Maybe This Time
And now, for a change, I have Angel/Cordelia fic! This has been sitting on my computer for a week, and five minutes ago I felt particularly angered on Cordelia's (and Charisma Carpenter's) behalf for how the writers treated her, so I'm finally posting.
Title: Maybe This Time
Summary: Cordelia makes a choice. Vague, no? Post-NFA. Yes, Cordy's alive b/c in my post-NFA HEA-verse, The Powers That Suck Be decide to play fair for once. Also, she and Anya are BFFs because I think that not only would these two queens of tact get along, their combined kickass woman power would make for the most awesome and terrifying friendship ever! 730 words.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, no money is being made, etc., etc.
They rarely mention That Bitch, as Cordelia has labeled Jasmine and the entire body possession tragedy, and usually it doesn’t give Angel pause for discomfort. Every once in a while, though, he’ll see her, maybe wearing a new, hauntingly familiar maternity outfit or with her hair pulled back so it seems short, and fear will grip him. He’ll look at her swollen belly, swallow hard, and have to remind himself, That’s ours. It’s real.
Then Cordelia will grin her wide, infectious beam or say something so perfectly Cordy-like (“Gunn, if you get demon goo on my new purse, I will hand you your ass on a platter!”) that Angel will fall in love all over again and he’ll wonder, incredulously, how he could ever have thought That Bitch was his best friend.
* * *
He couldn’t hide his surprise the first time she told him she wanted children. After all, if his mindset was Cordelia + Pregnancy = Bad, how much more awful could her associations be?
He made the mistake of staring open-mouthed and forgetting to respond, and she flushed so hard he could see the redness past her tan.
“It’s my body,” she said, her voice suddenly strained. He thought he heard a quiver, which only made his heart hurt more. Cordelia Chase’s voice wasn’t supposed to quiver.
“I want- I want to be able to have a child, Angel. Our child,” she said. Her eyes were glassy and she took deep breaths. “I don't want to be- I don’t want to lose that, too.”
“Okay,” he said.
And suddenly it was. He knew where he needed to be. He strode forward and took her in his arms, and her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she let herself be weak for a moment. He smoothed his hand over her long, dark curls and imagined the baby bump between them.
* * * They went to Willow first. Anyone who could resurrect a slayer, almost end the world, and activate an army of superheroines should be able to manage something as simple as a non-prophecy-ordained vampire-human pregnancy.
It took a few months, but it worked in the end. The spells, the potions, the daily vitamins that tasted like horse manure smelled- somehow it worked.
And Cordelia was happy. She had her bad moments just as he had his. He’d wake to find her curled in a ball around her stomach, her body clenched so tightly that he feared she’d break if he touched her. Sometimes she’d be silent and sometimes she’d be whimpering (“mine, mine, mine, you’re mine”).
He’d agonize over it, but in the end he always touched her. He put his arms around her, kissed her hair and cheeks and shoulders, clasped her stomach, and whispered fiercely, “I love you. Cordelia.”
She’d still eventually. Sometimes they’d lie awake until morning, sometimes they slept, and sometimes they made love.
And he hoped it was enough.
* * * When the doctor told them to expect double, after he was done being flabbergasted he immediately decided he wanted one of each.
Cordelia agreed. She was elated at the thought that after trying so hard for one child they’d sudden get two. She couldn’t stop talking about how she wanted a daughter to take shopping and a son who could marry Anya and Harris’s daughter (would it have killed Buffy and Spike to call dibs? But, no, they were making wedding plans for Willow and Oz’s son, and Spike was already teasing him about being in-laws with the whelp).
He wanted a son so he could do what he’d never done with Connor (“Not a replacement,” he assured his slightly grumpy firstborn. “No one will ever replace you.”). And he wanted a daughter so he could spoil her rotten and be inordinately overprotective. He watched Spike with his baby girl and knew he wanted to be a stereotype too.
They wallpapered the nursery and bought twin bassinets, but all he could think about was Connor lying between them on the bed at the Hyperion. Those days would come again soon, and it filled him with unimaginable terror and joy. He pictured himself and Cordy, their son and daughter, and Connor: having dinner together, reading bedtime stories, taking Christmas photos to send to friends who didn’t need to be reminded what they looked like.
They’d be a family again.
And this time, maybe they’d stay that way.
Title: Maybe This Time
Summary: Cordelia makes a choice. Vague, no? Post-NFA. Yes, Cordy's alive b/c in my post-NFA HEA-verse, The Powers That Suck Be decide to play fair for once. Also, she and Anya are BFFs because I think that not only would these two queens of tact get along, their combined kickass woman power would make for the most awesome and terrifying friendship ever! 730 words.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, no money is being made, etc., etc.
They rarely mention That Bitch, as Cordelia has labeled Jasmine and the entire body possession tragedy, and usually it doesn’t give Angel pause for discomfort. Every once in a while, though, he’ll see her, maybe wearing a new, hauntingly familiar maternity outfit or with her hair pulled back so it seems short, and fear will grip him. He’ll look at her swollen belly, swallow hard, and have to remind himself, That’s ours. It’s real.
Then Cordelia will grin her wide, infectious beam or say something so perfectly Cordy-like (“Gunn, if you get demon goo on my new purse, I will hand you your ass on a platter!”) that Angel will fall in love all over again and he’ll wonder, incredulously, how he could ever have thought That Bitch was his best friend.
* * *
He couldn’t hide his surprise the first time she told him she wanted children. After all, if his mindset was Cordelia + Pregnancy = Bad, how much more awful could her associations be?
He made the mistake of staring open-mouthed and forgetting to respond, and she flushed so hard he could see the redness past her tan.
“It’s my body,” she said, her voice suddenly strained. He thought he heard a quiver, which only made his heart hurt more. Cordelia Chase’s voice wasn’t supposed to quiver.
“I want- I want to be able to have a child, Angel. Our child,” she said. Her eyes were glassy and she took deep breaths. “I don't want to be- I don’t want to lose that, too.”
“Okay,” he said.
And suddenly it was. He knew where he needed to be. He strode forward and took her in his arms, and her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she let herself be weak for a moment. He smoothed his hand over her long, dark curls and imagined the baby bump between them.
* * * They went to Willow first. Anyone who could resurrect a slayer, almost end the world, and activate an army of superheroines should be able to manage something as simple as a non-prophecy-ordained vampire-human pregnancy.
It took a few months, but it worked in the end. The spells, the potions, the daily vitamins that tasted like horse manure smelled- somehow it worked.
And Cordelia was happy. She had her bad moments just as he had his. He’d wake to find her curled in a ball around her stomach, her body clenched so tightly that he feared she’d break if he touched her. Sometimes she’d be silent and sometimes she’d be whimpering (“mine, mine, mine, you’re mine”).
He’d agonize over it, but in the end he always touched her. He put his arms around her, kissed her hair and cheeks and shoulders, clasped her stomach, and whispered fiercely, “I love you. Cordelia.”
She’d still eventually. Sometimes they’d lie awake until morning, sometimes they slept, and sometimes they made love.
And he hoped it was enough.
* * * When the doctor told them to expect double, after he was done being flabbergasted he immediately decided he wanted one of each.
Cordelia agreed. She was elated at the thought that after trying so hard for one child they’d sudden get two. She couldn’t stop talking about how she wanted a daughter to take shopping and a son who could marry Anya and Harris’s daughter (would it have killed Buffy and Spike to call dibs? But, no, they were making wedding plans for Willow and Oz’s son, and Spike was already teasing him about being in-laws with the whelp).
He wanted a son so he could do what he’d never done with Connor (“Not a replacement,” he assured his slightly grumpy firstborn. “No one will ever replace you.”). And he wanted a daughter so he could spoil her rotten and be inordinately overprotective. He watched Spike with his baby girl and knew he wanted to be a stereotype too.
They wallpapered the nursery and bought twin bassinets, but all he could think about was Connor lying between them on the bed at the Hyperion. Those days would come again soon, and it filled him with unimaginable terror and joy. He pictured himself and Cordy, their son and daughter, and Connor: having dinner together, reading bedtime stories, taking Christmas photos to send to friends who didn’t need to be reminded what they looked like.
They’d be a family again.
And this time, maybe they’d stay that way.