Disclaimer: None of the characters mentioned here belong to me. I'm just telling their story.
Summary: This entire series has dealt with the darker side of the relationship between Angelus and Buffy. It is set between my stories Sanctum and Pillowtalk of the Undead.
Note: Syzygy - The nearly straight-line configuration of three celestial bodies (as the sun,
moon, and earth during a solar or lunar eclipse) in a gravitational system
Another note: You may wonder why I title a series and then give each separate part another name. Well, call me strange - yes, I heard you back there, during the course of writing, I come upon these words in the dictionary that seem strangely apt for each segment, and I want to share them with you.
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I entered the room on tiptoe, not sure if she was still asleep, and hoping that I wouldn't disturb her. She needed her sleep - and I wasn't sure how to deal with her when she woke up.
Bending over to check how she was doing, I noticed that already her neck looked less like someone had made a Happy Meal out of it. Scar tissue was beginning to form, and the hole already looked no bigger than any normal vampire bite.
Whoa - reality check. A normal vampire bite? Is there even such a thing?
A shadow passed over the moon and unaccountably I shivered in the sudden darkness.
Wait a minute. Moon? It's raining, isn't it? And tonight's been pretty cloudy, with overcast skies and all that. The only light source has been the glow lamp hanging over my window.
So who's outside my window?
Honey, vampires from all over Sunny dale are making a beeline for your house, and I don't think it's the garage sale.
Ohhh shit.
Carefully now, act nonchalant. My purse, it has holy water - pepper spray. Spiked with garlic for added effect.
And thank God I held on to the stake.
Ok, gently does it. Pull open the drawer. The anti-vampire thing holds good for windows, I guess, otherwise the guy outside would be in here already... what if he has a partner who's under the bed - calm yourself, girl, just keep breathing and maybe we'll survive this.
And Buffy does this every night. God, I owe the girl some respect.
Right. Slow breath. On the count of three -
I turned and spritzed the figure on the windowsill, who let out a startled yelp and nearly fell off the ledge. Hanging on by his fingertips, he managed to pull himself upright, and stood facing me, full game face and very, very annoyed.
But still outside. Guess the charm works for windows too.
Pretending a calm I do not feel, I brandish my spray at him like a trophy, and step forward to shield the Slayer from his view. She would not want him to see her like this.
Holding up the stake, I ask, "Ready for round two, Angel?"
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I hiss at her in reply. Unfortunately, for the nth time tonight, I am at a loss for words.
First of all, she interrupted a really nice session of angst filled brooding versus bloodlust. I was just about ready to decide whether I should kill the Slayer, or go back to the mansion for a good round with the whips and leather to silence the irritating Nancy-boy within. Then she comes along and gives me the old garlic holy water treatment. The demon inside me is getting somewhat aroused at the excruciating pain, while the God-loving part is welcoming the torment as a just punishment for my sins.
To put it mildly, I am having a very strange night.
And now she stands like St. Michael, with drawn sword, protecting the Slayer - protecting the Slayer, of all things - from my villainous gaze. Suddenly I want to shout at her to move her pretty ass away, she's not blocking anything I haven't seen already. Hell, I was responsible for that.
I was responsible for that.
SHUT UP, you.
"Cat got your tongue?"
Huh? Oh - she's still there. Right. "No, Cordelia, despite your dearest fantasies, you will never get my tongue wrapped around yours. My tastes run to the refined, you see."
"Ooh, nice try, haemoglobin breath, but talking to you is completely not on my top ten list, so why don't you get the hell out of here?"
"Cordelia, I advise you to invite me in, then shut up and get out of this room. Otherwise -"
"Angel, you are so stupid, you're making me want to hurl." Her voice takes on the flat tones of complete disgust. "Its not like you even care for her. I don't even know what you want with her."
Neither do I.
But I'm not going to bare my secrets to Cordelia Chase, all-American bitca, so I just shrug and say, "Why does any artist want to look on his work?"
She hisses deeply and a strange light enters her eyes. "It was you. You bloody, fucking bastard son of a bitch..."
For a moment I think she's going to take me on mano e mano, but she comes to herself and realises that she is no match for me. Actually, given my blood loss, and the number of idiots I've fought with tonight - but no need to let her know that.
And suddenly, I realise that I am tired. So tired. And confused. I don't want to know or understand what is happening to me. The Slayer can wait. It can all wait. Right now, all I want is sleep, and my own bed.
Flipping her a mocking salute, I turn to leave.
"Ooh, you're so scary... I think I'd better leave before you tear me to pieces."
But she won't let me have the last word, will she?
"Angel. Listen up and listen good. I want you to know that I don't care what kind of hold you have on Buffy, I don't care what you've made her do, or done to her, I'll never stop being there to help her pick up the pieces. And that goes for all her friends. Because we love her."
She pauses, and I fight the urge to leave, to run from her voice, that schoolgirl voice that sounds for all the world like some prophet of old, whose words scorch.
And they do hurt.
"We love each other, Angel. And that makes us stronger than you. It makes Buffy stronger than you. So just remember this, Mr. I am-so-cool in my leather pants. You can do what the fuck you want with her body, but you'll never, ever touch her soul. Because something bigger and more powerful than you has better plans for her than to simply be your abused fuck toy. Got that? "
I clap my hands, slowly, irritatingly.
"Very inspiring, Cordelia. Who did you say wrote your lines?"
Her steady gaze is disconcerting. "You can feel it, can't you Angel? You've lost this battle. Hell, you lost the whole bloody war. Buffy will survive whatever you do to her - you know that she will. Ah, but Angel, will you survive what she can do to you?"
Frustrated anger and the renewed screaming of the silent one within causes the demon inside to roar ineffectually and demand blood, any blood - her blood, but the barrier at her window is stronger than I am. For a while I lose control and try to batter it down, but she laughs in my face as the protection stings me sharply in return. The demon screams for me to try again, to rend flesh and bone in an effort to break through - kill her, kill her, but I have already jumped from the ledge, and am fleeing for home, not trusting myself to do anything but run.
I can only hope she didn't notice.
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Spent and shivering, I collapse onto the floor. My legs are shivering like Jell-O, and I can't stop trembling.
Thank God he left. He looked like he was going to kill me.
What kind of sick, perverted beast would want to gloat over someone else's pain? The bloody bastard - she loved him so much, and this, this is how he repaid her trust.
I shudder again, as my treacherous mind generates an image of Alexander Lavelle Harris - no, never, he's not like that; he would never do that to me.
Do you think that's what she told herself?
No. I can see it in his eyes, how much he cares for the girl on my bed, yet his lips are mine and mine alone, and I'd know if it wasn't so.
I need something to drink, my throat is so dry. Using the bedposts for support, I hoist myself up to standing position and reach for the glass of water by the headboard.
And freeze.
Her eyes are open, and looking right at me.
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I could feel his eyes dragging me up from the dark recesses of sleep to savage wakefulness. I don't know how long we stayed like that, me with my eyes tightly closed, my body forcibly relaxed as much as it could be, fists curled and ready to return the first blow.
God, make him leave, please, take him away, make him go away...
When she entered the room, I nearly cried aloud for joy, because of the sheer relief it brought to have someone else sharing the weight of his stare. I bit down on the sounds, felt my blood run into my throat because I didn't want to face him, or her. What could I say to her, after this, after what she must now surely know.
It wasn't my fault, really it wasn't.
Then why did you go there? Why did you let him hold you?
I thought - I never thought...
You let him touch you. You've let him do whatever he wanted to you.
I fought him. I DID!
You invited it. SLAYER.
no...
She has always torn my character to shreds before, and now, she has plenty of reason.
And he - he just put actions to her words. No, let me close my eyes and go back to sleep. Maybe, if I'm very good, and I don't make a sound, I'll stay asleep till I die.
But when she leaned over me, I thought she would touch me and then I knew I WOULD scream.
I dug down deeper into myself, hoping to retreat into that useful cocoon that had saved me from knowing or assimilating anything that had happened to me after Angelus had thrown me against the wall. He did me a favour. Even though my neck hurts, I have no idea why. I can't remember anything.
God, no, I do...
When he screamed, I thought it was me.
It took her sassy voice - it sounded SO familiar - to make me realize that she was no longer hovering above me and there was no immediate danger of me being touched.
Oh, but it sure sounded like he was getting HIS!
The savage glee stayed all the way with me until Cordelia told him to get out of there and he refused.
I knew she would give in. Hadn't I always? Fear, lust, they all push the same buttons.
But she didn't. She told him EXACTLY where he got off, and she didn't mince those words either.
And she said the words I'd never thought I'd hear.
Though her words were addressed to him, I knew they were meant for me. She gave me her love and her acceptance.
She gave me her trust.
Cordelia Chase, Queen C, gave me her trust.
That's why, when she leaned over me again, I gave her the one gift I had remaining. I opened my eyes, and let her see.
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We remain awkwardly frozen for a while, until my arm protests loudly.
"Sorry." I mumble, retrieving the glass and swallowing a healthy gulp. I swear I heard it go down. How embarrassing.
She looks at me, and opens cracked lips to rasp something that could mean, "Please..."
"Oh, sorry, I wasn't thinking." I try to hand her the glass, but realize that even though she's in much better shape now than when I first brought her in, she still shouldn't sit up.
"Hold on."
My arm under her neck, carefully now, avoiding the worst of it, supporting her so that she can sip from the glass in my hand. While she drinks, I try to ration it, remembering something about not letting sick people drink too much at a time.
When she indicates she's had enough, the glass is not yet empty. I put it on the side table and cock my head towards her. "Throat hurting?"
Slight nod. That bad, huh. "Think you could swallow some Gatorade?"
She considers, and then looks down at her hands. Studying them carefully, she nods, once, twice.
I go to get her the drink, and we manage to get a reasonable amount into her body. She's lost a lot of fluid and this should help, with its isotonic salts and all.
After the feeding session, she lies back onto the pillows and we are both silent for a while. Thinking of something, anything to say, I look wildly around the room
A-ha!
"Buffy? Do you think you could - would you like me to run a bath for you?"
She begins to tremble and shudder violently. Her hands come up to cover her face and her shoulders shake with the force of her weeping. Alarmed, I do what comes naturally and without thinking, I lie down with her, arms wrapped around her beaten frame, cradling her, encircling her, whisper nonsense words of comfort just like my parents did when I had nightmares as a child.
"Shush, honey, shush... it'll be alright, we'll make it better."
Subconsciously, I note that for a moment she is shocked into rigidity by my touch, but I hold on uncaring, until she relaxes and weeps with me holding her. My tears join hers and together we cry out pain, loss and fear in a cathartic flood, just letting it all flow through us and away from us.
Maybe its an hour, or maybe it's a few minutes, but when she stops crying, its not because we've run out of tears, but because we are drawn by the elemental human need to speak, to be drawn into that verbal contact that signifies love.
"I'm so sorry-" Her words set off a fresh round of tears, and I hold her through it.
"No, don't be, there's nothing to be sorry for, nothing at all..."
"I wanted to die, Cordy, I just wanted to die."
"No, honey, you can't die, I won't let you, I swear I won't."
And with tears bleeding every word into my heart, she tells me everything, and all I can do is hold her and be there. Just be there.
When it is finished and released from the prison of her memories, we lie there in silence, wrapped in each other's arms, watching the sun come up. It touches her face with a rosy tint, and I am struck with a vision of her happy and healthy, on the day we first met, became best friends and enemies all at once. Even then, she knew her destiny was to fight for people like me, perhaps to die the next day so that we might live, but it did not diminish her in any way.
Greater love has no man than this, than that he should lay down his life for his friends.
What I said to Angel was truer than I knew. She has been brought this far, for some purpose.
I believe that her dance with the demon Angelus is not yet over, and where it may lead her, I do not know. But I will keep praying that she survives.
Some echo of my thoughts may linger on my face, for she turns to me and gently traces my cheek.
"Cordelia?"
"Hmm?"
"I could really use that bath now."
~ End part 4/4
That's all, folks! Let me know what you think.
Dedication: Did I mention that this story is for the gorgeous and talented Claudia D. Christian, with love and gratitude? (Pleased grin here---oh Spyke you're too much! But I like it---Claudia)
Feedback: To Spyke Raven. If you do, I will enshrine the email and sacrifice cookies to it everday.