hands, but as far as he could see, that was the worst of it. 

 

The relief that washed over him was palpable.

 

Until he got a good look at her face.

 

Her eyes were open but unfocused, her lips moving as if she were speaking to someone only she could see. 

 

"Oh, God, no!" 

 

A wave of queasy terror washed over him as he checked the backs of her hands for Vocah's mark.  "Please, not again."  He found nothing but smooth, pale skin. 

 

A chill climbed up his spine.

 

"Cordy?  Baby, wake up.  It was just a vision." He brushed the hair off her face with trembling fingers.  "Come on, it's me.  It's Angel.  Please, Cordy." 

 

She moaned.

 

"That's right.  Come back to me."  He drew her hand to his face, pressing her palm to his cheek.  "I'm right here." 

 

She blinked once, twice.  Then her eyes focused with a sudden, eerie intensity.  "Angel," she said. 

 

"Yeah."  His voice cracked.  "What happened?"

 

"Visions.  Like before."  She grabbed his shoulder.  "Can't...stop...them," she whispered, her eyes slipping shut.  "So much pain."

 

And then her body began to thrash.

 

"NO!" Angel roared.  "Oh, God, this can't be happening," he prayed, sliding down next to her and draping his big body over her tiny frame.  Beneath him she bucked, her eyes open in pain and terror, her lips moving silently as the visions overtook her mind. 

 

***

 

Angel rarely noticed the passage of time.  There was only sunrise and sunset in an endless chain.

 

But as he waited for Wes and Gunn, it was all he could think about.  The minutes ticked by, reminding him of their ephemeral nature.  Reminding him that with each second he was one beat closer to losing the people he loved.

 

To losing Cordy.

 

She had struggled for nearly half an hour before she exhausted herself, and now she lay cradled in his lap, her head on his shoulder.  It had started raining again, and the soft, silvery sound wrapped itself around them in the dark kitchen. 

 

He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights.  He hardly needed them, and he was worried they would hurt her eyes.  At the thought, he glanced down.  They were still open, still unfocused.  Not lifeless and empty, but the opposite.  Too full of other peoples' misery, of their pain, of their fear. 

 

He leaned his head back against the cabinet.  Had it only been a few hours ago that she'd been with him at the hotel? 

 

She'd had a vision earlier that afternoon that had sent them running after a Brazilos demon.  They left her on the lobby couch, clutching her head in agony and because of that, his mind had only been half on the fight.  Luckily, though, Wes and Gunn had been focused, and things had ended badly for the Brazilos. 

 

As usual, things ended just as badly for their clothes.  When he returned to the hotel, he was relieved to find the lobby and office empty, because that meant Cordy had gone home to lie down.  He wanted to change clothes, then call and check on her, so he dashed upstairs.  He stopped short, just as he came through his door, surprise rippling through him. 

 

Cordy sat on the couch feeding Connor.  She had taken off her jacket, and the deep blue of her t-shirt was strikingly dark against Connor's newborn skin.  They baby lay on her lap, cradled against her breast, and when she turned, it looked almost as if she were nursing him. 

 

Angel drew a breath, awestruck by their timeless beauty. 

 

"That's my sweet boy," Cordy had cooed, drawing her fingertips down his chubby cheek.  "You were hungry, weren't you?  My goodness, doesn't your daddy ever feed you?"  The baby suckled loudly, his tiny fingers fluttering on the bottle.  "And look how smart you are, holding the bottle.  Your Uncle Gunn will be teaching you to use a battle axe before you know it."

 

She laughed as the baby reached uncoordinatedly for her hair.  "You like that?  You like Mama's hair?  Just stay away from the earrings, and it's all good," she crooned.  She rubbed her hand over his peach-fuzzed head, and her voice descended to a whisper.

 

"Mama," Angel whispered, the rest of the world forgotten.

 

Cordy pulled the bottle out of Connor's mouth with a loud pop.  "Come on, sweetie," she said, setting the bottle on the couch next to her.  "Time to burp you."  But before she could raise him to her shoulder, he emitted a loud belch and spat formula all over her chest.  "Ewwww, Connor!"

 

Her exclamation startled Angel from his reverie.  "Here, wait!"  He stepped into the room, looking around for a towel.   

 

"Oh, hey, Angel.  I didn't see you there.  It's okay.  I've got it."  She smiled up at him, young and vibrant, practically radiating light.  All the ravages of the vision were gone. 

 

"Just like a guy," she said with a laugh, pulling the cloth diaper from her shoulder and wiping at her shirt.  "Went straight for the boobs."

 

"At least we know he's not gay," Angel deadpanned, leaning over to take Connor from her, letting himself get lost in the scent of baby and woman.  Their hands brushed as they made the transfer, and he felt Cordy give his a little squeeze. 

 

"But it'd be okay if he was, wouldn't it, Conner?" she said, pushing to her feet and draping the damp diaper over Angel's shoulder.  She patted the baby's bottom.  "Whoever you are, is perfect."

 

Angel looked down at her, awestruck by her spirit and her beauty.  The moment spun out, clear and chiming, and etched itself in his memory.  "I love you, Cordy," he said, stunned by the revelation.

 

Her eyes widened.  "No way," she teased.  "Connor, did your daddy just say what I think he did?"  She stretched on her tiptoes and kissed the baby on the cheek.  "I love you guys, too," she said.  "Hey, listen, I'm heading out.  I'll see you tomorrow?"

 

Angel nodded.  "Count on it."  He stared at the door for a long time after she left.

 

***

 

"Oh, my God.  Angel."  Wes rushed into the kitchen, Gunn on his heels. 

 

Gunn reached out for the lightswitch.

 

"Don't!" Angel said, but the lights flickered on.  In his arms, Cordy began moving her head from side to side.

 

"No, no, no, no," she chanted under her breath.

 

"Turn them off!" Angel growled, clutching her to him. 

 

"Sorry, sorry.  I didn't know," Gunn said, hitting the switch and dropping the room into darkness.

 

Wes knelt beside them, his hand reaching out to touch Cordy's cheek.  The light from the kitchen window was enough that he could see her face.  He gasped, his gaze flying up to meet Angel's.  "Vocah," he breathed.

 

Angel shook his head.  "No marks.  I checked."

 

Gunn crouched next to Wes.  "What's happening?"

 

"Visions,"  Wes replied.  He looked at Angel, fear, anxiety and concern written on his face.  "Did you...were you able to...?"

 

"Yeah, for a second.  She came to right after I got here, told me she was having nonstop visions, like before.  Then she went back under."  He laid his face against the crown of her head.  "She seized for about 30 minutes, then stopped."

 

"Screaming?"

 

"Not this time," Angel said.  "She's been quiet, but her lips are moving, like she's trying to talk."

 

Wes nodded.  "I think we should take her to the hospital."

 

"Do you?" Angel asked, despair thick in his voice.  "Why?  So they can tell us she's dying?  We already know that."

 

Wes put his hand on Angel's shoulder.  "Maybe they can do something to help her.  If nothing else, they can do some scans, make sure it's really the visions."

 

"Man, she told him that's what it was," Gunn said, squinting at Wes in the gloom.

 

"I still think we should, just to be safe."

 

Angel looked at Wes, his face set in a tight mask.  After a moment he nodded.  "Help me get her to the car," he said.

 

Wes and Gunn stood.  "I called Fred," Wes commented.

 

"Are they okay?"

 

"Yes.  They're going to stay at the hotel.  Lorne's there with them.  They were telling Pylean jokes when I called," Wes finished with a wan attempt at a smile.

 

Angel nodded curtly.  "As long as they're okay," he said.  He looked at Gunn.  "I'm going to hand her to you.  When I'm up, give her back to me."

 

Gunn nodded and slipped his arms under Cordy's prone body.  "Got her," he said, pulling her out of the way so Angel could stand.  Immediately Angel leaned down and scooped her up.  The transfer took less than 30 seconds. 

 

"Let's go," Angel said.  "The keys are in my left coat pocket."

 

Wes nodded and fished them out.  "Got them."

 

"Good.  Now let's get out of here."

 

***

 

He sat quietly in the dark hospital room, watching Cordy sleep.  The sound of her breath whispered around him, both comforting and terrifying. 

 

"Sir?  Are you still here?"  The nurse stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the light from the hall.

 

"Yeah," Angel replied.

 

"I need to check her again," she said.

 

Angel nodded.  "Fine."

 

The nurse entered the room, snapping on the bedside lamp.  Cordy lay in a blue hospital gown, the covers drawn to her shoulders.  An IV dripped into the back of her hand, supplying nutrients, liquid and a mild sedative.

 

Luckily, mild was all she needed right now.  Though that could change at any time.

 

"Ma'am," the nurse said kindly, "can you hear me?"  There was no response.  She turned to Angel.  "She's been the same?" she asked.

 

He was sitting in a chair right next to the bed, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers steepled against his lips.  He shook his head.  "No change."

 

"And you say she's had this kind of experience before?"

 

Angel nodded.  "Yes.  About a year-and-a-half ago."

 

"The doctors couldn't find any reason for it then, either?" she asked.

 

"No.  No reason, but also no damage.  Though today's doctor said he could see a lot of neural activity.  Like she has a firestorm in her brain."  He thought that was, perhaps, the most accurate definition of a vision he'd heard. 

 

He wondered if Cordy would agree.

 

The nurse nodded.  "That's what it seems.  Well, we've done all we can.  Now we just have to wait and see."

 

"Yeah," Angel said, watching as the woman turned off the light and left the room.  He got up and stood beside the bed. 

 

"Cordy," he whispered.  "I know you're in there."  He sat down next to her, drawing her hand into his lap.  "I promise we're going to figure this out."  Her fingers were long and tapered, the nails short but well-tended.  Practical and feminine, he thought.  Just like her.

 

He reached up with his other hand and ran his shaking fingers through her dark, silky hair.  "I can't lose you again, Cordelia.  I need you."  He cupped her hand in his and pulled it to his lips.  "I need you," he repeated, kissing her fingers gently. 

 

"Angel?"  Her voice was soft and slightly slurred.

 

"Cordy?"  He looked up to find her awake, blinking blearily.  "Hi," he said, his voice breaking. 

 

She twined her fingers with his and looked around the room.  "Where am I?"

 

"Hospital.  Visions."

 

A line appeared between her eyebrows.  "Oh, yeah."  She put her hand up, as if to lay it on her forehead, and winced.  "IV?"  She looked at her arm.  "How long have I been here?"  Her voice was rusty, reminding him of the visions just weeks before that had brought boils and burns to her fragile body.

 

"About six hours."

 

She nodded, her gaze going soft again.

 

"Cordy!" he said.  "No!"

 

She blinked.  "What?"

 

He slumped, overcome by hours of worry.  "Last time you came to, but then went right back under.  I thought...."

 

"Oh," she said, nodding.  "No, just tired.  Where's Connor?"

 

"He's at the hotel.  They sent everyone home but me."

 

She smiled.  "Bet they tried to send you home, too."

 

He still held her hand, and he pressed it to his chest.  "They tried.  I won."

 

She chuckled, then coughed.  "Thirsty," she said.

 

He grabbed the glass of water off the tray.  "Here, sit up."  He slid an arm around her shoulders and guided her up, pressing the cup to her lips.

 

She drank, then pulled back to catch her breath.  "Thanks.  Better." 

 

He returned the cup to the tray.  "I need to call the nurse," he said.  "Let them know you're awake."

 

Cordy grabbed his hand.  "No.  Wait."  Her eyes were dark and too-large in her pale face.

 

"What?" 

 

"I don't know how long I have."

 

Fear trailed its icy fingers down his spine.  "Cordy," he began.

 

"No.  Angel," she said, her gaze intense.  "Listen to me.  We both know I'm dying."

 

He clenched his teeth.  "No, you're not," he gritted.

 

"Angel.  Stop."  She linked her fingers with his.  "You're my best friend.  I need you to stay honest."  She watched him, unflinching. 

 

He thought of a warrior, facing her death fearlessly in battle. 

 

"These visions, they're gone for now.  But we all know they're coming back."

 

He nodded.  If she could face it, so could he.

 

"I don't want to die, Angel.  I'm not even 22 years old.  I want to be with you guys.  I want to watch Connor grow up and...."  Her eyes watered and she looked down at their entwined fingers.

 

He reached up with his free hand and tilted her chin so she met him again, face-to-face.  "We're not letting you go without a fight."

 

She smiled wistfully.  "That's what we do best, isn't it?"

 

If she could face it, so could he.  But they would fight it together.

 

"Yeah.  And I promise, Cordy, with everything I have.  You'll be around to fight for a long, long time."

 

She leaned her head against his chest.  "Just don't leave me, Angel."

 

His arms went around her shoulders.  "Never."

 

***

 

"Would you please stop fussing?  Jeez, I'm fine.  How many times do I have to say it?"

 

Wes set the half-eaten bowl of chicken noodle soup on the bedside table and patted Cordy's thigh.  "Scoot over.  Let me look at your head."

 

She scowled, but scooted.  "I *said* I'm fine," she huffed.

 

"I want to see for myself."  Wes turned her so he could examine the bump she got when she hit the floor.

 

Cordy flinched slightly when his fingers brushed the sore spot.  When she spoke, though, her voice was laced with exasperation and humor.  "I'm not pulling a Scully.  If I say I'm fine, I mean it."

 

Wes rolled his eyes.  "That actually looks pretty good.  Not nearly as swollen."  He grinned at her when she turned to face him.  "And if ever there were a Scully at Angel Investigations, it would be you."

 

"Nuh uh.  Fred would be Scully 'cause she's the scientist.  Angel, make him leave me alone,"  Cordy whined as Angel walked into the room.

 

Wes stood and turned to face the other man.  "Head's looking better and she's complaining a lot more."

 

Angel smiled.  "That's a good sign.  No one complains like our Cordy."

 

Cordelia crossed her arms over her chest.  "Do not," she pouted.  "He won't leave me alone."

 

"Cordy, eat your soup," Angel remarked mildly.  "Wes, come with me."

 

"Hey!  Where are you going?"

 

Wes reached back and handed the bowl of soup to Cordelia.

 

"I just need his help with something," Angel said.  "No big deal."

 

The walked down the hall into the living room.  "Test results came back from the hospital today.  They couldn't find anything."

 

"It was worth a shot," Wes said, shoving his hands into his pockets.  "What now?"

 

Angel began to prowl, dodging the coffee table that was littered with research books and crossword puzzles.  "I don't know," he said frustratedly.  "Anything.  Everything."  He stopped in front of the mantel and looked at the pictures that Cordy had arranged so artfully.

 

One of them was of the Scooby Gang.  A candid shot in the library, most likely taken by one of the high school yearbook photographers.  Off to the side sat Cordy, not quite in the group, but not quite out, either.  So different from now, when she was the center of their universe.

 

He put his hands in his pockets, unconsciously mirroring Wes's stance.  "So what's the plan?"

 

"Angel!  I'm done with the soup!"  Cordy called from the bedroom.

 

"Be right there," he called, pinning Wes with his gaze.

 

"We had some luck with Lorne before.  Maybe he can help us again."

 

"And if he can't?"

 

"Research."

 

"Research.  We've never done that for her."  His eyes were dark with guilt.  "Why have we never done that for her?"

 

Wes sighed.  "I don't know, actually.  We should have been doing it all along."

 

"Yeah.  And now it might be too late." 

 

Wes sighed.  "You're right.  We need help."  He looked out the window, thinking.  "Giles," he finally said.  "He's light years ahead of me in knowledge and experience.  If he doesn't have what we need, he'll know where to find it."

 

"Do it," Angel said.  "I'll talk to Lorne."

 

"I'll call Giles now."  He glanced at his watch.  "He should be closing the shop."

 

"Angel!" Cordy called from the bedroom.

 

A smile whispered over Angel's face.  "Gotta go play nursemaid."

 

Wes smiled, though it didn't erase the worry from his eyes.  "I'm glad she's feeling better."

 

"Yeah.  Me too."  He disappeared down the hall, leaving Wes standing in the living room, staring blankly at the wall.

 

***

 

Wes had made the mistake of turning the TV on, and was mesmerized by a B-grade horror film when the phone rang.  "Hello," he said with some relief.

 

"Wesley?  Is that you?  It's Buffy."  Her voice came across the line, clear and a little bit breathless.

 

"Buffy?  I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

 

"I know.  You thought I'd be Giles."

 

"Yes...I....  Is everything all right?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

 

"All is fine.  You probably didn't know that Giles went back to England," she said.  Her voice was a little too bright.

 

Wes winced.  "No, I didn't.  Why, if you don't mind my asking?"

 

"No, perfectly okay.  He went back after the last time I died.  I think he realized that he actually had a life there." 

 

Wes could hear the stark pain she was trying to cover.  "I'm sorry, Buffy," he said.  He pushed his glasses on top of his head and rubbed his eyes. "But how did you know I called?"

 

"The Magic Box is still open.  Anya's running it and she passed your message on to me.  So what's up?  You need help?"

 

"I was actually hoping for Giles.  We've got a research issue."

 

The line was silent for a moment.  "Yeah, we've been having some difficulty in the research department, ourselves.  But we've been doing a ton of reading, so maybe we could help, anyway.  Two heads are better and yada yada."

 

Wes chuckled, though he was unsure whether Angel would want Buffy pulled into the situation.  The history between them might make it more difficult than it already was.  But Angel had an equally disturbing history with Giles, and he'd been okay with Wes calling him, so....  He made an executive decision.  "It's Cordelia."

 

"Is she okay?"

 

"No, Buffy, she's not.  She's dying." 

 

"What?  How?"  He knew Buffy and Cordy had never been the best of friends, but in Buffy's voice he could hear real concern.  It gave him hope that, if nothing else, Cordy would be supported from all sides as she faced this challenge. 

 

"The visions.  They're not made to work in a human body.  It's too much for her system to handle."

 

"Oh, God.  What can we do?"

 

"I was hoping Giles might have some books, or know someone who could help us."

 

Again, Buffy was silent.  "Nothing is ringing any bells in the research department."  Wes's spirits sank.  "I've got an idea, though.  Hang on a minute."

 

He heard her hand cover the mouthpiece, then her muffled voice calling for Willow.  There was a clatter of feet, then voices.  The phone changed hands.

 

"Hello?  Wes?" Willow asked, her voice the same, girlish lilt it had always been.

 

"Yes.  Hi," he replied.

 

"How are you?" she inquired.

 

"I'm fine, thanks.  You?"

 

"Been better, but thanks for asking.  Buffy tells me Cordy needs help."  They were so quick to rally around each other in times of need.  He'd always admired that about them. 

 

"Yes, that's right."  He briefly explained the situation.

 

"That's awful," Willow said.  "I'm so sorry.  Tell Cordy I said so, okay?"

 

Wes nodded.  "Any ideas?"

 

"Yes, actually.  But I'll need to call you back."

 

"All right."  His heart started to pound. What if this were a genuine lead?  "Shall I wait up?" 

 

"I just need to make a quick phone call."

 

"Great.  Ring me back at Cordy's."

 

"All right.  Hang on.  Buffy wants to say goodbye."

 

The phone changed hands again, and then Buffy's voice returned.  "Willow's got some good contacts," she said.  "Maybe it'll pan out.  How's everyone else?  Okay?"

 

He knew she was asking about Angel.  "Just fine," he said.  He didn't feel it was his place to bring up Connor, so he didn't elaborate.

 

"Good.  Tell them I said hi."

 

"Will do.  Talk to you guys in a bit?" 

 

"Yeah.  Bye."

 

He thumbed the off button and laid the phone on the end table.  Then he picked up a book and started to read, though his mind was nowhere near the page in front of him.

 

***

 

About 30 minutes later, the phone rang.  The bad movie was still playing, and Wes was, again, mesmerized.  "Hello."  He closed the Grimoire he'd been ignoring and set it on the couch next to him.

 

"Wes, it's Willow."

 

"Great.  Now tell me what you've got," he said, pulling a pad and pencil off the coffee table and settling on the sofa. 

 

"Okay, you know the apothecary where I get my herbs, right?"

 

On TV, the ubiquitous blond girl was just about to meet a nasty end.  He rolled his eyes.  There was no way an intelligent female would run *away* from the parking lot and into the woods.  And that wasn't at all what happened to the blood when one's throat was slashed.

 

"Yes, I remember the place," he said, turning the TV off with a decisive click.

 

"Well, the woman who owns it sells to lots of people.  Witches, acupuncturists, shamans, that sort of thing."

 

"One stop shopping, I suppose," Wes commented, hoping she'd hurry up and get to the point.

 

"Yeah, kind of.  So, I called and gave her a rundown on Cordy's deal, you know, with the visions."

 

"Uh huh," Wes said, doodling little shapes on the pad.

 

"And she said there's the old guy who comes in there sometimes.  A Chinese guy who specializes in the sort of thing Cordy's going through."

 

Wes stopped doodling.  "What exactly do you mean?"

 

"Evidently it's pretty common for the etheric body to wig out.  People get all sorts of weird things happening.  Can't eat, can't sleep, mudras, which are like involuntary spasms.  Sometimes you can even go crazy."

 

"Oh, I understand.  Yes, yes, of course."  Wesley nodded and wrote "etheric" and "mudra" on the first line of the note pad. 

 

"So this guy, um, hold on, I've got his name somewhere...."

 

"Wait, Willow, I don't think you could exactly say that Cordelia is experiencing a spiritual awakening, which is what you're speaking of.  Her problem stems directly from the visions."

 

Wes heard a rustling sound on the other end of the line, then Willow came back on.  "Here!  I got it!  Martin Zhou."

 

Wes obligingly wrote "Martin Zhou" on the line under "etheric" and "mudra."

 

"But, Willow..." he began.

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know.  Not a spiritual awakening.  That's what I said, too.  But evidently, Marcia, that's my lady at the herb shop, says that's okay.  'Cuz it all comes from the same place.  And she thinks this Mr. Zhou guy might be just what Cordy needs."

 

Wes thought through what Willow had said, his mind piecing together the information like he might fit together a puzzle.  "All right, Willow, that's good information," he said, finally.  "How might we contact this Mr. Zhou?"

 

Willow sighed.  "Well, that's the thing.  You can't.  I mean, he doesn't have a phone, and he lives in the mountains somewhere.  The only time Marcia sees him is when he comes in town for herbs."

 

Wes leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.  "That's not good news at all."

 

"Well that part isn't.  But the part where he's coming into town on Monday for his regular pick-up, that's good news, right?"

 

Wesley grinned and sat up straight.  "That's excellent news."

 

Willow laughed.  "Yeah, I thought so, too.  Marcia says she's only seen him take clients a couple of times, and that we shouldn't get our hopes up because he usually turns people away.  But she thought, since Cordy's a special case, he might be willing to talk with her at least.  So Marcia says for you guys to drive down, and to have Cordy at the shop early on Monday morning."

 

"Absolutely.  First thing," Wes replied.

 

"Well, hey, why not come down tomorrow and spend the night?  Everyone else does and Buffy says it'd be fine.  Besides, we haven't seen you since we...since her...."

 

Wes heard her swallow.  Something, maybe pity for the poor girl, drove him to agree.  "I think that would be a splendid idea.  We'll drive down tomorrow evening.  Does that suit?"

 

"Yeah, yeah, that's perfect," Willow said happily.  "I'll tell Buff."

 

"Thank you.  I know it's been an incredibly difficult few months for all of us, but for you especially." 

 

Just the thought of losing Cordy almost doubled him over with grief at times.  He couldn't imagine a world without her in it, and he didn't envy what Willow had experienced when Buffy died.  Or when she'd been reborn.  He'd heard stories of the magic it took to bring someone back from the dead.

 

Willow said, with a catch in her voice, "Thanks, Wes.  That means a lot."

 

"We'll call you tomorrow and let you know when to expect us.  Sleep well."

 

Willow snorted.  "Ha!  Sleep?  We're just getting up.  It's time to go kick some demon booty."

 

"Well, that can certainly be a satisfying way to spend an evening.  Be careful, though, won't you?"

 

"Oh, we're always careful.  Much more careful than, you know, before."

 

"Yes, us too.  Right, see you Monday."

 

"Cheerio," Willow giggled.

 

The line went silent then the dial tone engaged.  Wes sat looking at the phone for a moment before he hung it up. 

 

Then he walked back to Cordy's room, pushed open the door, and slipped inside.  Next to the bed was a chair, with a footrest in front of it.  He sat down, propped his feet up, and watched Cordelia breathe evenly in her sleep. 

 

***

 

"Sunnydale?  Why Sunnydale?" Cordelia asked.  She'd just gotten out of bed and was standing on her toes, pulling a coffee mug out of the cabinet.  The blinds were closed, blocking out the creeping sunlight, and allowing Angel to sit in the kitchen with her while they waited for the coffee to brew. 

 

The long-sleeved t-shirt she had slept in crept off one shoulder, exposing her collarbone; the plaid boxers were several sizes too big, and hitched up at the waist.  She was barefoot, and despite the chill, Angel hadn't been able to talk her into wearing any socks.

 

"Because Willow...."

 

Cordy turned.  "Willow?  Why Willow?"  She sat down at the kitchen table, crossing her legs, the mug still clenched in her hand.  "What have you guys been up to?" she asked suspiciously.

 

"Maybe we should wait for Wes," Angel said, trying to ignore the way her bare foot brushed his leg with every swing.

 

"Maybe you should just tell me now," she said, irritation creeping into her voice. 

 

Wes and Gunn had gone to get take-out from the diner down the street, and everyone else was meeting them at Cordy's in half an hour for breakfast.  He'd really hoped to wait for Wes, but then Cordy had mentioned a client meeting which was scheduled for Monday morning, and he knew he had to tell her what was going on. 

 

"Okay, here's the deal," he said quietly, folding his hands on the table.  "I was worried about you, and I didn't know what else to do, so don't get mad at me."

 

Her eyebrows disappeared under her bangs.  "You think that pathetic opening is gonna keep me from getting mad?"

 

"It was worth a try," he said.  "Look."  He leaned forward, edging into her space.  "We got the test results back from the lab yesterday.  They didn't turn up anything out of the ordinary."

 

"And you didn't tell me this because...."

 

"Because you were hurting, Cordy."

 

"I still have a monster headache," she said warningly.  "And you're only making it worse by keeping stuff from me."

 

"Okay, fine.  Because we wanted a chance to figure out what to do first."

 

She snorted.  "Typical."

 

"Cordy," he said menacingly.

 

The coffee maker stopped hissing and she stepped around him to pour her first cup of the day.  "If you wanted nice, you should have waited until after I had my coffee." 

 

She slapped a full mug down in front of him and sat, pulling her knees up and taking a sip. "So, go on, you big, undead meddler," she said grouchily.  "Tell me what you have planned for me,

'cause, God knows, the little woman can't figure it out for herself."

 

Angel took a deep breath, his patience obviously nearing its limit.  "The plan was to do whatever it took to keep you alive," he said.

 

Cordy looked at him sharply. 

 

"I was going to talk to Lorne, see if his connection to the Powers could help us.  Wes was going to call Giles."

 

"Giles?" she huffed.  She took another sip of her coffee and blinked, as if the room was finally coming into focus.

 

"Yeah.  He's got the books and the knowledge.  But, unfortunately, he's not there."

 

"Where is he?"

 

"England.  He decided Buffy didn't need him anymore."

 

"That's not like Giles.  He'd do anything for Buffy," Cordy said. 

 

Angel nodded.  "I know.  The point is, Wesley left a message at the shop, which got passed on to Buffy, which eventually made it to Willow.  Willow contacted someone she knew, who recommended Mr. Zhou."

 

"Clear as mud," Cordy replied.  She set her cup on her raised knees and rested her forehead against its warmth. 

 

"You okay?" Angel asked, running his finger quickly across the back of her hand.

 

She looked up at him.  "It's just....  Last time you helped me, it unleashed the wonder that was Billy onto the world.  I don't want anyone to get hurt for me ever again."

 

Angel took the mug away from her and set it on the table, then linked his fingers with hers.  "I don't think that will happen this time, Cordy.  This all seems very straightforward."

 

Cordy sighed, the last of the tension leaving her shoulders.  "Okay," she said quietly.  "Anything's gotta be better than tripping over the light fantastic."

 

Angel gave a relieved smile and squeezed her hand gently.

 

Gunn and Wes burst through the door, arms full of bags.  "Yo, you two gonna stop with the make-out session and get some grub?" Gunn demanded.

 

Cordy snorted.  "Make out session?  With *Angel*?"  She pushed herself up and went to the cabinet for more mugs.

 

"Hey," Angel huffed, his eyes following her every move.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

 

***

 

Coming back always gave Cordy a touch of the wiggins.  It was just too weird, seeing the familiar neighborhoods and shops and knowing that she didn't fit in there anymore.  Not that she ever really felt like she did, all appearances to the contrary.

 

As they passed their old haunts, Wes and Angel grew quiet, too, and by the time they pulled into the Summers's driveway, only the wind and the chime of the radio kept them company.

 

"Why are we coming here?" Cordy asked.

 

Angel vaulted over the door and went to the trunk to get their overnight bags.

 

"It's cheaper than a hotel," Wes said.

 

"Oh," Cordy replied, exiting the car in a more conventional fashion.  "This is one of those times I think we could have managed $19.95 for a Motel 6," she grumbled.

 

She met Angel and Wes at the trunk.  They stood silently for a moment looking at the Slayer's house, each lost in their own memories.

 

Angel sighed and it startled Cordy into action.  "So," she said, running her hands up and down her arms.  "Let's go on in."

 

Wes shouldered Cordy's bag and hefted his own, leaving Angel to bring his small pack.  As they walked up the sidewalk the door opened.

 

And there stood Buffy.

 

Cordy stopped dead in her tracks, causing Wes and Angel to run right into her.

 

"Oh, God," she breathed.  Behind her she heard a couple of muttered curses and felt a hand, probably Angel's, clamp her arm.

 

"It's weird, isn't it?" he asked, his fingers clenching her flesh, then dropping away as if he realized what he was doing.

 

"Yeah.  Last time I saw her, she was...."

 

"In her casket," Wes murmured.

 

"Are you guys gonna come in?" Buffy asked.  "Or are you just gonna stand around talking about the dead girl all night?"

 

Cordy laughed, then dashed up the porch steps.  "Hey."  She hit Buffy on the shoulder.  "You look pretty good for a dead girl."

 

Buffy snorted.  "Thanks.  I think."  Then her gaze shifted, and landed on Angel.  "Hi," she said.  She stuck her hands in the pockets of her black leather pants.

 

Cordy cleared her throat.  "Well, I'll just go on inside now and leave you two alone.  Wes?  Wanna join me?"

 

"Sure," he said.  He nodded to Buffy, then stepped inside and dropped the bags on the landing.

 

"Fine.  Great, whatever," Buffy said, her attention obviously not on them. 

 

Cordy glanced over her shoulder as they walked into the kitchen.  "Think it's safe to leave them alone?"

 

"I think Angel can handle himself."

 

"Cordy!" Willow cried.  "You're here!"  She pulled Cordy into an enthusiastic hug.

 

"Yeah," she said, patting Willow's shoulder awkwardly.  "You okay?"  She pulled back and looked into Willow's eyes.

 

What she saw there unnerved her.  They were empty, sad--nearly barren.  But more than that, they were shadowed with a dark kind of power Cordy had rarely seen.   

 

"Just happy to see you," Willow said desperately. 

 

Wes stepped forward and put his left hand on Cordy's shoulder, obviously sensing her discomfort.  "Hello," he said, sticking out his other hand.

 

Willow took it, and Wes's easy gesture seemed to ground her.  "Hi, Wes.  I'm glad you could make it," she said.  Her face relaxed, the line between her eyebrows disappearing.  "I've got a bed made for you on the couch.  Cordy, you're going to sleep in Dawn's room."

 

"Where's Dawn sleeping?" Cordy asked.

 

Willow's face clouded.  "With Buffy."

 

"How is Dawn, anyway?" Wes asked cordially.  But he kept his hand on Cordy's shoulder. 

 

She looked up at him, and could see, behind his glasses, that his eyes looked wary.  Between the Angel-n-Buffy drama going on out front and whatever was happening with Willow, the night was shaping up to be pretty uncomfortable so far.  Sheesh, this was exactly the kind of thing that happened when you let the men handle the logistics.

 

Willow started pulling mugs out of the cabinet.  "Oh, she's fine," she said brightly.  "Anyone want tea?  I've got herbal.  Good for sleeping."  She turned, the mugs clutched to her chest.  "No magic, just tea, I promise."

 

Cordy thought she saw her eyes darken, and she shivered.  "Tea would be great," she said.  "Wes, why don't you help Willow, while I go check on...things...at the hotel?"  She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and ducked out the back door before Wes could respond.

 

She sat on the steps and took a deep breath.  Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.  They could have driven down in the morning, even if it did mean getting up before she usually went to bed. 

 

Too late now, though, she thought pragmatically.  She'd just have to make the best of it.

 

The cell phone was cool in her hand, and it reminded her that she had other connections to tend to.

 

Fred picked up on the second ring.  "Hey, it's Cordy!" she said to someone in the background.  "How are ya?  We're all fine.  Connor's sleeping like a baby."  She giggled.  "Well, of course, he is a baby.  How was your trip?  Did ya have a good time?"

 

Cordy smiled.  "The trip was fine.  We're all here, safe and sound."  A tree branch snapped in the woods and Cordy got quickly to her feet.  "Yeah, safe and sound."  She took a step toward the door.  "So, Connor's fine?  He took his bottle?"

 

"Oh, yeah.  Ate like a little pig," Fred said happily.  "Gunn 'n I are watchin' Pay-Per-View," she continued.  "There's a fight on.  Those guys can really punch!  I'm learning some stuff, just by watchin'."  She giggled.  "Gunn says I've already got a pretty good right hook."

 

"Where's Lorne?" Cordy asked.  Suddenly she missed them so much her chest ached.

 

"Oh, he's downstairs somewhere.  I think I heard him singin' earlier."

 

"That's nice," Cordy said as another twig snapped.  A chill walked up her spine and her imagination went wild.  "I just wanted to check in.  We'll call you later, okay?"  She started looking around for a weapon.

 

"Sure thing.  Y'all take care," Fred said.

 

Cordy hung up and slid the phone in her pocket.  "Who's there?" she asked in her sternest voice.

 

Spike materialized from the shadows.  "Evenin', cheerleader.  Who's Connor?"

 

Cordy put her hand on her chest to calm her breathing.  "None of your business.  What are you doing sneaking up on me, anyway?"

 

"I'm a vampire, luv.  That's what we do, is sneak."  He strolled up the steps, twirled the stake in his hand.  "Came out to take the Slayer for a spin."  His grin was lascivious.  "Think she's about?"

 

"She's out front."  Cordy waited a beat for dramatic effect.  "With Angel."

 

Spike's grin melted, leaving behind something that looked a whole lot like pain.  "Oh."  He put the stake in his coat pocket and sat down on the step.  "Why d'you suppose she does this to me?" he asked, running his hands through his hair.

 

"What do you mean?" Cordy asked, being careful to stand a few steps away from him.  She watched as he lit a cigarette and stared off into the back yard.

 

"Torture me like this."  He whipped up and pinned Cordy to the porch rail, his game face glowing in the streetlight.  "God knows, I could torture her if I had a mind," he said, sniffing Cordy's neck like a wolf.  "I'm bad, maybe the baddest of them all."  He let go of her shirt and sat back down, his black leather duster settling around him like a cape.  He flicked an ash off the end of the cigarette.

 

"I'm just guessing here, but maybe it's your social skills," Cordy said, collapsing next to him in a weak-kneed heap.

 

"Scared you, din't I?" he asked, his smile back in place.  "Gave you a right good old scare.  Oh, don't bother denyin' it, I can 'ear your 'eart beatin' from here, luv."

 

"I'm not denying it, Spike, you scared me."  Cordy kicked her feet out in front of her in an attempt to appear casual.  "And you could do it again, but then, that would probably piss off Buffy." 

 

His face fell.  "You've got a point." He looked so forlorn, Cordy had to stop herself from comforting him.

 

"Spike, I told you to stay the hell away from my house!" Buffy shouted, coming through the back door at full throttle. 

 

Angel was on her heels.  "Cordy!  Are you all right?"  He yanked Spike up by the collar, had him dangling six inches off the floor.  "If you hurt her," he gritted, giving Spike a shake.

 

Spike laughed.  "Oh, so now he comes at me with the fists and the fangs.  About 100 years late, ya great poof."  He took a drag off his cigarette and blew smoke at Angel.

 

Only Spike could look cool hanging by the scruff of his neck, Cordy thought.

 

"Put him down, Angel," Buffy said quietly.  "That's enough."

 

Spike hit the porch like a cat on its seventh life.  "Nice to see you too.  Been awhile."  His eyes darted between Angel and Buffy.  "I see you two are up to your old tricks."

 

Cordy could hear the jealousy in his voice.  Vampires in love, she thought.  Spare me.  But her heart twisted in her chest.  "God, I hope not.  I've had enough of the R&J vibe to last me a lifetime."  She stood and pushed Spike out of the way.  "I'm going in for tea.  See you all later."

 

Angel grabbed her hand as she walked by.  "Hey, you all right?"

 

Her insides were a jumbled mess.  "Just tired.  Tea, then bed.  See you in the morning?"

 

He nodded and dropped her hand.  Over his shoulder, Cordy saw a look pass between Spike and Buffy that could melt glass.  She wondered if Angel realized that Buffy's body, if not her heart, was in another's hands. 

 

I so did not need this, she thought, walking into the brightly-lit kitchen.  She breathed a sigh of relief when she found it empty.  A mug sat on the cabinet, with tea bags arranged next to it.  She unwrapped a chamomile, dropped it in the cup, and poured hot water out of the pot. 

 

As she made her way up to Dawn's room, she heard voices in the living room.  Ignoring them, she picked up her bag and shuffled into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

 

***

 

"Cordelia?"

 

She looked up to find herself face-to-face with a stranger. 

 

"Yes," she replied, her eyebrow arching in inquiry.

 

"I have a message for Angel."  He took a step forward. 

 

"Yes?" Cordelia repeated.

 

He was practically on top of her now.  "The Elders are coming for him." 

 

The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up.  "You want me to deliver this message to Angel?"

 

"Well, actually," the man said, vamping out, "I think your dead body will get the message across nicely."

 

Cordelia woke with a jerk, her heart thundering in her chest. 

 

"Oh, God," she panted.  Her eyes darted frantically around the room.  "Where am I?"

 

The door opened.  She reacted instinctively, grabbing whatever was on the nightstand and scrambling to her knees. 

 

A hulking shadow slipped in and stopped menacingly at the foot of the bed.  Her hand tightened on the weapon.  "Don't come any closer," she rasped.  "I have a...a...."  She looked down at her weapon.  Prickles of fear-sweat broke out on her temples.

 

"Cordy?  You okay?"

 

Through the blood pounding in her ears, the voice sounded tinny.  And familiar.  "A-Angel?"

 

"Hey."  He sat down on the bed and pulled the bottle of water from her hand.  "What happened?"

 

Her trembling legs gave way.  "Some guy."  She clutched his shoulders for support.  "He said he had a message for you."

 

"There was someone here?"  His voice was flat, deadly.  His looked around the room, searching for anyone stupid enough to have entered.

 

"Yeah.  I mean, no.  It was a dream."

 

Angel relaxed visibly.  "Sounds like a bad one."  He guided her into the bed, pulling the sheets over her shoulders.  "Think you can go back to sleep?"  His hands felt cool and soothing on her skin.

 

"I...."  She was so tired all of a sudden.  Maybe if she just closed her eyes....

 

"That's right," Angel whispered.  He stroked her hair off her forehead, his touch gentle and reassuring.  "I'm here.  Just go back to sleep."

 

She felt like she was floating in warm water.  "Angel?"

 

"Hmmmm?" 

 

"Who're the Elders?" she slurred.

 

His body stiffened.  "What did you say?"

 

She could barely keep her eyes open.  "The Elders.  That was the message.  The Elders are coming for you."

 

He was still as stone.  "It's nothing, Cordy.  Don't worry about it."

 

"You sound funny," she said with a blurry giggle. 

 

"You're just tired," he said.  "Now, go to sleep."

 

She snuggled closer, pressing her hip against his leg.  "'m glad you're here."  She sighed, long and deep.  "Elders, schmelders," she mumbled, slipping finally into unconsciousness.

 

Angel stared at her, his hand frozen against her forehead.

 

***

 

All I want is to see this Fu Man Chu guy and go home, Cordy thought grumpily as she dressed the next morning.  The brocade-print Cavelli jeans, usually guaranteed to lift her spirits, weren't working their magic.  She brushed her hair, eyes watering when she jerked too hard.  Breathe, she reminded herself.  It'll all be over soon.  One way or the other.  She slipped on her spikey, sling-back pumps, then opened the bathroom door.

 

"How'd you sleep?" Buffy stood in the hall in a pair of black-and-white, cow-print pajamas.

 

"Um, pretty well, thanks," she lied.  This was just too weird, coming face-to-face with Angel's one-true-love after going to sleep with him sitting on her bed last night.  "How about you?"

 

Buffy shrugged.  "All right."  She looked down at her feet.  "Angel and I patrolled.  I thought...I hoped he might come back here."

 

"He did come back here."  Great.  Mouth, meet foot.

 

Buffy blinked, obviously surprised and not doing a good job of hiding it.  "He told me about Connor." 

 

Perfect, Cordy thought.  Just what we needed.  A cranky Slayer and a guilty Angel.  But she nodded in understanding.  "Bet that was a shocker."

 

Buffy made a valiant attempt at a smile.  "You could say that."  She fumbled with the button on her pajamas, twisting the little cow back and forth.  When she dropped it, it was hanging by a thread.  "You're so lucky."

 

"Well, now there's a term I apply to myself often," Cordy answered dryly.

 

"You get to see him every day.  He obviously...cares about you.  I don't even know if he thinks about me anymore."

 

Cordy found herself in the awkward situation of consoling Angel's lover.  Again.  "You know that's not true, Buffy.  You're the only person he's ever really loved." 

 

"Right."  Buffy's eyes were old and tired.  She wasn't the innocent girl with bad fashion sense that Cordy once knew.  "Haven't you noticed the way he looks at you?"

 

Cordy snorted.  "We're friends, Buffy.  That's all we've ever been.  That's all we can ever be."  But she couldn't get rid of the memory of Angel's hand, soothing her to sleep. 

 

"If two people love each other, there'll be a way.  I have to believe that," Buffy said, her voice catching oddly.  "Or I'd never take another step."

 

"Ah, good, I see you've made yourself presentable," Wes said, coming up the stairs with his bag slung over his shoulder.  As always, he was the most organized of the group, already packed and ready to go.

 

"As presentable as I get these days," Cordy answered, grateful for the interruption. "You ready?"

 

"Mmm hmm.  Did you get something to eat?"

 

"There's fruit and stuff," Buffy said in a close-to-normal tone, as if discussing matters of the heart with Cordy was an every-day occurrence.

 

"Not really hungry.  Thanks, though."

 

"Willow tells me that Mr. Zhou comes around first thing," Wes said.  "Angel's going to meet us there."

 

The thought of seeing him lifted her spirits in ways the Cavellis hadn't.  "By way of the sewers, I presume?"

 

Wes nodded.  "He still knows the system rather well, I take it."

 

"Well, there's also Spike," Buffy said.

 

Cordy watched her carefully, noticing the way the color rose in her cheeks at the mention of his name.  "Spike's taking Angel to the herb shop?  That's priceless."  What she wouldn't give to overhear *that* conversation.

 

Wes smiled.  "Just like old times."

 

"Or not," Buffy said, gazing out the window.

 

***

 

"So, you ever been in the apothecary before?" Cordy asked as they pulled into a parking space right out front.  You had to love small towns and their always-available parking.

 

"Yes, though it has been a few years.  Before my rogue demon hunter phase," he said with wink.

 

Cordy hopped out of the car and slammed the door.  "You know, I could never figure out if you were supposed to be the rogue, or if it was the demons who were.  'Cause, you know, all those dangling modifiers."

 

Wes looked miffed.  "Well, obviously, I was the rogue.  For heaven's sake, Cordelia, why would a demon be a rogue?"  He swung the door open for her and she sailed into the shop.

 

"I'm just sayin'," she replied, as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room.

 

It was small, about 15 by 20, and covered, head-to-toe with shelves.  Behind the counter was an Asian woman of indeterminate age.

 

She couldn't help but think of the old Chinese couple she'd seen weeks before in her vision, the night Angel freed Billy.  Those two people were dead because of her.

 

"Marcia?" Wes asked, startling Cordy out of her reverie.  The woman nodded and Wes stepped forward and extended his hand.  "Ni hao ma?" he said in flawless Mandarin. 

 

Marcia threw Wesley a reassessing glance then took his hand in hers and replied, also in Mandarin.

 

Cordy wandered while they talked in the language's singsong tones, letting the guilt dissipate.  She couldn't do anything about it now except live with it. 

 

And make sure it didn't happen again.

 

On the shelf in front of her was a large jar.  She picked it up and stared.  That wasn't...ewww, it was.  Dead snakes coiled in some kind of gold fluid.  She smacked the jar back on the shelf.

 

"Cordelia," Wesley said.

 

She turned, linking her fingers behind her back.  "Yes?"

 

"This is Marcia, the proprietor of the shop.  She tells me that Mr. Zhou is expected this morning, and that we are to make ourselves at home."  He motioned to a door Cordy hadn't noticed before.

 

"Thank you," Cordelia replied.  She stepped into a short hallway.  On the right was a door, ajar.  Cordy pushed it open and walked through to an efficiency apartment about the same size as the shop.  A two-person table was wedged between the kitchen alcove and a window.

 

Cordy's gaze finally landed on Angel, who was seated in an ancient recliner, his big body so still she thought he was asleep.  Then he opened his eyes and smiled.

 

"Hey," he said. 

 

She went to him and poked him on the shoulder.  "Hey," she replied. 

 

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.  She smiled, feeling warm and safe.  It was a dangerous and stupid thing to need a vampire.  She prided herself on not being stupid. 

 

But she didn't let go of his hand.

 

"Mr. Wesley?" Marcia called.

 

Wes went to the door.  "Yes, we're here."

 

He stepped back so Marcia could enter the room with a man even smaller than she was.  He had a strong, upright bearing, however, and a headful of silver hair.  He wore all black and carried a silver-tipped cane, which he rested in the umbrella stand just inside the door.

 

"This is Mr. Zhou.  He has agreed to speak with you."

 

Mr. Zhou turned to Marcia and Wes.  "Leave us now," he commanded.

 

Marcia backed respectfully out of the room and disappeared into the shop.  Wes arched an eyebrow.  "Right," he said, looking from Angel to Cordy.  "I'll be at the Magic Box.  Call me when you need me."  He glanced over his shoulder at them before closing the door with a quiet click.

 

Mr. Zhou inclined his head and looked at each of them, his gaze intense, direct.  His eyes were dark and endless as outer space.  When they landed on Cordy, she trembled, feeling raw.  Exposed. 

 

The seconds ticked by and the silence grew taut.

 

The old man finally spoke.  "You are the Seer," he said to her.  He stepped forward and held out his hand. 

 

She let go of Angel and clasped Zhou's palm.  At the contact, every cell in her body filled with red heat and pulsing light. 

 

Visions slammed through her like a wrecking ball.  Faces contorted with agony and terror.  Knives, guns, bombs.  War.  They flickered like flames, scorching her soul with their heat.

 

She couldn't contain it, couldn't stop it.  She could only stand helplessly as her world melted away and they took over.

 

She was a bomb waiting to explode.

 

But then something shifted.  The energy cooled.  The faces, once sharp, became blurry and faded away.  Around her, the room came back into focus.  It looked different somehow, like a net of light had dropped over it.  Gossamer strands pulsed with life, connecting everyone and everything like a soft, spidery web.

 

"Yes," she breathed.  He dropped her hand.  The ground undulated as the room whooshed back to normal, and she grabbed the back of Angel's chair.

 

"And this is your warrior."  

 

Angel did not stand to greet him.  Instead, he stayed in the recliner, still as a snake waiting to strike. 

 

Mr. Zhou walked slowly across the room and settled into one of the kitchen chairs.  He waved his hand again, directing Cordelia to sit.

 

A wave of anger rose up in her.  She forgot that he might very well be the one person who could save her life.  She forgot everything except her need to maintain some sense of control.

 

Angel stared at Zhou like a tiger squaring off over turf.  "Please sit down, Cordy," he said quietly.  "Cordelia, please," he repeated, when she didn't immediately move.

 

She finally sat.  But she didn't relax.

 

"So, a vampire and a human," Mr. Zhou said.  "It's an interesting combination.  Not unheard of, certainly, but rare," he commented, rubbing his chin.  His shiny black eyes flicked over Cordelia as if she were a piece of art in a hotel room, decorative, and designed stay in the background.

 

"How long have you been linked?" he asked, his gaze landing on Angel.

 

"Linked?" Cordy asked coolly.  She despised the feeling of being overlooked.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angel shake his head as if telling her to back off.  It was the only movement he made, not even the rise and fall of his chest, which he usually allowed.

 

The only time he got that still was when he was pissed.  Or threatened.  Fear dragged its icy fingers up Cordy's back.

 

"Yes, my dear," Zhou said disdainfully.  "As Seer and Warrior."

 

"More than two years," Angel replied for her.  His voice was placid, controlled, the way it got right before he went into battle.

 

"And you have fought many battles from her visions, yes?"  Mr. Zhou asked.

 

Angel nodded, his eyes unblinking, his stare as direct, as intense as the Chinese man's.

 

"How old are you?" Mr. Zhou, his voice soft but very clear.

 

"Nearly two-hundred-and-fifty," Angel replied.  Cordy shifted in her chair.  He looked over at her, his eyes sharp and predatory.

 

"And you have never felt as helpless as you are feeling now," Mr. Zhou stated.

 

His head whipped around.  "What?"

 

"You are solitary, more by necessity than desire, I see."  Suddenly Mr. Zhou smiled.  "It must drive you crazy sometimes being hooked up with this one." 

 

"Hey!"  The comment snapped her attention back to the old man. 

 

Angel didn't even look at her this time.  He simply grabbed her hand and forced her to stay still.  He was cool and hard against her skin.  Not remotely human.

 

"She's a pistol, all right," Mr. Zhou said solemnly, as if she wasn't even in the room.

 

"No one's got quite the firepower that Cordy does, that's true," Angel said, squeezing her fingers tightly.

 

"Stop it," she growled, jerking her hand free.  She looked at Mr. Zhou.  "If you want to talk to me, talk to *me*.  And Angel, stop with the threatening vamp act.  I don't need your protection."

 

Mr. Zhou laughed out loud.  "Well, her mouth is certainly big."

 

Cordy's anger exploded like a firecracker.  "All right.  That's *it*," she said, jumping to her feet and heading for the door.

 

"But her heart is bigger," Mr. Zhou concluded.

 

The comment stopped Cordy mid-stride.

 

"A sharp tongue is nothing to be ashamed of, my dear," Mr. Zhou said over his shoulder.  "The gods did not give us weapons they did not intend us to use.  You have done an excellent job defending your heart up until now.  But you must change your methods, or the visions will drop you like a stone."

 

***

 

Angel sat up, his feet landing flat on the floor.  "What did you say?"

 

Cordy turned to look at the old man, her anger popping like an overblown bubble.  It left behind a residue of irritation and the frustrating knowledge that she'd just been expertly manipulated.

 

Zhou motioned for her to sit, and this time she did, though not without a huff.  Then he answered Angel's question.

 

"They will kill her, as surely as she is now breathing," Mr. Zhou said, his voice calm and certain.  "I have heard of it before.  The visions are given to one with the spiritual heart to do the job, but not the physical capacity."

 

Cordy's blood pounded in her ears.  She knew Angel could hear it, which only made her feel more exposed.

 

"Will you help us?" Angel pleaded in a tone Cordy had never heard him use.

 

"You have been through a lot this year," Mr. Zhou replied.  "You wonder if you will survive another blow."

 

He'd lost so much: his faith, Buffy, even Darla.  And if she died, whatever happened to him would be her fault.  Like the old couple in the apothecary.  Cordy made a strangled sound in the back of her throat.  "Please," she whispered.

 

"Two-hundred-and-fifty years it has taken you to love," he said to Angel.  "It is your heart that is as much at stake here as hers is, if you'll pardon the pun."  Mr. Zhou slapped his leg and laughed heartily.

 

"What do we need to do?" Cordy asked in a small voice, so unlike her usual confident tone that she almost didn't recognize it.

 

"You do nothing.  I will return to my home, where I will spend time in meditation.  This will allow me to determine if we are to work together."

 

"But...." Cordy interjected.

 

"You have to do something," Angel said. 

 

"Did you think that I would just take you on without first divining our purpose together?" he asked Angel. 

 

He looked at Cordy, and his gaze sent her spinning again, like a blow to the head. "My dear," he said firmly.  "I am not one of your MD's who believes he can heal anyone who walks in the door.  These treatments are delicate work.  They require a soul-level connection that cannot be determined on sight, but must be considered over time."

 

"But, the visions."  She could feel them like ghosts hovering over her shoulder.

 

"You haven't seen her after the visions," Angel explained desperately.  "She can't go on like this."

 

"And neither can you, evidently."

 

Angel stared at the man for a moment, then dropped his gaze.  He took a shuddering breath and looked at Cordy.  The struggle between fear and hope showed in his eyes.  "At least he's not turning us away.  Let's give it a chance."

 

"Cordelia," Mr. Zhou said, drawing her attention to him.  "I will give you a remedy which will blunt the pain of the visions.  In regard to the other, you must trust whatever gods you believe in to lead you to the right place."

 

Cordy swallowed.  "I guess I don't have any choice."

 

He stood.  "My dear, our lives are ruled by choice."

 

Cordy looked up at him in confusion.  "That's it?"

 

"Yes, we're finished.  For now."

 

Angel slid off the recliner and held out his hand.  "Thanks."

 

"I will be in touch," Mr. Zhou said, dropping Angel's hand and turning to Cordelia.  "I will write down a list of formulas for you, young lady.  Get them from Marcia and take them just as she says.  You will feel better soon.  And after a while we will know if we are destined to work together." 

 

"How long?" she asked.  "I mean, what if...?"

 

"You are very strong."  He took her hands in his.

 

This time when they touched, Cordelia felt the pulse of energy, but her feet stayed firmly on the ground and her head remained clear.  "But how long?" she asked desperately.

 

"One week.  Two at the most."  His hands were like smooth leather.  "Cordelia, do not lose hope.  The path you seek, seeks you as well."

 

"All right," she replied, her spirits sinking.  "Two weeks."

 

"No more."  He released her hands.  "Angel."  He nodded toward the other man.  Then he picked up his cane and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

 

Cordy collapsed on her chair.  "I thought that was supposed to make me feel better."

 

Angel watched the door close behind Mr. Zhou.  He was silent for a moment.  "Typical shaman."

 

"They have those in China?"

 

"Uh huh."

 

"Oh.  When I touched him, I saw...things."

 

Angel nodded.  "He was testing your strength.  And mine."  He rested his hand on her shoulder.  "You okay?"

 

She looked up at him.  "Yeah.  Thanks for last night."

 

Angel nodded then dropped his hand, suddenly looking awkward. 

 

Cordy cleared her throat, at a loss for what to say next.  There was a pause and from out front the muffled sounds of commerce.  "What now?"

 

"Let's go back to Buffy's and get your things.  Then we'll head back to LA.  I need to see Connor."

 

That silly grin came over her face, the one she always got when she thought of the baby.  "God, I miss him."

 

Angel smiled back, all traces of awkwardness gone.  "You're so good with him."

 

"Hard not to fall head-over-heels for your best friend's kid," she admitted.  "He's got me totally wrapped."

 

"I know the feeling.  Now, go call Wes.  I'll meet you back at the house.  The sooner we get back, the sooner we can see Connor."  He made his way toward the door.  As he opened it, he looked back at her.  "Cordy," he said.

 

She looked up from collecting her bag.  "Yeah?"

 

"Thanks."

 

"Uh, you're welcome?" she said, unsure of what he was thanking her for.

 

"You came back.  You were there for me.  You stand by me, even when I don't deserve it."

 

She blinked.  What in the world was he talking about?  "That's what best friends do."

 

***

 

"Girlfriend, you been brewin' that stinky tea again," Gunn said.  He strolled down the lobby stairs and leaned his hubcap axe against a chair.

 

Cordy glanced up from the computer, pulled her mouth into a smile she didn't feel.  "Yeah, it smells pretty rank, doesn't it?"

 

Wes came wandering out of the office, an open book under his nose.  "Ah, Cordy, I think I found that demon we were looking for," he said.  He glanced up, saw Gunn standing by the hotel's reception desk.  "Gunn, hello.  I didn't hear you come in."

 

"Just about to head home after a hard night of vampire slayin,'.  What's up with y'all?"

 

"Research, research and more research," Cordy said, too brightly.  "Oh, and did I say, research?"  Gunn's upper lip curled, but the careful way he watched Cordelia told her she wasn't faking him out.

 

"Sounds dee-lightful," he replied.  "Me, I'm lucky.  Y'all gotta find it.  All I gotta do is track it down and kill it."  He looked around the room.  "Where are the others?"

 

"Lorne's been over at the club trying to decide whether he's gonna clean it up again or sell it.  Fred's taking the first shift with Connor.  Angel's downstairs doing God knows what."  Cordy picked up a large mug of brownish-red brew.  She took a gulp, grimaced.  "Gag, that stuff is *awful*."

 

Wes wrinkled his nose.  "If it tastes anything like it smells, I can well imagine."

 

"At least it's helping the headaches," Cordy said, trying for an optimistic outlook.  Must have worked because Wes nodded, his eyes hopeful.

 

"Yes, that is good news," he replied.

 

The silence stretched, one beat, two.  Wes and Gunn watched her, waiting for her to speak.  She rubbed her temple.  "Hey, listen, I need a break.  You guys want anything from the bakery?"

 

Wes looked concerned.  "I'll be glad to take you."

 

Cordelia set the mug down with a smack.

 

"Or, uh, I could just stay here and research," Wes fumbled.  "A carrot-raisin muffin and an espresso.  That would be wonderful, thank you."

 

Gunn worked up a sneer.  "Carrot-raisin?  That's for girly-men.  Get me a couple of them chocolate chip muffins and the biggest coffee they got.  And don't let 'em skimp, neither.  None of that room-for-cream crap," he said, darting looks at Cordelia as she gathered up her purse.

 

He walked around the desk, making a big show of peering over Wes's shoulder. "So, what evil nasty we lookin' at today?"

 

"Oh, this?  It's a...."

 

Their voices faded as Cordy walked out the front doors and onto the sidewalk.  She slapped on her sunglasses.  At the curb was Angel's car, top still down from the night before.  She hopped in, started it up, and pulled out into traffic.

 

Somebody, either Angel or Wes, had left it on KCSN.  Classical music poured out the speakers, dark and moody. She reached down to change the station then stopped, as she realized the music suited her disposition just fine.

 

It had been nearly two weeks since her meeting with Martin Zhou.  The medicine dialed down the headaches from migraine to splitting. 

 

But the visions came almost every day. 

 

Every one left her shaken to the bone, stomach roiling with queasy terror, sweaty hair plastered to clammy skin.  Because any one of them could be the last. 

 

The music swelled and receded, the wind whipped past her face, and she maneuvered the car deftly through traffic.  She knew she was gambling.  One vision, one jerk of the wheel, one time through a red light, and she, or someone else would pay for it.

 

They all knew it, and still, they let her go.  Because the alternative was unthinkable.  Hole up in her apartment or move into the hotel.  Make the team keep watch 24/7.  Just in case.

 

And after that?  All those people in her head.  Nonstop.  Again.

 

She wouldn't survive it this time.

 

That was her future.  You didn't have to be a Seer to know it.

 

 

"Hey, guys, I'm back," Cordy called.  Her mood wasn't any better, but at least now they all had something to eat.  When all else failed, go for food.

 

Wes looked up from his book.  "Oh, wonderful.  I was wondering where you'd got to," he said, taking a bag from her hands.

 

"I stopped off and got Angel's breakfast, too.  Wasn't sure when I'd get back out," she said.  "Gunn!" she yelled.  "Breakfast!"

 

"Cordelia, must you do that?" Wes asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

She shrugged irritatedly.  "He's gotta be close.  I have his muffins," she set the remaining bag on the desk.

 

Sure enough, Gunn loped into the reception area.  "Finally," he said.  "I thought you were gonna be gone all day."

 

"Nah," she said sarcastically.  "Just half of it.  I had to stop by the butcher shop."

 

"Oh," said Gunn, ignoring the sarcasm in favor of a muffin, which he stuffed in his mouth.  "Gah, ah luf dese."

 

"Gunn, must you..."

 

"...speak with your mouth full?" Cordy mimicked, her tone sharp.  "God, Wes, who cast you as Mommy Dearest?"

 

"Well, someone has to be," he said, priggishly.

 

Cordy's black cloud threatened to burst.  "I'll be back," she said tightly, picking up Angel's blood and stomping upstairs.

 

One good thing about vampires.  They kept their rooms dark and quiet.  Maybe she'd just hang out up here, where the doom-and-gloom atmosphere matched her pissy mood.  And where she wouldn't risk killing Wes or Gunn.

 

She knocked on the door, hoping Angel wasn't still awake.  There was no answer, so she tiptoed in.  The living room was dark, and the French doors to Angel's bedroom door were partially closed.  Thank God.

 

She was setting the container of blood in the mini-fridge when the phone rang.  She ignored it, hoping someone downstairs would get it.  But the ringing didn't stop.

 

"Dammit, Wes.  Can't you pick up the phone for once?" she whispered, hurrying across the room to pick it up before it woke Angel.

 

"Angel Investigations," she hissed.

 

"Miss Chase?" a man's voice asked.

 

Cordy's brow wrinkled in confusion.  "Uh, yeah?"

 

"This is Martin Zhou, how are you?"

 

The tension that had coiled mercilessly in her chest for the last two weeks snapped like an overstretched rubber band, leaving her feeling limp and about as useful.  She collapsed into the nearest chair.  "Um, hi.  I'm fine, thanks, how are you?"

 

There was a rustle behind her, and she turned.  Angel stepped out of the bedroom and rubbed his eyes sleepily.  "Who is it?" he asked.

 

"It's Mr. Zhou," Cordelia rasped.

 

Angel came and stood beside her, his hastily-pulled-on pants still unbuttoned and his chest bare.

 

"Oh, good, you're both there," Mr. Zhou said.

 

Cordy nervously jerked one of the roses from the vase on the end table. "Yes, Angel just came in," she replied, not at all comforted by the chill of his presence beside her.  She pulled a petal off the rose and dropped it onto the table top.  Another followed.

 

"Good, good.  Well, I'm sure you are wondering about my decision," he said.

 

Cordelia began tapping the flower restlessly.  "Getting straight to the point.  I like that," she tried to joke, which was difficult to do, considering the situation.

 

Angel leaned over her, his body brushing hers as he took the rose and set it aside.  She could smell smoke and sweat on him, as if he hadn't showered before he went to bed.

 

Mr. Zhou laughed.  "I thought you might.  The answer is yes, Cordelia.  With several stipulations."

 

"Oh, my God," she said on a shuddering breath.  Relief flooded her system.  She glanced up and Angel was watching her intently.  She nodded.

 

A smile bloomed over his face.

 

 "As I said," Mr. Zhou continued, pulling her focus back to the conversation, "there are several stipulations.  The first is cost."

 

Cordy blanched, feeling the tension spiral again.  She reached for the rose, but Angel's cool hand covered hers before she could touch it.

 

"Cost?"  It hadn't occurred to her that there would be a charge for the service, though of course, that was stupid.  Why wouldn't there be?  "Of course," she said, as calmly as she could, feeling Angel's skin warm as it picked up her body heat.  "How much?"  They barely had the money to pay the bills now. 

 

Mr. Zhou named a figure.  Cordy gasped, stunned.

 

"What?" Angel whispered, squatting beside her.  A line appeared between his eyebrows.

 

Cordelia motioned for a pen and paper. 

 

Angel opened the end table drawer.  "Here."

 

She took them from him and hastily wrote down the figure. 

 

Angel looked at it for a moment then nodded his head.

 

She gaped, even as Mr. Zhou continued.  "The next thing is that you must agree to spend six weeks at my retreat in the mountains.  There will be no physical contact with family or friends, and phone calls only to give information about the visions."

 

"Six *weeks*?" Cordy asked.  "No contact?"

 

"It's not nearly enough time, but I understand that you cannot be pulled away from your family for longer than that."

 

"A month-and-a-half," Cordy repeated, letting her head flop against the back of the chair.

 

"And you must agree, for the period that you are in my care, to forego all alcohol and drugs, and to eat only what I prescribe."

 

"Well, God, what are you going to prescribe?" Cordy asked, remembering the jar in the apothecary.

 

Mr. Zhou laughed.  "Mostly just rice and vegetables, and some herbs.  We must cleanse your system."

 

"Cleanse my system," she repeated numbly, staring off into space.

 

"I'm sure it's a bit out of the ordinary, my dear.  Not what you were expecting.  Would you like some time to discuss it?"

 

"Yes, I think we...." she said dazedly.

 

Angel took the phone from her and sat down on the couch.

 

"Hey!  We weren't done," Cordy said.

 

Angel ignored her.  "Mr. Zhou?  It's Angel.  I'll take care of the financial end of things.  The rest is up to Cordelia."

 

"You'll...but..." Cordy spluttered.  "Angel," she hissed. "You don't have that kind of money."

 

Angel, still involved in the conversation with Zhou, picked up the pen and wrote something on the pad.  He turned it to Cordelia.  "Yes, I do," it said in his elegant scrawl.

 

"No, you don't," Cordelia muttered, poking her fingertips into her temples and rubbing in tight circles.

 

Angel stopped talking and handed the phone back to her.

 

She glared at him, despite the fact that her head was still reeling.  "Mr. Zhou, I need to talk to Angel about this."

 

Angel looked back at her, his face drawn and tired, but more at peace than it had been since their trip to Sunnydale.

 

Oh, sure, it was easy for him to be all peaceful.  He had $250,000 stashed away in some...some *vampire* account.  An account he'd never told her about.  She knew he didn't tell her everything, but still.  A quarter of a million dollars?

 

"I understand.  I will give you this number.  It belongs to a neighbor, who can contact me when necessary.  If you do decide to accept my invitation, we will make arrangements for your trip when we speak next."

 

"Thank you, Mr. Zhou," Cordy said between clenched teeth as she wrote down the number he gave her.  She didn't recognize the area code, she realized through the red haze.  She'd have to look it up on the map.

 

After she peeled several long strips off of Angel's hide.

 

"I'll be in touch with you very soon."  She disconnected furiously and slapped the phone onto the table.  "What are you *thinking*?" she gritted, standing up so she could lean into Angel's space.  They were almost nose-to-nose, and if she weren't spoiling for a fight she would have noticed that the peace had drained away, leaving behind a serious lack of tether.

 

Angel scrubbed his hands over his face and pushed himself to his feet.  "Look, Cordy, this has been a long two weeks, and on top of it I had a crappy night.  I don't want to fight about this.  The money's there.  Just take it, okay?"

 

"No, it is *not* okay!  I've seen your bank statements.  I know how much money you have, and it's not anywhere near what Mr. Zhou requested."

 

Angel winced, watching as she paced to the other side of the room.

 

"You can't do this!"  She banged a hand on top of the small fridge with an echoing metal clang.  "You can't...just..." she took three quick steps, waved a hand in the air.  "You can't just offer me a quarter of a million like it's nothing!"  Her voice escalated until it bounced off the low ceiling.

 

Angel grabbed Cordy by the arms, his face inches from hers.  "Cordelia," he said, his voice as cool and firm as his fingers. 

 

Good, she thought.  She'd pissed him off.  The jerk.

 

"I have the money.  Just take it."  He let go of her and walked toward the bedroom. 

 

Her flesh tingled where his fingers had clamped.  "That's more than I can make in ten years working for you.  Besides, I don't want to take your money!"  Which was total BS, and they both knew it.

 

But dammit, he had God knew how much blood money in some hidden account somewhere...and...and that wasn't even the point.  The point was, if he gave it to her, she'd have to go.  Away from him and Connor and everyone else for longer than she'd ever been separated from them. 

 

And she didn't know if she would make it back alive.

 

Angel changed directions suddenly, and was standing in front of Cordelia before she realized he'd even moved.

 

She gasped, slamming her open hand against his bare chest.  "Don't *do* that!"

 

"Cordelia," Angel rasped, leaning into her hand menacingly.  "I was the heir to my father's estate.  How much do you think it's grown in 250 years?"  His face was a stone mask, his eyes dark and cold as obsidian.

 

Oh, she'd gotten him, all right.  Really, really gotten him.  The only other time she'd heard that tone was when he'd said, "Don't make me move you."

 

"Angel, you died before your father did," she said, knowing he could hear her rabbiting heart and trembling voice.

 

"You're so *naive*" he said, throwing his hands in the air and backing away from her, as if he had suddenly realized what he was doing.  "And really, it's none of your business how I spend my money.  You need this.  And I need you."  He turned, glared at her.  "It's a fair arrangement."

 

"Well, but...but...if you do have that much money, it should go to Connor."

 

"Connor has plenty of money.  You don't need to worry about him."

 

"Then why didn't you use that money when we started Angel Investigations?"  She was having trouble letting it go.

 

"Because, Cordelia, starting this company was never about money," he said primly.

 

Oh, she bet he loved that.  Angel loved being a martyr more than almost anything.  "Excuse me, but there were months we practically *starved*," she retorted.

 

Angel nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, looking impatient.  "Yes, there were.  But we didn't, so I don't see what the problem is."

 

"Why now?" she wailed, finally reaching the end of her rope.  Her anger was rapidly dissipating, leaving behind an upset stomach and the dawning realization that she'd just taken out two weeks of frustration on him. 

 

Angel stalked over to her and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her roughly. "Because it's family money, Cordelia.  And you're family."  His eyes were black, his face clenched.  "Are we done here?" Angel asked, his voice low, even.

 

She nodded, silenced, finally, by shame.

 

"Good."  He let her go and she slumped into the chair.  "All I want to do is get some sleep.  Call Zhou from upstairs.  And thanks for the breakfast," he said, glancing at the fridge.

 

"You're welcome," Cordy whispered, picking up the number and clenching it in her hand.

 

Angel shut the door behind him and the suite was silent and dark again.

 

***

PART TWO

 

 


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