[fic] Since SOME of us have no place to go
Since SOME Of Us Have No Place To Go
by: thistlerose
Fandom: Angel: the series
Rating: PG
Ship: allusions to past Angel/Buffy, otherwise ship-free
Summary: Cordelia spreads holiday cheer. And expects to be reimbursed, naturally.
A/N: Proofread by reposoir. Thanks so much! Set sometime during the second half of season one. Approx. 1,600 words.
There were no freak snowstorms, but everything in LA seemed dusted with white sugar frosting, which shimmered in the light from the streetlamps and from the tiny green, red, and gold fairy lights in the trees and shop windows. It wasn't cold, but Angel hunched in his jacket, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He had his collar turned up over his nose and mouth, but it didn't keep out the smells of ham roasting and gingerbread baking, cologne being spritzed on, balsam, popcorn chains, red peppery Chinese takeout, eggnog, sweaty sex.
LA always smelled a little like sex, which Angel found both comforting and distressing. Comforting because it meant he had only to inhale to be reminded of just how tenuous his hold on humanity was, and distressing because he had urges. It was a good thing, he thought unhappily, that Buffy was out of reach. Not that he feared he'd fall again, but it was a little less painful with this distance between them.
Angel shouldered his way past the last-minute shoppers hurrying home with their parcels. He felt more comfortable once he reached his block; none of the buildings there were decorated. As he walked up the front steps, he glanced at the office windows, saw that they were dark, and assumed that Cordelia and Wesley had found better ways to spend Christmas Eve. He let himself in and went upstairs without flicking on any lights. At the landing, he nearly tripped over Wesley.
"What are you doing?" Angel asked, once he'd ascertained that Wesley had only been dozing with his head against the wall, not knocked unconscious. "Lose your key?"
"Cordelia," said Wesley drowsily as he pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, "will not let me in."
"Is she all right?"
"I can't answer that," said Wesley, "being on the wrong side of the door."
"I didn't see any lights from outside." Angel frowned and rapped tentatively on the door with his knuckles. "Cordelia?"
There was a crash, then a muffled curse. Then testily, "Just a minute! Wes, what happened to warning me?"
"Er. Sorry."
Whether or not she heard Wesley's mumble, Cordelia's huff of exasperation was audible. "Just wait out there," she ordered.
"How was your walk?" Wesley asked as Angel joined him on the top step. "Where did you go?"
"The Hollywood sign, then Gunn's place. It was all right."
"What's Gunn doing?"
"Party for some neighborhood kids. I only stayed for a minute. It was noisy. What's she up to?"
"I could tell you," said Wesley cagily. "But…"
"You'd have to kill me?" Angel surmised.
"No. Cordelia would kill me."
"Ah."
There was another crash. Angel jumped to his feet. "Cordy?"
"I'm fine! Yeesh, don't you have less important people to rescue?"
With a shrug, Angel backed away from the door. "Is she decorating?" he whispered to Wesley.
"I am not at liberty to say."
"I don't like mistletoe."
Wesley's tone was wry: "I doubt she has any desire to kiss us."
"I didn't get her anything. I didn't get you anything, either. Sorry."
"Quite all right. You've given us something much more valuable than any material item. You've given us hope and a purpose. You've-"
"Wes. Stop. Please."
"With pleasure."
They sat together in silence for a few minutes longer, elbows resting on knees, fingers laced under chins. Then the door creaked open behind them and Cordelia said, "All right. Now you can come in."
As Angel and Wesley stood and turned, she flicked on the lights.
Red, green, blue, and gold poured out of the doorway onto the landing. Angel blinked in the sudden brightness. Then Cordelia grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the office.
There were fat red and green candles dripping wax onto porcelain saucers. There were wreathes of dried flowers and pinecones tipped with white glitter. There were velvet ribbons and tiny bells, bowls of pretzels, salted cashews, and platters of brownies, gingerbread men, and sugar cookies.
"Ta-da!" sang Cordelia. In a tight-fitting, short-skirted dress of red crushed velvet, she was as decorative as everything else.
"Cordelia," said Angel, still blinking. "You are-"
"Going to be reimbursed, I know," she finished for him. "Well?"
"That is not what I was going to say."
"But it's what you meant."
"I-" She hugged his arm and battered her lashes. "We'll talk about it later. What I was going to say is, you're…"
"Amazing?" Wesley suggested. He picked up one of the gingerbread men and showed it to Angel. Under the red frosting mouth, there were tiny, white frosting fangs.
"That is what I was going to say," said Angel.
"I haven't shown you the best thing!" Her arms still wrapped around his arm, Cordelia drew him into the kitchen. "I baked for you."
"Cordy," he said warily, "I can't eat. I mean, I can, but it doesn't-"
She cut him off. "Well, duh. I can't hang around with weirdoes and not pick up some things. Not that I'm weird. It doesn't rub off. I mean, I've learned-" She stopped herself and smiled. "Anyway, look." She pointed to the counter.
"Well?" she prompted after a moment's silence.
Angel continued to stare, his mouth half-open, at the thing on the counter. In a pie pan there was what looked like a custard done in a red and off-white peppermint swirl design. It had an iron smell, tempered with what Angel thought might be egg, that filled his nostrils and plucked at his stomach.
"Well?" Cordelia said impatiently. Then, before he could formulate a reply, she went on: "I know it's not fresh, and I had to use egg to thicken it because otherwise it would've been really icky - not that it wasn't really icky - and I don't know how you feel about crème anglais, but-"
Behind them, Wesley said a bit primly, "You had to use egg…?"
"Well, it was my idea," Cordelia amended.
"I didn’t get you anything," Angel said helplessly.
"You mean, besides the Christmas bonus?" Cordelia's tone was pure sugar.
"I didn't-" Angel started. Then, "Fine. A bonus. Merry Christmas, you guys."
"Happy Christmas," said Wesley.
"Merry Christmas," said Cordelia. She released Angel's arm. "Um. You can slice it yourself."
"I think I'm just going to…look at it. For a little while."
"I'm going to put on some music," Wesley said, leaving the kitchen. A minute or two later, Bing Crosby's voice filled the office.
"This is…nice," Angel said quietly. "Thanks. You really didn't have to."
"I know," Cordelia replied. "But, look. Just because you're all full of gloom and doom doesn't mean you can't celebrate."
"I mean, you could be off celebrating with your friends. Come on. That's got to be more fun than hanging out with me and Wes."
"I can think of lots of things that are more fun than hanging out with you and Wes."
"But?"
"But…" She shrugged her slim shoulders. Her lashes lowered. "I don't know. I thought you might be lonely. I knew Wesley would be lonely. Didn't Buffy forgive you last Christmas?"
The kitchen blurred for a moment and Angel saw a small blonde girl in a white coat, ordering him to live. Snow came down like petals. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again he was looking at Cordelia and her blood custard. "I didn't think you knew."
"Like I said, I pick things up. Surprised?"
"By your…uncharacteristic generosity?"
She laughed. "No, by all this!" With a broad sweep of her hand, she indicated the custard, the decorations, the cookies, and - Angel supposed - her dress.
He wasn't all that surprised and he didn't think she'd be hurt, but he made himself say, "Yes," and made himself smile as he said it. It was easier than telling her how touched he was.
"Good." She kissed his cheek, then turned away in a swirl of shiny brown hair and red velvet. Her heels clicked against the linoleum. "This is for you," Angel heard her say to Wesley. "It's not as exciting, but it's not icky."
Paper crinkled.
"Socks. Why, er. How thoughtful, Cordelia."
"I remember you saying your feet were cold."
"I believe I'd just been wading through the sewers."
"Then you definitely need new socks."
"I." Wesley spluttered for a moment more, then finally said, "Thank you."
Angel regarded the custard. He dipped his index finger into one of the red swirls and licked it curiously. Cold. A bit thick. Edible, anyway. He took another taste. Not bad, really. It had been sweet of Cordelia. He smiled at the thought of her going for blood, then realized she'd probably sent Wesley. She'd probably asked Gunn to detain him while she decorated.
Angel went to the window, pushed it open, and leaned against the sill. The black sprawl of city was lit with millions of yellow lights like a swarm of fireflies. The sky hung thick and brownish, the breeze sharp with salt.
He wondered if he was happy. It seemed to him that most of the requirements were fulfilled. He had his team, people who needed him, upon whom he could also depend. He had, as Wesley had jokingly reminded him, a purpose. He didn't have Buffy, but it was right that he shouldn't, and anyway, she was in college, learning things, dating, becoming something more than a Slayer.
Buffy had always been more than a Slayer.
Angel's fingers curled around the windowsill. It's all right, it's all right, he thought. It's right.
Buffy in white. Snow on her lashes. Her small hands, the palms blistered from clutching stakes.
Cordelia behind him, hands on hips. Angel didn't have to turn to know.
"Are you coming? Because I know you need to sulk and brood, but I'm kind of on a schedule here. I actually have a real party to go to tonight."
Yes, Angel thought as he turned, smiling, his team was dependable.
12/10/06
by: thistlerose
Fandom: Angel: the series
Rating: PG
Ship: allusions to past Angel/Buffy, otherwise ship-free
Summary: Cordelia spreads holiday cheer. And expects to be reimbursed, naturally.
A/N: Proofread by reposoir. Thanks so much! Set sometime during the second half of season one. Approx. 1,600 words.
There were no freak snowstorms, but everything in LA seemed dusted with white sugar frosting, which shimmered in the light from the streetlamps and from the tiny green, red, and gold fairy lights in the trees and shop windows. It wasn't cold, but Angel hunched in his jacket, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He had his collar turned up over his nose and mouth, but it didn't keep out the smells of ham roasting and gingerbread baking, cologne being spritzed on, balsam, popcorn chains, red peppery Chinese takeout, eggnog, sweaty sex.
LA always smelled a little like sex, which Angel found both comforting and distressing. Comforting because it meant he had only to inhale to be reminded of just how tenuous his hold on humanity was, and distressing because he had urges. It was a good thing, he thought unhappily, that Buffy was out of reach. Not that he feared he'd fall again, but it was a little less painful with this distance between them.
Angel shouldered his way past the last-minute shoppers hurrying home with their parcels. He felt more comfortable once he reached his block; none of the buildings there were decorated. As he walked up the front steps, he glanced at the office windows, saw that they were dark, and assumed that Cordelia and Wesley had found better ways to spend Christmas Eve. He let himself in and went upstairs without flicking on any lights. At the landing, he nearly tripped over Wesley.
"What are you doing?" Angel asked, once he'd ascertained that Wesley had only been dozing with his head against the wall, not knocked unconscious. "Lose your key?"
"Cordelia," said Wesley drowsily as he pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, "will not let me in."
"Is she all right?"
"I can't answer that," said Wesley, "being on the wrong side of the door."
"I didn't see any lights from outside." Angel frowned and rapped tentatively on the door with his knuckles. "Cordelia?"
There was a crash, then a muffled curse. Then testily, "Just a minute! Wes, what happened to warning me?"
"Er. Sorry."
Whether or not she heard Wesley's mumble, Cordelia's huff of exasperation was audible. "Just wait out there," she ordered.
"How was your walk?" Wesley asked as Angel joined him on the top step. "Where did you go?"
"The Hollywood sign, then Gunn's place. It was all right."
"What's Gunn doing?"
"Party for some neighborhood kids. I only stayed for a minute. It was noisy. What's she up to?"
"I could tell you," said Wesley cagily. "But…"
"You'd have to kill me?" Angel surmised.
"No. Cordelia would kill me."
"Ah."
There was another crash. Angel jumped to his feet. "Cordy?"
"I'm fine! Yeesh, don't you have less important people to rescue?"
With a shrug, Angel backed away from the door. "Is she decorating?" he whispered to Wesley.
"I am not at liberty to say."
"I don't like mistletoe."
Wesley's tone was wry: "I doubt she has any desire to kiss us."
"I didn't get her anything. I didn't get you anything, either. Sorry."
"Quite all right. You've given us something much more valuable than any material item. You've given us hope and a purpose. You've-"
"Wes. Stop. Please."
"With pleasure."
They sat together in silence for a few minutes longer, elbows resting on knees, fingers laced under chins. Then the door creaked open behind them and Cordelia said, "All right. Now you can come in."
As Angel and Wesley stood and turned, she flicked on the lights.
Red, green, blue, and gold poured out of the doorway onto the landing. Angel blinked in the sudden brightness. Then Cordelia grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the office.
There were fat red and green candles dripping wax onto porcelain saucers. There were wreathes of dried flowers and pinecones tipped with white glitter. There were velvet ribbons and tiny bells, bowls of pretzels, salted cashews, and platters of brownies, gingerbread men, and sugar cookies.
"Ta-da!" sang Cordelia. In a tight-fitting, short-skirted dress of red crushed velvet, she was as decorative as everything else.
"Cordelia," said Angel, still blinking. "You are-"
"Going to be reimbursed, I know," she finished for him. "Well?"
"That is not what I was going to say."
"But it's what you meant."
"I-" She hugged his arm and battered her lashes. "We'll talk about it later. What I was going to say is, you're…"
"Amazing?" Wesley suggested. He picked up one of the gingerbread men and showed it to Angel. Under the red frosting mouth, there were tiny, white frosting fangs.
"That is what I was going to say," said Angel.
"I haven't shown you the best thing!" Her arms still wrapped around his arm, Cordelia drew him into the kitchen. "I baked for you."
"Cordy," he said warily, "I can't eat. I mean, I can, but it doesn't-"
She cut him off. "Well, duh. I can't hang around with weirdoes and not pick up some things. Not that I'm weird. It doesn't rub off. I mean, I've learned-" She stopped herself and smiled. "Anyway, look." She pointed to the counter.
"Well?" she prompted after a moment's silence.
Angel continued to stare, his mouth half-open, at the thing on the counter. In a pie pan there was what looked like a custard done in a red and off-white peppermint swirl design. It had an iron smell, tempered with what Angel thought might be egg, that filled his nostrils and plucked at his stomach.
"Well?" Cordelia said impatiently. Then, before he could formulate a reply, she went on: "I know it's not fresh, and I had to use egg to thicken it because otherwise it would've been really icky - not that it wasn't really icky - and I don't know how you feel about crème anglais, but-"
Behind them, Wesley said a bit primly, "You had to use egg…?"
"Well, it was my idea," Cordelia amended.
"I didn’t get you anything," Angel said helplessly.
"You mean, besides the Christmas bonus?" Cordelia's tone was pure sugar.
"I didn't-" Angel started. Then, "Fine. A bonus. Merry Christmas, you guys."
"Happy Christmas," said Wesley.
"Merry Christmas," said Cordelia. She released Angel's arm. "Um. You can slice it yourself."
"I think I'm just going to…look at it. For a little while."
"I'm going to put on some music," Wesley said, leaving the kitchen. A minute or two later, Bing Crosby's voice filled the office.
"This is…nice," Angel said quietly. "Thanks. You really didn't have to."
"I know," Cordelia replied. "But, look. Just because you're all full of gloom and doom doesn't mean you can't celebrate."
"I mean, you could be off celebrating with your friends. Come on. That's got to be more fun than hanging out with me and Wes."
"I can think of lots of things that are more fun than hanging out with you and Wes."
"But?"
"But…" She shrugged her slim shoulders. Her lashes lowered. "I don't know. I thought you might be lonely. I knew Wesley would be lonely. Didn't Buffy forgive you last Christmas?"
The kitchen blurred for a moment and Angel saw a small blonde girl in a white coat, ordering him to live. Snow came down like petals. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again he was looking at Cordelia and her blood custard. "I didn't think you knew."
"Like I said, I pick things up. Surprised?"
"By your…uncharacteristic generosity?"
She laughed. "No, by all this!" With a broad sweep of her hand, she indicated the custard, the decorations, the cookies, and - Angel supposed - her dress.
He wasn't all that surprised and he didn't think she'd be hurt, but he made himself say, "Yes," and made himself smile as he said it. It was easier than telling her how touched he was.
"Good." She kissed his cheek, then turned away in a swirl of shiny brown hair and red velvet. Her heels clicked against the linoleum. "This is for you," Angel heard her say to Wesley. "It's not as exciting, but it's not icky."
Paper crinkled.
"Socks. Why, er. How thoughtful, Cordelia."
"I remember you saying your feet were cold."
"I believe I'd just been wading through the sewers."
"Then you definitely need new socks."
"I." Wesley spluttered for a moment more, then finally said, "Thank you."
Angel regarded the custard. He dipped his index finger into one of the red swirls and licked it curiously. Cold. A bit thick. Edible, anyway. He took another taste. Not bad, really. It had been sweet of Cordelia. He smiled at the thought of her going for blood, then realized she'd probably sent Wesley. She'd probably asked Gunn to detain him while she decorated.
Angel went to the window, pushed it open, and leaned against the sill. The black sprawl of city was lit with millions of yellow lights like a swarm of fireflies. The sky hung thick and brownish, the breeze sharp with salt.
He wondered if he was happy. It seemed to him that most of the requirements were fulfilled. He had his team, people who needed him, upon whom he could also depend. He had, as Wesley had jokingly reminded him, a purpose. He didn't have Buffy, but it was right that he shouldn't, and anyway, she was in college, learning things, dating, becoming something more than a Slayer.
Buffy had always been more than a Slayer.
Angel's fingers curled around the windowsill. It's all right, it's all right, he thought. It's right.
Buffy in white. Snow on her lashes. Her small hands, the palms blistered from clutching stakes.
Cordelia behind him, hands on hips. Angel didn't have to turn to know.
"Are you coming? Because I know you need to sulk and brood, but I'm kind of on a schedule here. I actually have a real party to go to tonight."
Yes, Angel thought as he turned, smiling, his team was dependable.
12/10/06