fic: home (4/7) (buffy: the vampire slayer) (angel: the series)
Classifications and warnings available here.
Continued from Chapter 3.
* * * * *
Home by anr
* * * * *
4. THE STREET
"Cordelia!"
"Just a minute!" Lunging to the left, she snatches the chunk of driftwood out of the shallows before it can float away again and tosses it to Angel. "Here!"
Spinning, he grabs the two-by-four out of the air and sweeps it around in a wide arc, caving in the side of the demon's head with a sickening crunch and splattering orange ichor across the pier posts. The demon's body crumples into the sandy waves.
"Okay," she says, panting. "Eww."
Dropping the wood onto the sand, Angel wades to where she's still standing knee-deep in the Pacific. "You okay?" he asks, taking hold of her upper-arm.
"You mean apart from the oh so obvious damage to my clothes, shoes, hair and makeup?" She pushes a section of sea-sprayed hair over her shoulder and grimaces. "Yeah, fine. Just peachy."
"It didn't cut you?"
Hello? "Can you smell me bleeding?"
"No..."
She raises an eyebrow all, 'well, then?' until he looks away, semi-sheepish and less with the worry.
"Right." He clears his throat. "So, um -- you still want that ice-cream?"
*
"Just once," she says, brushing at her jeans like that will get the ocean off of her. "I mean, other women? They go for a walk on the pier with a guy and it's all, 'hey, isn't this a lovely and boring moment I'll never have to live again', whereas when I go?"
"You get attacked by an Ithsic demon," says Angel.
"I get attacked by a Lisp demon!"
"If it's any consolation, I don't think it meant to attack you."
"Really? Wow. That makes me feel so much better." She pauses briefly, holds up a finger. "No, wait, it doesn't."
Stopping at the edge of the beach, she reaches out to grab a hold of his shoulder for balance as she stands on one leg and tries to empty the sand out of her shoe.
Looking down, Angel says, "I'm sorry."
Oh, for... "Seriously?" She changes legs with a small hop. "You're gonna take this one? Add it to the brood file and label it, 'not my fault but it's been a slow month quota-wise, so what the hey'?"
He looks up again all affronted. "Hey!"
"Exactly." Shaking her head, she straightens up and places her other hand on his shoulder, stepping in close so that they're all but embracing. He moves his hands to her hips and makes it real. "Repeat after me," she starts.
He cuts her off. "After me," he says, dutifully.
She rolls her eyes. "Smart ass."
A quirk of a grin on his lips now. "Smart ass."
"Enough!"
"Eno--"
Leaning in and up, she covers his mouth with her own, kissing him quiet. His grip on her tightens, one hand smoothing around to the small of her back and pulling her in against him. She licks at his lips and tastes salt; presses her body to his and feels desire unspool from deep in her belly.
Against his mouth, she mumbles, "let's forget the ice-cream."
His kiss turns hard and fast. "Hell yes."
*
In the semi-darkness, she lies on her stomach, muscles trembling with little after-shocks and sweat cooling on her skin.
"Better than ice-cream?"
She smiles at the far wall, feeling the mattress shift as he turns onto his side behind her. One of his hands moves to touch her back, fingers smoothing along the length of her spine. "Better than the demon."
He starts tracing patterns across her shoulder blades. "Cordy?"
"Mmm?"
"Why do you go the library every evening?"
Her smile fades, but she keeps her contentment in her voice easily enough. "Don't let the cheerleader moves fool you; I've been reading since I was four."
"That's not an answer," he says. His finger loops low, brushing the side of her ribs. She shivers.
"Correction -- not an answer you like."
Persistent, he says, "why? I know you said that in high school you used to read up on demons with that Watcher, but he's not here anymore."
No, she thinks, old guilt flaring, he isn't. Squashing the spike of grief that goes with it, she turns her head so she's looking at Angel. She gives him a teasy-flirty smile. "Jealous?"
He doesn't smile back. "I don't understand."
"I'm a layery kind of person, obviously. Full of surprises."
"You're looking for something," he says, and his tone is the closest he's come to accusatory since that hotel night oh so long ago, when he accused her of keeping him leashed. His hand stills on her back.
"Yes."
"What?"
Anya. Redemption. Home. All of the above? "I'll know it when I find it."
"It?"
He's not going to let this go, she realises. She goes offensive. "Why do you want to know so bad?" She raises an eyebrow. "Afraid I'm smarter than you?"
Still with the no smiling, but his hand starts to move again, palm curving over the muscles in his back. "I want to help you."
She tenses and doesn't even try to hide the reaction, a swirl of emotions rushing through her. She's down to less than seventeen months now, and no closer; logically, she knows, she could use the help. What if...
... he tried to stop her.
Forcing herself to relax, she smiles again, low and soft. "You're gorgeous."
"I mean it," he says. "I want --"
"I heard you," she says. Pushing herself up, she leans into him, leans over him, urging him onto his back. Her left hand moves to his chest and draws down slowly, tracing his ribs, his muscles, the curve of his hip. "And I love that you're all white knight on a steed for me, I do." She palms him, fingers stroking around his cock. "But right now --" she kisses his bottom lip, "-- what I want --" a kiss in the hollow above his collarbone, "-- what I need --" she licks a stripe down his chest, "-- is help with something far --" a small nip to the skin, "-- more --" she blows a puff of air over the head of his cock, "-- physical."
When she takes him into her mouth, he hisses, his hands moving to her hair, fingers tangling in the long strands. His head presses back into the pillows.
She smiles.
*
The thing about sleeping with Angel? It actually doesn't change things much. She still goes to her savate classes, still goes to the library to read the books she can't buy and buys the books she can, still dreams of Sunnydale and the Plaza and of Angelus, still chants for Anya on the dark moon and drinks a fifth of scotch when she doesn't show. She even still manages to fend off a vampire or two every fortnight or so.
In fact, the only difference she can really figure between before and these last six weeks? The awesome amount of fantastic sex now fortifying her hormones.
"You know, this whole walking me back to my place thing? Way chivalrous of you." Especially when it's been raining all day and the wind is still brisking along all ice-like and Angel's presence between her and the elements is, like, uber-warm and protective.
Beside her, Angel shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs like he's all self-conscious. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Bad thing? Nah." She nudges his shoulder with her own. "I just can't help but think the oodles of unmarried, undead sex we had this morning kinda cancels out the Victorian bonus points."
He almost misses a step at her words, but his voice is remains pretty much steady. "Oodles?" he repeats.
"Well, that's not the technical term, of course."
"Of course," he says, dryly. As they cross the street and move up onto the sidewalk outside her apartment building, he oh so subtly switches sides so that he's the one closer to the road.
She smiles. "Ladies and gentlemen," she quips softly, "my boyfriend, the white knight."
He hears her and turns to face her with a wide, wide grin. "Boyfriend?" he repeats.
She rolls her eyes. "I think I meant 'dork', actually." Digging her keys out of her bag as she walks up her stairs, she turns and leans against her front door. "But, you know, thanks and all."
He leans in a little. "For the chivalry?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
She smirks and winds her fingers into his jacket lapels, tugging him closer. "Is this where I correct you by saying for the sex?"
"I wouldn't say no to a little gratitude." His mouth brushes her cheek.
Tilting her head, she moves her mouth along his jawline, nibbling at the curve of his neck and letting her voice turn all breathy, "I think you got enough of that earlier."
He makes a growly noise and presses against her, finding her mouth and kissing her hard. His hand drags up her side until he's cupping her cheek.
On the other side of the door, her phone rings.
Startled, she pulls back from the kiss.
"What?" asks Angel.
Turning, she fumbles with her keys to unlock the door. "What time is it?"
"Uh... a little after eleven -- why?"
She wrenches open the door. "Little late for telemarketers, you think?" Leaving him at her threshold, she races for her cordless, running the list of people who have her number through her mind. It's a short list. With the exception of Frank, pretty much no one --
The answering machine picks up the call before she can. "... yeah, yeah, yeah -- oh, hey, Queen C? Girlfriend, it's Clem! Clement Leary! We totally chatted that one time when Larry was all bathroom break during one of your gossipy 'remember when' Friendsters? Well, anyway, before he passed on and all, Larry and I were playing poker this one time and he totally mentioned how you were hot for the vengeance crowd and all? So I just thought I'd, like, reach out and let you know that D'Hoffryn totally chose Sunnydale's very own hellmouth for this year's office party. I mean, I know, right? So, anyway, if you're still wanting to scratch that itch, you should definitely come n' visit before tomorrow's done and dusted. There's gonna be dumplin--"
The machine beeps, cutting off the call.
Frozen, she stands there, hand still outstretched for the phone, Clem's words echoing in her apartment and in her mind, spinning her out way faster than anything else ever.
D'Hoffryn. Sunnydale. Vengeance.
Anya!
Spinning on her heel, she takes three steps towards her sofa before she realises she has no idea where to start. She needs -- "Weapons! Sunnydale in the winter? So totally not the time to skimp on the defensive arts -- and transport! I'll have to hire something, a soft-top, maybe? No, probably not -- oh, and clothes, and Diminichi's Codex as a backup..." which she lent to Angel last week, "... do you --"
She looks up and blinks.
"Angel?"
The doorway, her alcove, is empty. Darting forward, she heads outside, and down her steps, looking --
"Angel!" Running, she catches up with him half-way down her street and grabs at his arm. "Hey, wait! What's --"
He turns to face her, his expression weird. "Vengeance demons?"
She frowns. "You knew I was looking for something," she points out.
He makes an incredulous noise. "Not this!"
She lets go of his arm, not liking his tone. "Dismissive much? Who made you the king of lost and found?"
"What? You think I should be happy for you?"
"For my first massive break in four years? Hell yes you should be happy for me! There should be fireworks you're so damn happy for me!"
"Oh, well, forgive me. I always figured a celebration should happen when something good occurs, and discovering the woman I love is fucking insane doesn't usually qualify!"
She bristles. "I am not insane!"
In the distance, thunder rumbles.
"Right, because searching out lower beings deliberately just smacks of intelligence!"
There'll definitely be some smacking in a moment, that much she's willing to guarantee. "What the hell did you think I was searching for? A rentable ski chalet in fourteenth century Europe? The Treshok demons secret moisturising tips?"
"I thought you were looking for protection charms and demon weak spots; ways to survive!" He glares at her. "That is what you kept telling me, after all. 'Oh, Angel, my apartment smells like black root and dragon's blood bark because I read somewhere that that and street fair incense makes for a good all-purpose ward!'"
Oh, she so does not sound like that! But as for the rest -- "You're damn right I was looking for a way to survive! This reality is for the dead and I ain't one of them, Angel. I told you that when we first hooked up that first time. A vengeance demon created this reality and that same vengeance demon will uncreate it just as soon as I can sit on her ugly, wrinkly, old lady hag face until she cries uncle."
"Reali--" He stops short, a look of shock spreading across his face. "You're talking about that alternate dimension fairytale again."
She crosses her arms. "You say fairytale, I say home."
"Oh, so that makes it sane, does it? You're gonna throw yourself into a hellmouth and hope you come out in a better dimension? My god, Cordelia -- how is that anything less than suicidal? Don't you hold any regard for your life?"
She spreads her arms out wide, gesturing broadly. "What life? The one where I'm going broke? Where I'm constantly on the lookout for who's going to next try to take a bite out of me? Where everyone I went to school with, not to mention an entire town almost, are dead and undead thanks to my stupid little wish? That life? Oh, yeah, I'll be real sorry to see the back of that. Absolutely devastated."
Angel stares at her, silent. Behind him, a flash of lightning splits the night sky.
"What?" she snaps. "My reasons aren't good enough for you? Are too selfish? Newsflash, Angel -- I'm the most self-centered person you've ever met, remember?"
His words, five years ago, have you always been this selfish?
The anger and shock and frowniness has leeched from his features, his face blanking. "I haven't forgotten," he says quietly.
She blinks at his sudden affectlessness. "Well, then," she says inadequately. "There you go."
"Yeah," he says, slowly, "here I go."
Huh? "Angel?"
He meets her gaze steadily. "Goodbye, Cordelia."
What? Dumbfounded, she watches him turn and start to walk away. "Angel!"
He doesn't stop, and he doesn't look back.
"Angel!"
*
It doesn't take her long to pack what she needs (weapons, weapons and more weapons), but getting a car proves way more problematic. None of the hire companies seem to be open this late (this early?), and the taxi service just laughs at her when she tries them. (Which is probably for the best because, even excluding the expense, and Frank's reaction to the expense, having a non-local behind the wheel in Sunnydale? Not her idea of safety first.)
Outside, the rain that had blanketed the city all yesterday picks up again, a brisk wind sweeping water against her windows.
Though she should probably sleep -- she and Angel didn't get a whole lot of rest the night before -- her brain is way too wired to even contemplate the idea. She can't stop thinking about what Angel said (and he is so wrong -- this reality is what's suicidal, not her attempts to get home), and the nightmare that will be stepping back into Sunnydale (what if there's another big bad in town? what if they try to kill her? what if anything tries to kill her?), and what will happen when Anya fixes reality (what's her life even like now in the proper reality? did she marry Keanu Reeves like she had planned all through high school?), and how Angel just walked away like it was nothing (like she was nothing), and what will happen to this life when she does fix everything (will it go poof? will it just fade away?), and what is the Angel in her reality doing these days (is he evil again? is he still Buffy's One True Love? would he go for a coffee with her anyway?), and, god, oh so many more things, way too many to focus and name and properly think about.
Curling up on her sofa, she stares at the clock on her wall and waits for morning.
*
There's a crucified body above the Welcome to Sunnydale sign.
Main Street is choked with burnt out car wrecks and crushed storefronts.
An empty crater lies where the high school used to be.
Parking her car on a side street, she follows the sound of music spilling out of the Bronze. A small crowd is mingling outside the entrance but she pushes through easily enough, nodding to the bouncer as he lifts the rope to admit her.
Inside it's warm, the press of bodies doing more than enough to combat the winter chill outside, and she shrugs out of her jacket, leaving it on the pile of coats near the door. Willie's behind the bar, and she takes a beer from him as she passes on her way up to the mezzanine.
It's less peoplely up high, and she sips her drink as she leans against the railing, surveying the room. Down below, she can see Harmony dancing with two older looking guys (she's pretty sure the one on the left is a vampire) and Aura gossiping with Ginger at one of the tables. Dingoes Ate My Baby is playing on stage with some girl singing about magic trees or something equally nonsensical, and Xander and Jesse and Willow are snuggled into one of the couches, listening intently. It's tempting to up-end her beer on them.
Movement behind her. As the singer moves into a new song about leaving someone they love, Angel slides his hands around her waist and down over her hips, pressing his body up against hers.
"You're late," he says, brushing his mouth over the side of her neck.
"Hmm." She tilts her head to the side, allowing him better access. "I think I took a wrong turn somewhere. Got a little lost."
He nips at her skin. "Forgot your way?"
Her eyes drift shut as his fangs sink into her jugular. "Never."
One of his hands slides down, curving to her inner thigh, fingers pressing against the scar he gave her, and the music plays on and on and on...
*
She wakes to the sound of the dialtone echoing from her cordless phone, to the rumble of low bass thunder and steady rain.
She's on her sofa, neck stiff and limbs cramped, and for a moment she can't understa--
Oh. Oh!
Bolting upright, she scrambles off the sofa. The cordless tumbles to the floor and she snatches it back up hastily, glancing at her watch as she thumbs through the numbers she jotted down earlier. It's a little after noon -- oh, god, she's slept practically the whole day away! what the hell's the matter with her! -- and as she waits for the rental company to pick up, she frantically tries to reorganise her thinkings. If she can get going within the next hour or two, she can be in Sunnydale by --
"Wolfram & Hart, Attorney's at Law -- how can I direct your call?"
Damnit! Hanging up, she tries again, this time double-checking that she's pressing the right buttons.
It seems to ring forever.
"LA Car Rentals, this is Bob."
Thank god.
*
While she waits for the car to be ready -- they've promised her a nice safe, stylish jeep, perfect for a drive up the coast (she neglected to mention the part where her final stop is a hellmouth) -- she showers and changes and rechecks her weapons bag. She has plenty of vampire protectives, but not so much for the fighting of random beasties. Hopefully her standard axe and run technique will work on whichever monster it is terrorising the locals this week.
She cancels her savate sessions for the next two days, and leaves a message with Frank's secretary advising she'll be out of town briefly, and then calls for a cab to take her to the car collection lot. Grabbing her bag, she locks up her apartment and heads down to the street to wait, struggling with her umbrella as she goes.
Angel's outside.
Stopping short, she stares at him. He's leaning against a car on the opposite side of the street, apparently totally unconcerned with the steady drench of rain, and she blinks stupidly.
"What --"
"I still think you're insane," he says, "but you keep saving me so I figure it's only fair I repay the favour."
-- the hell? "Huh?"
He gestures at the car he's leaning against -- big and black and... a convertible? "I have a car," he says, obviously.
Her brain finally clicks back into drive. Adjusting her grip on her bags, she flicks her rapidly soddening hair back over her shoulder as best she can. "You'll help me?"
He shakes his head. "No." After a beat, he continues with, "but... I won't try and stop you, either."
It's probably the best compromise she could have hoped for and, with his presence, helpful or not, probably the best chance for success she'll ever get.
Pushing away from the car, he crosses the street and reaches down, taking her bag. She lets him.
"C'mon," he says. "Before the rain stops."
She follows him to the car, and watches him open the door for her. As she moves to step in, a thought -- a memory -- comes to mind. Looking up at him, she tries for a smile. "Tinted windows?"
His own smile is small and tight, but real enough. "Darkest your money can buy."
* * * * *
Continued in Chapter 5.
SOUNDTRACK: Home
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
Continued from Chapter 3.
* * * * *
Home by anr
* * * * *
4. THE STREET
"Cordelia!"
"Just a minute!" Lunging to the left, she snatches the chunk of driftwood out of the shallows before it can float away again and tosses it to Angel. "Here!"
Spinning, he grabs the two-by-four out of the air and sweeps it around in a wide arc, caving in the side of the demon's head with a sickening crunch and splattering orange ichor across the pier posts. The demon's body crumples into the sandy waves.
"Okay," she says, panting. "Eww."
Dropping the wood onto the sand, Angel wades to where she's still standing knee-deep in the Pacific. "You okay?" he asks, taking hold of her upper-arm.
"You mean apart from the oh so obvious damage to my clothes, shoes, hair and makeup?" She pushes a section of sea-sprayed hair over her shoulder and grimaces. "Yeah, fine. Just peachy."
"It didn't cut you?"
Hello? "Can you smell me bleeding?"
"No..."
She raises an eyebrow all, 'well, then?' until he looks away, semi-sheepish and less with the worry.
"Right." He clears his throat. "So, um -- you still want that ice-cream?"
*
"Just once," she says, brushing at her jeans like that will get the ocean off of her. "I mean, other women? They go for a walk on the pier with a guy and it's all, 'hey, isn't this a lovely and boring moment I'll never have to live again', whereas when I go?"
"You get attacked by an Ithsic demon," says Angel.
"I get attacked by a Lisp demon!"
"If it's any consolation, I don't think it meant to attack you."
"Really? Wow. That makes me feel so much better." She pauses briefly, holds up a finger. "No, wait, it doesn't."
Stopping at the edge of the beach, she reaches out to grab a hold of his shoulder for balance as she stands on one leg and tries to empty the sand out of her shoe.
Looking down, Angel says, "I'm sorry."
Oh, for... "Seriously?" She changes legs with a small hop. "You're gonna take this one? Add it to the brood file and label it, 'not my fault but it's been a slow month quota-wise, so what the hey'?"
He looks up again all affronted. "Hey!"
"Exactly." Shaking her head, she straightens up and places her other hand on his shoulder, stepping in close so that they're all but embracing. He moves his hands to her hips and makes it real. "Repeat after me," she starts.
He cuts her off. "After me," he says, dutifully.
She rolls her eyes. "Smart ass."
A quirk of a grin on his lips now. "Smart ass."
"Enough!"
"Eno--"
Leaning in and up, she covers his mouth with her own, kissing him quiet. His grip on her tightens, one hand smoothing around to the small of her back and pulling her in against him. She licks at his lips and tastes salt; presses her body to his and feels desire unspool from deep in her belly.
Against his mouth, she mumbles, "let's forget the ice-cream."
His kiss turns hard and fast. "Hell yes."
*
In the semi-darkness, she lies on her stomach, muscles trembling with little after-shocks and sweat cooling on her skin.
"Better than ice-cream?"
She smiles at the far wall, feeling the mattress shift as he turns onto his side behind her. One of his hands moves to touch her back, fingers smoothing along the length of her spine. "Better than the demon."
He starts tracing patterns across her shoulder blades. "Cordy?"
"Mmm?"
"Why do you go the library every evening?"
Her smile fades, but she keeps her contentment in her voice easily enough. "Don't let the cheerleader moves fool you; I've been reading since I was four."
"That's not an answer," he says. His finger loops low, brushing the side of her ribs. She shivers.
"Correction -- not an answer you like."
Persistent, he says, "why? I know you said that in high school you used to read up on demons with that Watcher, but he's not here anymore."
No, she thinks, old guilt flaring, he isn't. Squashing the spike of grief that goes with it, she turns her head so she's looking at Angel. She gives him a teasy-flirty smile. "Jealous?"
He doesn't smile back. "I don't understand."
"I'm a layery kind of person, obviously. Full of surprises."
"You're looking for something," he says, and his tone is the closest he's come to accusatory since that hotel night oh so long ago, when he accused her of keeping him leashed. His hand stills on her back.
"Yes."
"What?"
Anya. Redemption. Home. All of the above? "I'll know it when I find it."
"It?"
He's not going to let this go, she realises. She goes offensive. "Why do you want to know so bad?" She raises an eyebrow. "Afraid I'm smarter than you?"
Still with the no smiling, but his hand starts to move again, palm curving over the muscles in his back. "I want to help you."
She tenses and doesn't even try to hide the reaction, a swirl of emotions rushing through her. She's down to less than seventeen months now, and no closer; logically, she knows, she could use the help. What if...
... he tried to stop her.
Forcing herself to relax, she smiles again, low and soft. "You're gorgeous."
"I mean it," he says. "I want --"
"I heard you," she says. Pushing herself up, she leans into him, leans over him, urging him onto his back. Her left hand moves to his chest and draws down slowly, tracing his ribs, his muscles, the curve of his hip. "And I love that you're all white knight on a steed for me, I do." She palms him, fingers stroking around his cock. "But right now --" she kisses his bottom lip, "-- what I want --" a kiss in the hollow above his collarbone, "-- what I need --" she licks a stripe down his chest, "-- is help with something far --" a small nip to the skin, "-- more --" she blows a puff of air over the head of his cock, "-- physical."
When she takes him into her mouth, he hisses, his hands moving to her hair, fingers tangling in the long strands. His head presses back into the pillows.
She smiles.
*
The thing about sleeping with Angel? It actually doesn't change things much. She still goes to her savate classes, still goes to the library to read the books she can't buy and buys the books she can, still dreams of Sunnydale and the Plaza and of Angelus, still chants for Anya on the dark moon and drinks a fifth of scotch when she doesn't show. She even still manages to fend off a vampire or two every fortnight or so.
In fact, the only difference she can really figure between before and these last six weeks? The awesome amount of fantastic sex now fortifying her hormones.
"You know, this whole walking me back to my place thing? Way chivalrous of you." Especially when it's been raining all day and the wind is still brisking along all ice-like and Angel's presence between her and the elements is, like, uber-warm and protective.
Beside her, Angel shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs like he's all self-conscious. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Bad thing? Nah." She nudges his shoulder with her own. "I just can't help but think the oodles of unmarried, undead sex we had this morning kinda cancels out the Victorian bonus points."
He almost misses a step at her words, but his voice is remains pretty much steady. "Oodles?" he repeats.
"Well, that's not the technical term, of course."
"Of course," he says, dryly. As they cross the street and move up onto the sidewalk outside her apartment building, he oh so subtly switches sides so that he's the one closer to the road.
She smiles. "Ladies and gentlemen," she quips softly, "my boyfriend, the white knight."
He hears her and turns to face her with a wide, wide grin. "Boyfriend?" he repeats.
She rolls her eyes. "I think I meant 'dork', actually." Digging her keys out of her bag as she walks up her stairs, she turns and leans against her front door. "But, you know, thanks and all."
He leans in a little. "For the chivalry?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
She smirks and winds her fingers into his jacket lapels, tugging him closer. "Is this where I correct you by saying for the sex?"
"I wouldn't say no to a little gratitude." His mouth brushes her cheek.
Tilting her head, she moves her mouth along his jawline, nibbling at the curve of his neck and letting her voice turn all breathy, "I think you got enough of that earlier."
He makes a growly noise and presses against her, finding her mouth and kissing her hard. His hand drags up her side until he's cupping her cheek.
On the other side of the door, her phone rings.
Startled, she pulls back from the kiss.
"What?" asks Angel.
Turning, she fumbles with her keys to unlock the door. "What time is it?"
"Uh... a little after eleven -- why?"
She wrenches open the door. "Little late for telemarketers, you think?" Leaving him at her threshold, she races for her cordless, running the list of people who have her number through her mind. It's a short list. With the exception of Frank, pretty much no one --
The answering machine picks up the call before she can. "... yeah, yeah, yeah -- oh, hey, Queen C? Girlfriend, it's Clem! Clement Leary! We totally chatted that one time when Larry was all bathroom break during one of your gossipy 'remember when' Friendsters? Well, anyway, before he passed on and all, Larry and I were playing poker this one time and he totally mentioned how you were hot for the vengeance crowd and all? So I just thought I'd, like, reach out and let you know that D'Hoffryn totally chose Sunnydale's very own hellmouth for this year's office party. I mean, I know, right? So, anyway, if you're still wanting to scratch that itch, you should definitely come n' visit before tomorrow's done and dusted. There's gonna be dumplin--"
The machine beeps, cutting off the call.
Frozen, she stands there, hand still outstretched for the phone, Clem's words echoing in her apartment and in her mind, spinning her out way faster than anything else ever.
D'Hoffryn. Sunnydale. Vengeance.
Anya!
Spinning on her heel, she takes three steps towards her sofa before she realises she has no idea where to start. She needs -- "Weapons! Sunnydale in the winter? So totally not the time to skimp on the defensive arts -- and transport! I'll have to hire something, a soft-top, maybe? No, probably not -- oh, and clothes, and Diminichi's Codex as a backup..." which she lent to Angel last week, "... do you --"
She looks up and blinks.
"Angel?"
The doorway, her alcove, is empty. Darting forward, she heads outside, and down her steps, looking --
"Angel!" Running, she catches up with him half-way down her street and grabs at his arm. "Hey, wait! What's --"
He turns to face her, his expression weird. "Vengeance demons?"
She frowns. "You knew I was looking for something," she points out.
He makes an incredulous noise. "Not this!"
She lets go of his arm, not liking his tone. "Dismissive much? Who made you the king of lost and found?"
"What? You think I should be happy for you?"
"For my first massive break in four years? Hell yes you should be happy for me! There should be fireworks you're so damn happy for me!"
"Oh, well, forgive me. I always figured a celebration should happen when something good occurs, and discovering the woman I love is fucking insane doesn't usually qualify!"
She bristles. "I am not insane!"
In the distance, thunder rumbles.
"Right, because searching out lower beings deliberately just smacks of intelligence!"
There'll definitely be some smacking in a moment, that much she's willing to guarantee. "What the hell did you think I was searching for? A rentable ski chalet in fourteenth century Europe? The Treshok demons secret moisturising tips?"
"I thought you were looking for protection charms and demon weak spots; ways to survive!" He glares at her. "That is what you kept telling me, after all. 'Oh, Angel, my apartment smells like black root and dragon's blood bark because I read somewhere that that and street fair incense makes for a good all-purpose ward!'"
Oh, she so does not sound like that! But as for the rest -- "You're damn right I was looking for a way to survive! This reality is for the dead and I ain't one of them, Angel. I told you that when we first hooked up that first time. A vengeance demon created this reality and that same vengeance demon will uncreate it just as soon as I can sit on her ugly, wrinkly, old lady hag face until she cries uncle."
"Reali--" He stops short, a look of shock spreading across his face. "You're talking about that alternate dimension fairytale again."
She crosses her arms. "You say fairytale, I say home."
"Oh, so that makes it sane, does it? You're gonna throw yourself into a hellmouth and hope you come out in a better dimension? My god, Cordelia -- how is that anything less than suicidal? Don't you hold any regard for your life?"
She spreads her arms out wide, gesturing broadly. "What life? The one where I'm going broke? Where I'm constantly on the lookout for who's going to next try to take a bite out of me? Where everyone I went to school with, not to mention an entire town almost, are dead and undead thanks to my stupid little wish? That life? Oh, yeah, I'll be real sorry to see the back of that. Absolutely devastated."
Angel stares at her, silent. Behind him, a flash of lightning splits the night sky.
"What?" she snaps. "My reasons aren't good enough for you? Are too selfish? Newsflash, Angel -- I'm the most self-centered person you've ever met, remember?"
His words, five years ago, have you always been this selfish?
The anger and shock and frowniness has leeched from his features, his face blanking. "I haven't forgotten," he says quietly.
She blinks at his sudden affectlessness. "Well, then," she says inadequately. "There you go."
"Yeah," he says, slowly, "here I go."
Huh? "Angel?"
He meets her gaze steadily. "Goodbye, Cordelia."
What? Dumbfounded, she watches him turn and start to walk away. "Angel!"
He doesn't stop, and he doesn't look back.
"Angel!"
*
It doesn't take her long to pack what she needs (weapons, weapons and more weapons), but getting a car proves way more problematic. None of the hire companies seem to be open this late (this early?), and the taxi service just laughs at her when she tries them. (Which is probably for the best because, even excluding the expense, and Frank's reaction to the expense, having a non-local behind the wheel in Sunnydale? Not her idea of safety first.)
Outside, the rain that had blanketed the city all yesterday picks up again, a brisk wind sweeping water against her windows.
Though she should probably sleep -- she and Angel didn't get a whole lot of rest the night before -- her brain is way too wired to even contemplate the idea. She can't stop thinking about what Angel said (and he is so wrong -- this reality is what's suicidal, not her attempts to get home), and the nightmare that will be stepping back into Sunnydale (what if there's another big bad in town? what if they try to kill her? what if anything tries to kill her?), and what will happen when Anya fixes reality (what's her life even like now in the proper reality? did she marry Keanu Reeves like she had planned all through high school?), and how Angel just walked away like it was nothing (like she was nothing), and what will happen to this life when she does fix everything (will it go poof? will it just fade away?), and what is the Angel in her reality doing these days (is he evil again? is he still Buffy's One True Love? would he go for a coffee with her anyway?), and, god, oh so many more things, way too many to focus and name and properly think about.
Curling up on her sofa, she stares at the clock on her wall and waits for morning.
*
There's a crucified body above the Welcome to Sunnydale sign.
Main Street is choked with burnt out car wrecks and crushed storefronts.
An empty crater lies where the high school used to be.
Parking her car on a side street, she follows the sound of music spilling out of the Bronze. A small crowd is mingling outside the entrance but she pushes through easily enough, nodding to the bouncer as he lifts the rope to admit her.
Inside it's warm, the press of bodies doing more than enough to combat the winter chill outside, and she shrugs out of her jacket, leaving it on the pile of coats near the door. Willie's behind the bar, and she takes a beer from him as she passes on her way up to the mezzanine.
It's less peoplely up high, and she sips her drink as she leans against the railing, surveying the room. Down below, she can see Harmony dancing with two older looking guys (she's pretty sure the one on the left is a vampire) and Aura gossiping with Ginger at one of the tables. Dingoes Ate My Baby is playing on stage with some girl singing about magic trees or something equally nonsensical, and Xander and Jesse and Willow are snuggled into one of the couches, listening intently. It's tempting to up-end her beer on them.
Movement behind her. As the singer moves into a new song about leaving someone they love, Angel slides his hands around her waist and down over her hips, pressing his body up against hers.
"You're late," he says, brushing his mouth over the side of her neck.
"Hmm." She tilts her head to the side, allowing him better access. "I think I took a wrong turn somewhere. Got a little lost."
He nips at her skin. "Forgot your way?"
Her eyes drift shut as his fangs sink into her jugular. "Never."
One of his hands slides down, curving to her inner thigh, fingers pressing against the scar he gave her, and the music plays on and on and on...
*
She wakes to the sound of the dialtone echoing from her cordless phone, to the rumble of low bass thunder and steady rain.
She's on her sofa, neck stiff and limbs cramped, and for a moment she can't understa--
Oh. Oh!
Bolting upright, she scrambles off the sofa. The cordless tumbles to the floor and she snatches it back up hastily, glancing at her watch as she thumbs through the numbers she jotted down earlier. It's a little after noon -- oh, god, she's slept practically the whole day away! what the hell's the matter with her! -- and as she waits for the rental company to pick up, she frantically tries to reorganise her thinkings. If she can get going within the next hour or two, she can be in Sunnydale by --
"Wolfram & Hart, Attorney's at Law -- how can I direct your call?"
Damnit! Hanging up, she tries again, this time double-checking that she's pressing the right buttons.
It seems to ring forever.
"LA Car Rentals, this is Bob."
Thank god.
*
While she waits for the car to be ready -- they've promised her a nice safe, stylish jeep, perfect for a drive up the coast (she neglected to mention the part where her final stop is a hellmouth) -- she showers and changes and rechecks her weapons bag. She has plenty of vampire protectives, but not so much for the fighting of random beasties. Hopefully her standard axe and run technique will work on whichever monster it is terrorising the locals this week.
She cancels her savate sessions for the next two days, and leaves a message with Frank's secretary advising she'll be out of town briefly, and then calls for a cab to take her to the car collection lot. Grabbing her bag, she locks up her apartment and heads down to the street to wait, struggling with her umbrella as she goes.
Angel's outside.
Stopping short, she stares at him. He's leaning against a car on the opposite side of the street, apparently totally unconcerned with the steady drench of rain, and she blinks stupidly.
"What --"
"I still think you're insane," he says, "but you keep saving me so I figure it's only fair I repay the favour."
-- the hell? "Huh?"
He gestures at the car he's leaning against -- big and black and... a convertible? "I have a car," he says, obviously.
Her brain finally clicks back into drive. Adjusting her grip on her bags, she flicks her rapidly soddening hair back over her shoulder as best she can. "You'll help me?"
He shakes his head. "No." After a beat, he continues with, "but... I won't try and stop you, either."
It's probably the best compromise she could have hoped for and, with his presence, helpful or not, probably the best chance for success she'll ever get.
Pushing away from the car, he crosses the street and reaches down, taking her bag. She lets him.
"C'mon," he says. "Before the rain stops."
She follows him to the car, and watches him open the door for her. As she moves to step in, a thought -- a memory -- comes to mind. Looking up at him, she tries for a smile. "Tinted windows?"
His own smile is small and tight, but real enough. "Darkest your money can buy."
* * * * *
Continued in Chapter 5.
SOUNDTRACK: Home
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