Who I Am, What I'll Become Fic 9: Restless WInds (1-3/3)
Title: Restless Winds (1/3): Story 9 in the "Who I Am, What I'll Become" Series
Author: X_tremeroswellian
Email: faithboscorelli1@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: I *wish* they were mine, but that doesn't count. They're Joss Whedon's. The song is "Sweet Dreams" by the Eurythimics. That's also not mine. However, the character Clayton Gilman is my own creation.
Rating: PG-13 for language and situations and slight sexual content
Spoilers: Up through "Are You Now or Have You Ever Been" with major plot give aways for the first season Angel episodes, "Lonely Hearts," and "She," the first 8 stories in this series-especially the first one, "Illusions," and one scene in here holds resemblance to one from the Angel episode, "Untouched," but was re-worked for storyline purposes. Spoilers for the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode, "Angel."
Summary: As tensions grow among the Angel Investigations team, Cordelia grows restless.
Distribution: Let me know the link. Anyone who has permission to archive the previous stories may take it without asking.
Category: Story
Subcategories: Angst/tension/friendship/romance type of thing.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated.
Dedication: This one's for Julia. Thanks for all the feedback! :)
Author's Note: To everyone who's been reading this series, especially my fellow C/A shippers, I'm having lots of fun writing these fics. There's a long, bumpy road ahead, so hold on. :)
Restless Winds (Part One)
Cordelia stared at the clock on the wall of the Angel Investigations office. It was ten minutes after five in the evening, and she was bored out of her mind.
Wesley was slumped over at the other desk, snoring lightly.
And Angel. Who knew what was going on with him? He hadn't come into the office for three days now, and according to Gunn, he hadn't even left his suite.
Her going back to Sunnydale must have put him into major-brood-over-Buffy mode again.
She hadn't had a vision since she'd saved Dawn, and Gunn and his friends said there hadn't been much vampire or demon activity in the area lately as far as they could tell. She had even called Kate Lockley earlier to see if they were missing out on anything. Kate had told her she hadn't come across any unusual cases lately, either.
So she'd been sitting at her desk for eight hours with virtually nothing to do. For the third day in a row.
Cordelia scowled. It wasn't that she was upset about the lack of evil. She was just incredibly bored. And if there was one thing Cordelia Chase hated, it was being bored.
The telephone began to ring and she snatched it up before it had even finished the first ring. "Angel Investigations! We help the hopeless!" she said eagerly.
"Hi, it's David Nabbit," the voice said uncertainly.
"Hi, David. How are you?"
"Oh, I'm good. I'm having a party tonight and I was hoping you guys could come."
Her face lit up. A party. That's exactly what she needed to break her cycle of boredom. "Sounds great. What time?"
"My place. Around nine. So you'll be there?"
"Count me in. See you tonight." Cordelia hung up the phone and stood up. She rolled her eyes as she realized Wesley hadn't even moved. She debated for a moment whether or not to wake him up. She decided he looked too peaceful to disturb, so she scribbled out a note and left it on his desk. Then she went home to get ready.
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Angel awoke from yet another dream of Darla, his mind confused.
Looking around his dark suite in the Hyperion, he briefly wondered if it was morning or night. A glance at his window that was covered in heavy drapes told him it was late. He couldn't sense the sun at all.
He yawned and turned over on his side. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, Darla was there. She had a way of making him forget time existed. Always had.
Except now...the dreams were getting to be so realistic, it was disturbing. He could smell her in his room even now. It was almost as if she was really there.
But that was impossible. He'd staked her himself three years ago.
Angel sat up and wondered suddenly if Cordelia or Wesley had tried to call him. He reached over to his nightstand and picked up the cell phone that lay there. He frowned when it wouldn't turn on.
Stupid machine.
He felt like hurling it at the wall, but decided against it. Cordelia would get upset, and the last thing he wanted was her anger directed at him.
Angel debated on whether to go downstairs and use the phone at the front desk, or to just roll over and go back to sleep.
The former seemed important. After all, if his cell phone wasn't working, Cordy and Wes may have tried to call him but couldn't. Of course, it also took much more energy to get out of bed, get dressed and walk down all those stairs.
With a groan, Angel forced himself to get out of bed. Yawning, he slowly pulled on a pair of black jeans and a matching long-sleeved shirt.
Then he ever-so-slowly made his way to the lobby of the hotel.
"Hey. Check it out. It's Rip Van Winkle," Gunn said, looking at him. "It's about time you got out of bed. We didn't think you were *ever* coming out."
Angel rubbed his eyes wearily. "What time is it?"
"More like what *day* is it."
He stared. "What?"
"Dude, you haven't come out of that room for three days."
"You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding? It's Friday night," Gunn said, staring at him like he was an idiot.
"Guess I was tired," he mumbled.
"Cordelia called so many times, I almost had the phone disconnected."
"Did she have a vision?" Angel asked in alarm.
"I don't think so."
He walked over to the phone and quickly dialed her home number. On the third ring, the machine picked up. "Cordelia, it's me. Are you there?"
"It's 11 at night. If she's there, she's probably sleeping," Gunn pointed out.
When no one answered, Angel frowned. "There's a phone by her bed. If she was there, she'd answer."
Gunn raised an eyebrow, but Angel didn't notice. He was busy dialing Wesley's number.
"Hello?" Wesley answered sleepily.
"Wes, it's Angel."
"Is everything all right?"
"I hope so. Is Cordelia there?"
"No. She left a note form me at the office. Said she was going to some party Nabbit was throwing."
"Alone?"
"Well, Angel, she is a big girl now," Wesley replied wryly.
Angel tried to tamp down the sudden annoyance he felt for the former-Watcher. "I know that. Gunn said she tried to reach me."
"She's been worried about you."
"So she didn't have a vision?"
There was a pause. "No." He heard Wesley take a deep breath. "Should we expect you at the office tomorrow?" he asked, his voice tense.
"Yes."
"Good. I'll see you then." The line went dead.
Angel frowned, then hung up the receiver.
"Everything all right?" Gunn asked.
"Fine," he responded tersely. "I'm going back to bed." He didn't wait for a response. He walked past Gunn and went back upstairs.
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Sweet dreams are made of these
Who am I to disagree?
I've traveled the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something
Cordelia stood in the corner of the room, sipping a glass of punch and wondering what she was doing there. Had her life really gotten so overwhelming that she couldn't even enjoy a good party now without worrying if some vampires or demons were going to crash it and start killing people?
Not that she hadn't come prepared. There was a bottle of holy water and a cross tucked neatly inside her purse. But that was the point.
She had a life before she learned all these creatures of the night existed. A life that hadn't involved scoping out potential killers, or dreading mind-bending visions, or getting covered head to toe in goo from some nasty demon.
She used to have fun at parties. Hell, she always used to be the life of the party.
Now she was standing in the corner like some wallflower, checking the mirrors every few minutes to make sure all of the party guests had reflections.
She hadn't been asked to dance even once.
That was unacceptable.
Cordelia glanced down at her dress. It was a knee-length, violet-colored silk number that had been one of the only things she'd kept from her "Queen C" days back in Sunnydale. It wasn't terribly fancy, but it was far from some K-mart special. So it couldn't be the dress. She stole a quick glance in the mirror. Not a hair out of place, and her make-up wasn't smudged. She looked a little tired, but other than that...
So what was the deal?
She suddenly had the overwhelming urge to just go home, let Dennis tuck her into bed, and sleep for a couple of days. Cordelia set her glass of punch down and eased her way through the crowd until she found David Nabbit sitting alone in a chair. "David?"
His face brightened. "Hi, Cordelia. Are you having fun?"
"Well, um, actually, I was headed home." His smile left instantly, and she sat down across from him.
"Something tells me *you're* not having much fun."
"Not really," he admitted.
She frowned. "If you don't have fun at parties, why do you throw them?"
David hesitated, then sighed, looking very lost. "I just...get really lonely sometimes, you know?"
A pang of sympathy tugged at her, and she looked down. "Yeah."
He glanced around the party. "I keep thinking that I'll actually enjoy one of these things. Maybe meet some people, make a new friend. It always turns out to be just background noise. I don't even know most of these people." He frowned.
Cordelia shrugged. "You could just tell them to leave."
"No, I couldn't do that. I invited them all here. They'll leave when they're ready," David said with a sigh. He glanced at her. "I'm glad you came."
She smiled at him. "Thanks for asking me." She stood up. "I really should head home, though. I have to work early tomorrow."
He nodded. "See ya."
Cordelia nodded. "See ya." She walked away from him, sighing when she glanced behind her and saw he was staring glumly out the window. What was it that drew these damned broody, depressed men into her life, anyway? She shook her head and started for the door.
Before she had reached the threshold, a tall, good looking man wearing an Aramani suit, and who looked vaguely familiar stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Pardon me, Miss." He stared at her, his blue eyes appraising her.
Cordelia stared right back. "What?"
"Excuse me for staring, but are you a model? No, you couldn't be. I would have recognized you. Sorry. My name is Clayton Gilman," he said, extending his hand to her.
The name echoed in her mind. She had heard it before, somewhere, but couldn't place the name as he lifted her hand to his lips and planted a kiss on the back of it.
"I'm a fashion photographer. I must say, you are stunning. Can I ask what line of work you're in?" he asked, his voice on the edge of enthusiasm.
Cordelia was floored, and she almost couldn't answer him. "I...I'm an administrative assistant for a private investigations firm."
He appeared impressed. "A detective. How intriguing."
"It definitely can be."
"What's the most interesting thing that's ever happened on the job?"
Well, she thought. There was that demon that changed bodies to stay alive. And then there was that Jheira girl that had come to L.A. via portal from another dimension. And she couldn't forget the shape-shifting alien Nasedo that had killed her until another alien--Max Evans--healed her and saved her life.
Of course, she didn't say any of those things to him.
"Actually," she said, thinking quickly. "I'm not really allowed to discuss any of the cases we work on. They're confidential," she said, hoping she sounded professional.
"Oh, right. Of course. I don't know what I was thinking," he said quickly.
"It's no big deal," Cordelia assured him.
He stared again. "I'm sorry. I just can't get over how great you would look on camera. Have you ever considered a modeling career?"
She blinked. "No. I did try acting, though. I wasn't very good at it."
Clayton pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. "This is the address of a photo shoot I'm covering tomorrow for Vogue magazine. If you get a chance, please stop by. I would love to get you on film, show some pictures to some graphic editors I know. You'd be an instant hit, I'm sure of it."
Cordelia smiled. "I'll try to stop by."
"I'm looking forward to it," he said sincerely. He took her hand and kissed the back of it once more. Cordelia glanced past him into the mirror behind them, and was relieved when she saw he had a reflection.
She said a silent thanks to the PTB.
* * *
Part Two
//"You'd always be second best, Cordelia. Just the runner up, never first choice," Nasedo whispered, his breath warm against her ear as he leaned in close, wearing Angel's face.
The knife glittered in his hand as he brought it down into her stomach, her blood spilling everywhere.//
Cordelia whimpered in her sleep, but remained in a state of unconsciousness.
//"You were never good at anything," Buffy said coolly. "You were a waste of time and a waste of space, and I'm sure Angel only keeps you around out of pity. We all threw a party when you left town. And Xander partied the hardest of all."//
//This is the last face you're ever gonna see," Nasedo whispered, hovering above her as her life drained away.//
//"You'd always be second best, Cordelia."//
"...Angel only keeps you around out of pity..."//
Cordelia woke up in a cold sweat. "Dennis?" Instantly her bedroom light flickered on, ridding the room of all its shadows. "Thanks," she said gratefully. She climbed out of bed, shivering, and quickly pulled on her terrycloth robe, wrapping it around her tightly.
She looked around the room, disgusted that she'd only been asleep for three hours. The really bad part was that she was due in at Angel Investigations in just four hours.
Why was it she had to work on weekends? Oh, yeah. Cause evil things don't stop doing evil just because it was Saturday and she'd rather sleep in.
"Now I'm starting to think like Wesley," she said, rolling her eyes. She left her bedroom and walked down the hall to her living room. She curled up on the couch and grabbed the television remote.
She flipped through the stations until she found The Crocodile Hunter on the Discovery Channel. Then she laid down and Dennis covered her up with an old afghan.
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"Is Cordelia coming in today?" Angel asked testily as he sat down at his desk.
"I'm sure she is." Wesley didn't look up from his book. "Would you like to tell me what's been going on with you lately?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, of course. That's why you've been blowing off your job as investigator."
"Not like we've had any cases."
"Not like you would know if we had," Wesley retorted.
"Wesley, do you have a problem?" Angel demanded.
He rose to his feet. "Yes. Perhaps I do. Cordelia and I have been doing everything around here while you've been locked in your room--"
"What's going on?"
Both men turned to see Cordelia standing in the doorway.
"You're late," Angel snapped.
"So are you. By about three days," she shot back.
Angel glared at her. "I'm the boss here. So why don't we pretend that you work for me?"
Cordelia glared right back at him, her eyes narrowed and dark. "What the hell is your problem?"
As angry as he felt, Wesley realized he'd better intervene. He'd only seen Cordelia truly angry a couple of times, but from those brief experiences he'd learned that her temper could match if not outrun Angel's any given day. He had no intention of letting the two of them kill each other. "Okay, let's just calm down," he said gently, keeping his voice firm and level.
"Then why don't we pretend that you don't?" Angel said angrily, completely ignoring Wesley.
So much for intervening, he thought.
Dead silence.
Cordelia and Angel stared at one another for a long moment. Then she promptly turned around and walked out.
Angel swore under his breath, but made no move to go after her. Wesley gave him a dirty look. Then he darted out the door and hurried after his fleeing friend. "Cordelia!" He ran down the steps and caught up with her on the landing. "Cordelia!" He grabbed her arm.
She whirled around to face him. "God! What is his deal? He doesn't come to work for three days and when he finally does, he's grouchier than a damned grizzly bear with P.M.S.!"
"I think perhaps Angel has some things he has to work out on his own."
"Like what? Brooding over Buffy?" she asked sarcastically.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Well, I'll be damned if I'll let him take it out on me. I'm out of here." She turned to go.
"You can't quit."
"I know that. I can't quit anymore than he can fire me. We're sort of bound together because of the whole vision-thing, remember?" There was a hint of bitterness to her tone.
Wesley sighed. "He didn't mean it."
Cordelia took a deep breath. "I know." All of her anger seemed to drain away as she leaned against the stair rail.
"Are you all right?"
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't sleep well."
Wesley frowned and studied her briefly. "Are you ill?" He raised his hand and pressed his palm to her forehead, relieved that she didn't seem to have a fever.
"No, I was just...restless," she answered vaguely.
"Maybe you should go back home and get some sleep."
"No. Weird as it sounds, I'm not even tired. I think I'm going to go for a walk. I'll be back later."
"Cordelia?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to get hit by any cars," he said jokingly.
Cordelia's lips turned up in a smile. "I'll see what I can do."
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Cordelia walked down Main Street, window shopping as she tried to calm down. She hadn't lied last night when she'd told Clayton she was an administrative assistant at Angel Investigations. A year ago it would have been a lie. A year ago, all she'd done was answer phones and set up appointments.
But now?
Now she did that, plus the financial bookwork, researching, hacking into different databases, decrypting files, making coffee, cleaning the office, not to mention going out on all the cases they had. She fought vampires, demons, evil-shape-shifting aliens, and Wolfram and Hart lawyers. Oh, then there was the fact that she was Angel's sole connection to the PTB. Without her visions, they'd be fighting blind.
And she did all of it for him, and for the most part, sans complaining.
She didn't even get paid overtime. Not that Angel could really afford it anyway. After all, their lack of clientele lately was becoming more noticeable with each passing day and things were getting tight budget-wise.
Not that Angel knew that. Or cared.
She started to feel angry all over again. What right did he have to talk to her like that? She wasn't a doormat. Not even for a 247-year-old brooding vampire whom she considered to be one of her best friends.
She was still Cordelia Chase.
Except now...she was beginning to wonder just who that was anymore. She paused at a store window, her reflection catching her attention. For a long moment she just stared. Then it hit her. And suddenly she knew what she had to do.
It was time for her to get a life.
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Cordelia lingered in the doorway of the room where Clayton was doing the photo shoot. She looked around in surprise, utterly amazed at the set-up. The outside of the building was rundown and she never would have guessed that inside a famous photographer was doing a shoot for one of the most prestigious magazines in America.
Clayton turned and saw her, a smile lighting up his face. She returned the gesture. "All right, everyone, take ten," he shouted to the models and crew. He walked over to her. "Ms. Chase, I'm so glad you could make it."
"Yeah, well, I took the afternoon off," she informed him, pleased when he kissed the back of her hand. "And you can call me Cordelia."
His smile broadened. "Why don't you come into my office where we can talk in private?" Cordelia followed him to a small room he was using as a makeshift office. "As you can see, everything here's temporary. We rarely film at the same location more than once. When the public hears that we're using a certain building for a shoot, too many people try to drop by in hopes of being discovered."
She nodded in understanding. "So that's why the low-profile local."
"Exactly. You're a quick learner, I see." Clayton sounded pleased.
Cordelia smiled. "Well, I sort of have to be."
"Ah, that's right. You're in the private investigations business." He picked up a file and flipped through some papers. "Do you have an agent? You mentioned you tried acting."
"Yes, I do. Did, actually. I'm sort of a free-lancer now."
"Well, someone of your beauty rarely needs an agent." Clayton leaned forward. "What are you doing this evening?"
She paused. "Nothing."
"Excellent. Would you like to hang around here? See how things are done?"
"That would be great."
"And then after we've wrapped up this particular shoot, perhaps you'd allow me to get a few snapshots. I want to get started as soon as possible," he said, smiling.
Cordelia smiled back. "I'd like that, too."
Clayton stood up and she followed him out of his office. "Trudi! Get Cordelia a chair and some spring water!" he shouted to his assistant.
A moment later, Trudi, a pretty, petite woman with red hair that reminded her a bit of Willow pulled out a director's chair and ushered her into it. She handed Cordelia a bottle of water. "Can I get you anything else?"
"No, this is fine, thanks," she said in amazement as she watched Clayton cross the room and start fiddling with his camera.
"All right people! Let's get started so we can get done today!" Clayton turned and flashed her another smile.
Cordelia couldn't help it. There was just something about him. She smiled back.
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"So tell me about yourself. I want to know everything," Clayton told her later that evening as he adjusted the tripod for his camera. "Head back, chin up," he instructed.
Cordelia leaned her head back slightly and tilted her chin. "There's not much to tell."
Not much I *can* tell, she corrected herself mentally.
"I'm sure that's not true. Are you from L.A.?" He snapped a photo. "Turn your face to the right a bit. There. That's perfect."
"I was actually born in a little town north of here called Sunnydale."
"I've heard of that. It's supposed to be a nice place to raise a family."
She choked back a sarcastic comment. "It's lovely," she lied. "What about you?"
"L.A. born and raised. Went to New York for a bit, but missed the West Coast," he informed her. "Okay, why don't you lie down for the next couple of shots?"
Cordelia laid down on the velvet couch that was behind her. "Like this?" she asked.
He frowned, tilted his head to one side, and then shook his head. He moved to her side and gently moved her arm so it was draped over the armrest above her head.
She started to feel like she was doing the shot from Titanic where Jack drew Rose, except...well, she was dressed. She smiled involuntarily.
Clayton smiled down at her and her breath caught in her throat. Their eyes locked and for one long moment, she was certain he was about to kiss her. He leaned in close. "You look amazing. Breathtaking. Don't move a muscle," he warned as he got up suddenly and rushed to his camera.
Cordelia held still, trying to push aside the disappointment she felt. He snapped the shot. Then another, and one more after that.
"All right. I think we're all done here."
She stood up slowly, smoothing down her skirt, hoping it wasn't too wrinkled. "Well, thank you."
"No. Thank you." Clayton paused. "I don't normally do this, and I hope it doesn't sound too unprofessional, but...would you like to have dinner with me?"
Cordelia met his eyes. "I'd love to."
* * *
Part Three
Wesley was asleep outside of her apartment.
Cordelia stared down at him in confusion. It was nearly midnight. What the hell was he doing sleeping in the hallway?
"Wesley? Wesley! Wake up," she said, shaking him.
His eyes opened. "Cordelia." He yawned.
"What are you doing?"
"I was, uh...waiting for you."
"Okay. Why?"
"Because...you said you were coming back to the office and you never did. I was worried."
Cordelia suddenly felt guilty. "Sorry, Wes. I didn't mean to make you worry. I just lost track of time." He stood up as she unlocked the door to her apartment and held it open for him. "Come on in."
Wesley followed her into the living room, shutting the door behind them. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice concerned.
"I'm fine. I..." she hesitated. "Met someone. We went to dinner."
He stared at her. "What?"
Cordelia tried not to feel annoyed by the shock in his voice. "I went out on a date. You know. That thing where a guy asks a girl out and pays for dinner. Sometimes a movie or dancing is involved. Ring any bells?"
Wesley blinked. "Vaguely. May I ask who this 'guy' is?"
"Don't even think of going into overprotective mode," she warned. "He's a gentleman, and a famous photographer."
"Really? Anyone I would have heard of?"
She raised an eyebrow. "He's a fashion photographer, Wesley."
"Oh."
"His name is Clayton Gilman." She watched him for a reaction.
"I see." He hesitated. "And how was your date?"
Cordelia smiled. "It was great." She dropped her purse onto the couch. "And, guess what else?"
"What?"
"He's going to show some of my photos to a bunch of fashion editors for magazines he free-lances for."
"Modeling?" Wesley stared at her.
"Gee, Wes. Could you sound a little less enthusiastic? I'm overwhelmed by your excitement here," she said sarcastically.
"It's just...what about Angel?"
"What about Angel?" she demanded.
"You already have a job."
"Doesn't mean I can't have a second one. It's not like I'm rolling in dough here on what Angel pays me," Cordelia pointed out. "Besides, it's not like we're real busy at work, anyway. And even if we were, Angel's too preoccupied with whatever it is he's brooding over to actually save any souls." She frowned, feeling upset about her confrontation with Angel earlier.
"Yes, he is very preoccupied lately," Wesley agreed quietly with a sigh. "Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with him."
"Well, if he's too proud to talk to us about what's going on he doesn't need to take it out on us, either." She glanced at him. "Did he say anything when I left?"
He paused. "No. Actually, he left shortly after you did."
Cordelia rolled her eyes in disgust. "Well, I for one, am not going to sit and fret over whatever it is. If he doesn't want to talk to me, fine. If he wants to be a big jerk, fine. But I'm going to get a life. Maybe you should think about doing the same."
"Cordelia," Wesley hesitated again.
"What?"
He looked down. "It's just...I don't want to be the only one to..." his voice trailed off.
She realized what he was trying to say and she sat down next to him. "I'm not quitting Angel Investigations, Wesley. It's not even a sure deal. I'm not sure any of the editors will want me to model for their magazines, anyway."
Wesley glanced at her. "Of course they will. They'd be fools not to."
Cordelia smiled, touched. "Thanks. But regardless of what happens, I'm not going anywhere. You're not going to be alone, Wesley."
He smiled back, looking relieved. "So how did you meet Mr. Gilman, anyway?"
"Well, I was at David's party last night, and I was getting ready to leave when suddenly out of nowhere he was there..."
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Cordelia lay awake, staring at her bedroom ceiling at three in the morning again.
No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to fall asleep and stay that way. She sighed and turned over onto her side, staring out the window for a change. She could see the stars in the sky from that angle.
Something kept tugging at the back of her mind, and she found she couldn't ignore it.
Angel had never spoken to her like that before. *Ever.*
Sure, he occasionally got angry or upset and raised his voice a bit, but he had never actually yelled at her before.
She had only been fifteen minutes late. He wouldn't have snapped at her like that over something so petty unless...
Unless something was wrong.
Cordelia reached over and picked up her telephone receiver, hitting button one on speed dial. She wasn't terribly surprised when there was no answer. So either he'd forgotten to turn his cell phone on, or he'd just left it off on purpose.
She considered calling the front desk of the Hyperion, knowing someone--probably Gunn--would be awake and there in case someone needed a place to stay. She thought about having him go to Angel's room and bringing him to the phone; then she grimaced at the thought. First of all, she was pretty sure Gunn didn't like her all that much, and secondly, Angel would be pissed if she'd sent Gunn to wake him up for no real reason.
She tried to push all thoughts of Angel out of her mind, and attempted to focus on thoughts of Clayton instead. He was a nice guy, definitely a gentleman, and a well-dressed one at that. He had a good job, and she sincerely liked him. They'd had a good time at dinner, talking about celebrities, fashion, and modeling. She enjoyed his company. Which was a good thing, considering the fact that he'd asked her out to dinner later that week and she'd said yes.
Maybe this was exactly what she needed. Something to distract her from her non-life. Something that she could look forward to.
So why didn't she feel peaceful like she had a few weeks ago?
That name crept into her conscious mind again and she sat up, highly annoyed. "Dammit, Angel. You're the one being the jerk, so why the hell should I be the one stuck feeling guilty?" she said aloud.
Her water glass floated off her nightstand and hovered in front of her. She smiled despite her mood. "Thanks, Dennis. Don't worry, I'm not going insane or anything." She took a drink of the water and set it back down. "Angel and I had this fight today. You know how I mentioned he hasn't been to work in three days? Well, he got mad at me today because I was a few minutes late. He actually hinted that maybe I shouldn't work for him anymore. Jerk."
Cordelia stared at her bedspread in the darkness. "It's not like I can quit, even if I wanted to. Which I don't. At least I don't think I do. I don't know. What if he really doesn't want me there anymore? What if...Buffy was right and he's just keeping me around out of pity or something?"
Her light flipped on and lipstick writing appeared on her mirror. "She's wrong," it read.
She smiled. "Thanks. It's just...he's acting all weird. I mean, okay, he's broody and he's always been broody, but now...he's broody and he was mean to me. He's never been *mean* to me before. So why do I feel guilty for it? I didn't do anything wrong. At least I don't think I did." She sighed in frustration and climbed out of bed. She walked over to her window and unlocked it before she pulled it open. She breathed in a lungful of fresh air, and felt a bit calmer.
She climbed up and sat on the windowsill. The wind was warm and she could smell the salt from the Pacific. She looked across the way, staring at all the twinkling city lights.
"What I'm going to do, Dennis?" she whispered.
Her only response was from the restless wind murmuring tales of its own melancholia.
~The End~
Author: X_tremeroswellian
Email: faithboscorelli1@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: I *wish* they were mine, but that doesn't count. They're Joss Whedon's. The song is "Sweet Dreams" by the Eurythimics. That's also not mine. However, the character Clayton Gilman is my own creation.
Rating: PG-13 for language and situations and slight sexual content
Spoilers: Up through "Are You Now or Have You Ever Been" with major plot give aways for the first season Angel episodes, "Lonely Hearts," and "She," the first 8 stories in this series-especially the first one, "Illusions," and one scene in here holds resemblance to one from the Angel episode, "Untouched," but was re-worked for storyline purposes. Spoilers for the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode, "Angel."
Summary: As tensions grow among the Angel Investigations team, Cordelia grows restless.
Distribution: Let me know the link. Anyone who has permission to archive the previous stories may take it without asking.
Category: Story
Subcategories: Angst/tension/friendship/romance type of thing.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated.
Dedication: This one's for Julia. Thanks for all the feedback! :)
Author's Note: To everyone who's been reading this series, especially my fellow C/A shippers, I'm having lots of fun writing these fics. There's a long, bumpy road ahead, so hold on. :)
Restless Winds (Part One)
Cordelia stared at the clock on the wall of the Angel Investigations office. It was ten minutes after five in the evening, and she was bored out of her mind.
Wesley was slumped over at the other desk, snoring lightly.
And Angel. Who knew what was going on with him? He hadn't come into the office for three days now, and according to Gunn, he hadn't even left his suite.
Her going back to Sunnydale must have put him into major-brood-over-Buffy mode again.
She hadn't had a vision since she'd saved Dawn, and Gunn and his friends said there hadn't been much vampire or demon activity in the area lately as far as they could tell. She had even called Kate Lockley earlier to see if they were missing out on anything. Kate had told her she hadn't come across any unusual cases lately, either.
So she'd been sitting at her desk for eight hours with virtually nothing to do. For the third day in a row.
Cordelia scowled. It wasn't that she was upset about the lack of evil. She was just incredibly bored. And if there was one thing Cordelia Chase hated, it was being bored.
The telephone began to ring and she snatched it up before it had even finished the first ring. "Angel Investigations! We help the hopeless!" she said eagerly.
"Hi, it's David Nabbit," the voice said uncertainly.
"Hi, David. How are you?"
"Oh, I'm good. I'm having a party tonight and I was hoping you guys could come."
Her face lit up. A party. That's exactly what she needed to break her cycle of boredom. "Sounds great. What time?"
"My place. Around nine. So you'll be there?"
"Count me in. See you tonight." Cordelia hung up the phone and stood up. She rolled her eyes as she realized Wesley hadn't even moved. She debated for a moment whether or not to wake him up. She decided he looked too peaceful to disturb, so she scribbled out a note and left it on his desk. Then she went home to get ready.
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Angel awoke from yet another dream of Darla, his mind confused.
Looking around his dark suite in the Hyperion, he briefly wondered if it was morning or night. A glance at his window that was covered in heavy drapes told him it was late. He couldn't sense the sun at all.
He yawned and turned over on his side. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, Darla was there. She had a way of making him forget time existed. Always had.
Except now...the dreams were getting to be so realistic, it was disturbing. He could smell her in his room even now. It was almost as if she was really there.
But that was impossible. He'd staked her himself three years ago.
Angel sat up and wondered suddenly if Cordelia or Wesley had tried to call him. He reached over to his nightstand and picked up the cell phone that lay there. He frowned when it wouldn't turn on.
Stupid machine.
He felt like hurling it at the wall, but decided against it. Cordelia would get upset, and the last thing he wanted was her anger directed at him.
Angel debated on whether to go downstairs and use the phone at the front desk, or to just roll over and go back to sleep.
The former seemed important. After all, if his cell phone wasn't working, Cordy and Wes may have tried to call him but couldn't. Of course, it also took much more energy to get out of bed, get dressed and walk down all those stairs.
With a groan, Angel forced himself to get out of bed. Yawning, he slowly pulled on a pair of black jeans and a matching long-sleeved shirt.
Then he ever-so-slowly made his way to the lobby of the hotel.
"Hey. Check it out. It's Rip Van Winkle," Gunn said, looking at him. "It's about time you got out of bed. We didn't think you were *ever* coming out."
Angel rubbed his eyes wearily. "What time is it?"
"More like what *day* is it."
He stared. "What?"
"Dude, you haven't come out of that room for three days."
"You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding? It's Friday night," Gunn said, staring at him like he was an idiot.
"Guess I was tired," he mumbled.
"Cordelia called so many times, I almost had the phone disconnected."
"Did she have a vision?" Angel asked in alarm.
"I don't think so."
He walked over to the phone and quickly dialed her home number. On the third ring, the machine picked up. "Cordelia, it's me. Are you there?"
"It's 11 at night. If she's there, she's probably sleeping," Gunn pointed out.
When no one answered, Angel frowned. "There's a phone by her bed. If she was there, she'd answer."
Gunn raised an eyebrow, but Angel didn't notice. He was busy dialing Wesley's number.
"Hello?" Wesley answered sleepily.
"Wes, it's Angel."
"Is everything all right?"
"I hope so. Is Cordelia there?"
"No. She left a note form me at the office. Said she was going to some party Nabbit was throwing."
"Alone?"
"Well, Angel, she is a big girl now," Wesley replied wryly.
Angel tried to tamp down the sudden annoyance he felt for the former-Watcher. "I know that. Gunn said she tried to reach me."
"She's been worried about you."
"So she didn't have a vision?"
There was a pause. "No." He heard Wesley take a deep breath. "Should we expect you at the office tomorrow?" he asked, his voice tense.
"Yes."
"Good. I'll see you then." The line went dead.
Angel frowned, then hung up the receiver.
"Everything all right?" Gunn asked.
"Fine," he responded tersely. "I'm going back to bed." He didn't wait for a response. He walked past Gunn and went back upstairs.
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Sweet dreams are made of these
Who am I to disagree?
I've traveled the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something
Cordelia stood in the corner of the room, sipping a glass of punch and wondering what she was doing there. Had her life really gotten so overwhelming that she couldn't even enjoy a good party now without worrying if some vampires or demons were going to crash it and start killing people?
Not that she hadn't come prepared. There was a bottle of holy water and a cross tucked neatly inside her purse. But that was the point.
She had a life before she learned all these creatures of the night existed. A life that hadn't involved scoping out potential killers, or dreading mind-bending visions, or getting covered head to toe in goo from some nasty demon.
She used to have fun at parties. Hell, she always used to be the life of the party.
Now she was standing in the corner like some wallflower, checking the mirrors every few minutes to make sure all of the party guests had reflections.
She hadn't been asked to dance even once.
That was unacceptable.
Cordelia glanced down at her dress. It was a knee-length, violet-colored silk number that had been one of the only things she'd kept from her "Queen C" days back in Sunnydale. It wasn't terribly fancy, but it was far from some K-mart special. So it couldn't be the dress. She stole a quick glance in the mirror. Not a hair out of place, and her make-up wasn't smudged. She looked a little tired, but other than that...
So what was the deal?
She suddenly had the overwhelming urge to just go home, let Dennis tuck her into bed, and sleep for a couple of days. Cordelia set her glass of punch down and eased her way through the crowd until she found David Nabbit sitting alone in a chair. "David?"
His face brightened. "Hi, Cordelia. Are you having fun?"
"Well, um, actually, I was headed home." His smile left instantly, and she sat down across from him.
"Something tells me *you're* not having much fun."
"Not really," he admitted.
She frowned. "If you don't have fun at parties, why do you throw them?"
David hesitated, then sighed, looking very lost. "I just...get really lonely sometimes, you know?"
A pang of sympathy tugged at her, and she looked down. "Yeah."
He glanced around the party. "I keep thinking that I'll actually enjoy one of these things. Maybe meet some people, make a new friend. It always turns out to be just background noise. I don't even know most of these people." He frowned.
Cordelia shrugged. "You could just tell them to leave."
"No, I couldn't do that. I invited them all here. They'll leave when they're ready," David said with a sigh. He glanced at her. "I'm glad you came."
She smiled at him. "Thanks for asking me." She stood up. "I really should head home, though. I have to work early tomorrow."
He nodded. "See ya."
Cordelia nodded. "See ya." She walked away from him, sighing when she glanced behind her and saw he was staring glumly out the window. What was it that drew these damned broody, depressed men into her life, anyway? She shook her head and started for the door.
Before she had reached the threshold, a tall, good looking man wearing an Aramani suit, and who looked vaguely familiar stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Pardon me, Miss." He stared at her, his blue eyes appraising her.
Cordelia stared right back. "What?"
"Excuse me for staring, but are you a model? No, you couldn't be. I would have recognized you. Sorry. My name is Clayton Gilman," he said, extending his hand to her.
The name echoed in her mind. She had heard it before, somewhere, but couldn't place the name as he lifted her hand to his lips and planted a kiss on the back of it.
"I'm a fashion photographer. I must say, you are stunning. Can I ask what line of work you're in?" he asked, his voice on the edge of enthusiasm.
Cordelia was floored, and she almost couldn't answer him. "I...I'm an administrative assistant for a private investigations firm."
He appeared impressed. "A detective. How intriguing."
"It definitely can be."
"What's the most interesting thing that's ever happened on the job?"
Well, she thought. There was that demon that changed bodies to stay alive. And then there was that Jheira girl that had come to L.A. via portal from another dimension. And she couldn't forget the shape-shifting alien Nasedo that had killed her until another alien--Max Evans--healed her and saved her life.
Of course, she didn't say any of those things to him.
"Actually," she said, thinking quickly. "I'm not really allowed to discuss any of the cases we work on. They're confidential," she said, hoping she sounded professional.
"Oh, right. Of course. I don't know what I was thinking," he said quickly.
"It's no big deal," Cordelia assured him.
He stared again. "I'm sorry. I just can't get over how great you would look on camera. Have you ever considered a modeling career?"
She blinked. "No. I did try acting, though. I wasn't very good at it."
Clayton pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. "This is the address of a photo shoot I'm covering tomorrow for Vogue magazine. If you get a chance, please stop by. I would love to get you on film, show some pictures to some graphic editors I know. You'd be an instant hit, I'm sure of it."
Cordelia smiled. "I'll try to stop by."
"I'm looking forward to it," he said sincerely. He took her hand and kissed the back of it once more. Cordelia glanced past him into the mirror behind them, and was relieved when she saw he had a reflection.
She said a silent thanks to the PTB.
* * *
Part Two
//"You'd always be second best, Cordelia. Just the runner up, never first choice," Nasedo whispered, his breath warm against her ear as he leaned in close, wearing Angel's face.
The knife glittered in his hand as he brought it down into her stomach, her blood spilling everywhere.//
Cordelia whimpered in her sleep, but remained in a state of unconsciousness.
//"You were never good at anything," Buffy said coolly. "You were a waste of time and a waste of space, and I'm sure Angel only keeps you around out of pity. We all threw a party when you left town. And Xander partied the hardest of all."//
//This is the last face you're ever gonna see," Nasedo whispered, hovering above her as her life drained away.//
//"You'd always be second best, Cordelia."//
"...Angel only keeps you around out of pity..."//
Cordelia woke up in a cold sweat. "Dennis?" Instantly her bedroom light flickered on, ridding the room of all its shadows. "Thanks," she said gratefully. She climbed out of bed, shivering, and quickly pulled on her terrycloth robe, wrapping it around her tightly.
She looked around the room, disgusted that she'd only been asleep for three hours. The really bad part was that she was due in at Angel Investigations in just four hours.
Why was it she had to work on weekends? Oh, yeah. Cause evil things don't stop doing evil just because it was Saturday and she'd rather sleep in.
"Now I'm starting to think like Wesley," she said, rolling her eyes. She left her bedroom and walked down the hall to her living room. She curled up on the couch and grabbed the television remote.
She flipped through the stations until she found The Crocodile Hunter on the Discovery Channel. Then she laid down and Dennis covered her up with an old afghan.
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"Is Cordelia coming in today?" Angel asked testily as he sat down at his desk.
"I'm sure she is." Wesley didn't look up from his book. "Would you like to tell me what's been going on with you lately?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, of course. That's why you've been blowing off your job as investigator."
"Not like we've had any cases."
"Not like you would know if we had," Wesley retorted.
"Wesley, do you have a problem?" Angel demanded.
He rose to his feet. "Yes. Perhaps I do. Cordelia and I have been doing everything around here while you've been locked in your room--"
"What's going on?"
Both men turned to see Cordelia standing in the doorway.
"You're late," Angel snapped.
"So are you. By about three days," she shot back.
Angel glared at her. "I'm the boss here. So why don't we pretend that you work for me?"
Cordelia glared right back at him, her eyes narrowed and dark. "What the hell is your problem?"
As angry as he felt, Wesley realized he'd better intervene. He'd only seen Cordelia truly angry a couple of times, but from those brief experiences he'd learned that her temper could match if not outrun Angel's any given day. He had no intention of letting the two of them kill each other. "Okay, let's just calm down," he said gently, keeping his voice firm and level.
"Then why don't we pretend that you don't?" Angel said angrily, completely ignoring Wesley.
So much for intervening, he thought.
Dead silence.
Cordelia and Angel stared at one another for a long moment. Then she promptly turned around and walked out.
Angel swore under his breath, but made no move to go after her. Wesley gave him a dirty look. Then he darted out the door and hurried after his fleeing friend. "Cordelia!" He ran down the steps and caught up with her on the landing. "Cordelia!" He grabbed her arm.
She whirled around to face him. "God! What is his deal? He doesn't come to work for three days and when he finally does, he's grouchier than a damned grizzly bear with P.M.S.!"
"I think perhaps Angel has some things he has to work out on his own."
"Like what? Brooding over Buffy?" she asked sarcastically.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Well, I'll be damned if I'll let him take it out on me. I'm out of here." She turned to go.
"You can't quit."
"I know that. I can't quit anymore than he can fire me. We're sort of bound together because of the whole vision-thing, remember?" There was a hint of bitterness to her tone.
Wesley sighed. "He didn't mean it."
Cordelia took a deep breath. "I know." All of her anger seemed to drain away as she leaned against the stair rail.
"Are you all right?"
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't sleep well."
Wesley frowned and studied her briefly. "Are you ill?" He raised his hand and pressed his palm to her forehead, relieved that she didn't seem to have a fever.
"No, I was just...restless," she answered vaguely.
"Maybe you should go back home and get some sleep."
"No. Weird as it sounds, I'm not even tired. I think I'm going to go for a walk. I'll be back later."
"Cordelia?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to get hit by any cars," he said jokingly.
Cordelia's lips turned up in a smile. "I'll see what I can do."
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Cordelia walked down Main Street, window shopping as she tried to calm down. She hadn't lied last night when she'd told Clayton she was an administrative assistant at Angel Investigations. A year ago it would have been a lie. A year ago, all she'd done was answer phones and set up appointments.
But now?
Now she did that, plus the financial bookwork, researching, hacking into different databases, decrypting files, making coffee, cleaning the office, not to mention going out on all the cases they had. She fought vampires, demons, evil-shape-shifting aliens, and Wolfram and Hart lawyers. Oh, then there was the fact that she was Angel's sole connection to the PTB. Without her visions, they'd be fighting blind.
And she did all of it for him, and for the most part, sans complaining.
She didn't even get paid overtime. Not that Angel could really afford it anyway. After all, their lack of clientele lately was becoming more noticeable with each passing day and things were getting tight budget-wise.
Not that Angel knew that. Or cared.
She started to feel angry all over again. What right did he have to talk to her like that? She wasn't a doormat. Not even for a 247-year-old brooding vampire whom she considered to be one of her best friends.
She was still Cordelia Chase.
Except now...she was beginning to wonder just who that was anymore. She paused at a store window, her reflection catching her attention. For a long moment she just stared. Then it hit her. And suddenly she knew what she had to do.
It was time for her to get a life.
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Cordelia lingered in the doorway of the room where Clayton was doing the photo shoot. She looked around in surprise, utterly amazed at the set-up. The outside of the building was rundown and she never would have guessed that inside a famous photographer was doing a shoot for one of the most prestigious magazines in America.
Clayton turned and saw her, a smile lighting up his face. She returned the gesture. "All right, everyone, take ten," he shouted to the models and crew. He walked over to her. "Ms. Chase, I'm so glad you could make it."
"Yeah, well, I took the afternoon off," she informed him, pleased when he kissed the back of her hand. "And you can call me Cordelia."
His smile broadened. "Why don't you come into my office where we can talk in private?" Cordelia followed him to a small room he was using as a makeshift office. "As you can see, everything here's temporary. We rarely film at the same location more than once. When the public hears that we're using a certain building for a shoot, too many people try to drop by in hopes of being discovered."
She nodded in understanding. "So that's why the low-profile local."
"Exactly. You're a quick learner, I see." Clayton sounded pleased.
Cordelia smiled. "Well, I sort of have to be."
"Ah, that's right. You're in the private investigations business." He picked up a file and flipped through some papers. "Do you have an agent? You mentioned you tried acting."
"Yes, I do. Did, actually. I'm sort of a free-lancer now."
"Well, someone of your beauty rarely needs an agent." Clayton leaned forward. "What are you doing this evening?"
She paused. "Nothing."
"Excellent. Would you like to hang around here? See how things are done?"
"That would be great."
"And then after we've wrapped up this particular shoot, perhaps you'd allow me to get a few snapshots. I want to get started as soon as possible," he said, smiling.
Cordelia smiled back. "I'd like that, too."
Clayton stood up and she followed him out of his office. "Trudi! Get Cordelia a chair and some spring water!" he shouted to his assistant.
A moment later, Trudi, a pretty, petite woman with red hair that reminded her a bit of Willow pulled out a director's chair and ushered her into it. She handed Cordelia a bottle of water. "Can I get you anything else?"
"No, this is fine, thanks," she said in amazement as she watched Clayton cross the room and start fiddling with his camera.
"All right people! Let's get started so we can get done today!" Clayton turned and flashed her another smile.
Cordelia couldn't help it. There was just something about him. She smiled back.
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"So tell me about yourself. I want to know everything," Clayton told her later that evening as he adjusted the tripod for his camera. "Head back, chin up," he instructed.
Cordelia leaned her head back slightly and tilted her chin. "There's not much to tell."
Not much I *can* tell, she corrected herself mentally.
"I'm sure that's not true. Are you from L.A.?" He snapped a photo. "Turn your face to the right a bit. There. That's perfect."
"I was actually born in a little town north of here called Sunnydale."
"I've heard of that. It's supposed to be a nice place to raise a family."
She choked back a sarcastic comment. "It's lovely," she lied. "What about you?"
"L.A. born and raised. Went to New York for a bit, but missed the West Coast," he informed her. "Okay, why don't you lie down for the next couple of shots?"
Cordelia laid down on the velvet couch that was behind her. "Like this?" she asked.
He frowned, tilted his head to one side, and then shook his head. He moved to her side and gently moved her arm so it was draped over the armrest above her head.
She started to feel like she was doing the shot from Titanic where Jack drew Rose, except...well, she was dressed. She smiled involuntarily.
Clayton smiled down at her and her breath caught in her throat. Their eyes locked and for one long moment, she was certain he was about to kiss her. He leaned in close. "You look amazing. Breathtaking. Don't move a muscle," he warned as he got up suddenly and rushed to his camera.
Cordelia held still, trying to push aside the disappointment she felt. He snapped the shot. Then another, and one more after that.
"All right. I think we're all done here."
She stood up slowly, smoothing down her skirt, hoping it wasn't too wrinkled. "Well, thank you."
"No. Thank you." Clayton paused. "I don't normally do this, and I hope it doesn't sound too unprofessional, but...would you like to have dinner with me?"
Cordelia met his eyes. "I'd love to."
* * *
Part Three
Wesley was asleep outside of her apartment.
Cordelia stared down at him in confusion. It was nearly midnight. What the hell was he doing sleeping in the hallway?
"Wesley? Wesley! Wake up," she said, shaking him.
His eyes opened. "Cordelia." He yawned.
"What are you doing?"
"I was, uh...waiting for you."
"Okay. Why?"
"Because...you said you were coming back to the office and you never did. I was worried."
Cordelia suddenly felt guilty. "Sorry, Wes. I didn't mean to make you worry. I just lost track of time." He stood up as she unlocked the door to her apartment and held it open for him. "Come on in."
Wesley followed her into the living room, shutting the door behind them. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice concerned.
"I'm fine. I..." she hesitated. "Met someone. We went to dinner."
He stared at her. "What?"
Cordelia tried not to feel annoyed by the shock in his voice. "I went out on a date. You know. That thing where a guy asks a girl out and pays for dinner. Sometimes a movie or dancing is involved. Ring any bells?"
Wesley blinked. "Vaguely. May I ask who this 'guy' is?"
"Don't even think of going into overprotective mode," she warned. "He's a gentleman, and a famous photographer."
"Really? Anyone I would have heard of?"
She raised an eyebrow. "He's a fashion photographer, Wesley."
"Oh."
"His name is Clayton Gilman." She watched him for a reaction.
"I see." He hesitated. "And how was your date?"
Cordelia smiled. "It was great." She dropped her purse onto the couch. "And, guess what else?"
"What?"
"He's going to show some of my photos to a bunch of fashion editors for magazines he free-lances for."
"Modeling?" Wesley stared at her.
"Gee, Wes. Could you sound a little less enthusiastic? I'm overwhelmed by your excitement here," she said sarcastically.
"It's just...what about Angel?"
"What about Angel?" she demanded.
"You already have a job."
"Doesn't mean I can't have a second one. It's not like I'm rolling in dough here on what Angel pays me," Cordelia pointed out. "Besides, it's not like we're real busy at work, anyway. And even if we were, Angel's too preoccupied with whatever it is he's brooding over to actually save any souls." She frowned, feeling upset about her confrontation with Angel earlier.
"Yes, he is very preoccupied lately," Wesley agreed quietly with a sigh. "Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with him."
"Well, if he's too proud to talk to us about what's going on he doesn't need to take it out on us, either." She glanced at him. "Did he say anything when I left?"
He paused. "No. Actually, he left shortly after you did."
Cordelia rolled her eyes in disgust. "Well, I for one, am not going to sit and fret over whatever it is. If he doesn't want to talk to me, fine. If he wants to be a big jerk, fine. But I'm going to get a life. Maybe you should think about doing the same."
"Cordelia," Wesley hesitated again.
"What?"
He looked down. "It's just...I don't want to be the only one to..." his voice trailed off.
She realized what he was trying to say and she sat down next to him. "I'm not quitting Angel Investigations, Wesley. It's not even a sure deal. I'm not sure any of the editors will want me to model for their magazines, anyway."
Wesley glanced at her. "Of course they will. They'd be fools not to."
Cordelia smiled, touched. "Thanks. But regardless of what happens, I'm not going anywhere. You're not going to be alone, Wesley."
He smiled back, looking relieved. "So how did you meet Mr. Gilman, anyway?"
"Well, I was at David's party last night, and I was getting ready to leave when suddenly out of nowhere he was there..."
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Cordelia lay awake, staring at her bedroom ceiling at three in the morning again.
No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to fall asleep and stay that way. She sighed and turned over onto her side, staring out the window for a change. She could see the stars in the sky from that angle.
Something kept tugging at the back of her mind, and she found she couldn't ignore it.
Angel had never spoken to her like that before. *Ever.*
Sure, he occasionally got angry or upset and raised his voice a bit, but he had never actually yelled at her before.
She had only been fifteen minutes late. He wouldn't have snapped at her like that over something so petty unless...
Unless something was wrong.
Cordelia reached over and picked up her telephone receiver, hitting button one on speed dial. She wasn't terribly surprised when there was no answer. So either he'd forgotten to turn his cell phone on, or he'd just left it off on purpose.
She considered calling the front desk of the Hyperion, knowing someone--probably Gunn--would be awake and there in case someone needed a place to stay. She thought about having him go to Angel's room and bringing him to the phone; then she grimaced at the thought. First of all, she was pretty sure Gunn didn't like her all that much, and secondly, Angel would be pissed if she'd sent Gunn to wake him up for no real reason.
She tried to push all thoughts of Angel out of her mind, and attempted to focus on thoughts of Clayton instead. He was a nice guy, definitely a gentleman, and a well-dressed one at that. He had a good job, and she sincerely liked him. They'd had a good time at dinner, talking about celebrities, fashion, and modeling. She enjoyed his company. Which was a good thing, considering the fact that he'd asked her out to dinner later that week and she'd said yes.
Maybe this was exactly what she needed. Something to distract her from her non-life. Something that she could look forward to.
So why didn't she feel peaceful like she had a few weeks ago?
That name crept into her conscious mind again and she sat up, highly annoyed. "Dammit, Angel. You're the one being the jerk, so why the hell should I be the one stuck feeling guilty?" she said aloud.
Her water glass floated off her nightstand and hovered in front of her. She smiled despite her mood. "Thanks, Dennis. Don't worry, I'm not going insane or anything." She took a drink of the water and set it back down. "Angel and I had this fight today. You know how I mentioned he hasn't been to work in three days? Well, he got mad at me today because I was a few minutes late. He actually hinted that maybe I shouldn't work for him anymore. Jerk."
Cordelia stared at her bedspread in the darkness. "It's not like I can quit, even if I wanted to. Which I don't. At least I don't think I do. I don't know. What if he really doesn't want me there anymore? What if...Buffy was right and he's just keeping me around out of pity or something?"
Her light flipped on and lipstick writing appeared on her mirror. "She's wrong," it read.
She smiled. "Thanks. It's just...he's acting all weird. I mean, okay, he's broody and he's always been broody, but now...he's broody and he was mean to me. He's never been *mean* to me before. So why do I feel guilty for it? I didn't do anything wrong. At least I don't think I did." She sighed in frustration and climbed out of bed. She walked over to her window and unlocked it before she pulled it open. She breathed in a lungful of fresh air, and felt a bit calmer.
She climbed up and sat on the windowsill. The wind was warm and she could smell the salt from the Pacific. She looked across the way, staring at all the twinkling city lights.
"What I'm going to do, Dennis?" she whispered.
Her only response was from the restless wind murmuring tales of its own melancholia.
~The End~