Chapter Nine Note: This chapter is set during the "Angel" episode "Expecting," written by Howard Gordon, but as it might have happened during "Year of Grace." If you haven't seen "Expecting," this chapter probably won't make much sense to you.
CORDELIA
"You live alone, right?"
"In the sense that I'm the only one living here who's actually alive."
Dennis kept signaling to me how wrong this all was. I wasn't going to pay attention. I didn't want to care any more. I just wanted things to be the way they should have been when I moved to L.A. - finding a nice, normal guy, and having a nice, normal relationship.
Is it too much to ask, to be with a guy who is human, and not dying, and not going to reject me? I mean, it must still be possible, right?
(Doyle... where are you? Are you still alive? Are you thinking of me?)
When I threatened Dennis with Madonna's Evita, he finally backed off. An overprotective ghost isn't all that easy to explain, but I managed to talk my way out of it.
"Sometimes, just to keep myself company, I talk to myself...."
When Wilson Christopher started to kiss me, I didn't let myself close my eyes right away. That was all part of the game, I guess. I had to keep my eyes open, keep looking at him, reminding myself that this wasn't Doyle, for as long as I could stand it.
And then finally I closed my eyes and let myself dream.
(Doyle, this could have been you and me, right here, right now.)
Warm lips, warm hands, touching me ... as I had wanted for so long to be touched. It had been too long, since Xander went and spoiled me for other guys and then Doyle came along and kissed me and then died and I can't bear to think about it right now, I just can't.
(You're still alive somewhere.... you're not dead yet, you're not.... )
Had he ever really come back at all, or had I imagined the whole thing? Right now, I couldn't be sure of anything except how hollow I felt, with every place that he had ever touched (and every place he hadn't) on fire with needing someone, with needing him.
He wasn't there, but someone else was.
(If you knew ... would you come crashing through the door, like Angel does when he rescues somebody? Would you pull Wilson off me? Would you throw me down on the bed and.... No. You wouldn't. You won't. You're not going to come back for me. You're not going to come through that door. You're not going to do to me, ever, ever, what he is doing now.)
We were on the bed, and he was gentle, like Doyle would have been, and it felt good.
("We're in a hospital, remember? Nurses and such, coming in any minute?" No, I'm not going to think of him pulling away from me, I'm not.
"Rejecting is my job, not yours, and don't think you're going to be the first... the first...."
I can't think of him. I can't.)
I have no pride left, nothing to hold back, as I held back for so long with Xander. There is nothing left of me to protect any more.
(Please, for one night, I don't want to be alone.
Don't leave me alone.)
I think maybe I cried out Doyle's name, but I'm not sure.
When I next opened my eyes, Wilson was gone. He didn't say goodbye either.
And when I looked at myself, I knew that I was being punished.
ANGEL
I have seldom been so angry. And the worst part is, I'm not sure who I'm most angry at right now.
The mystery demon who is using Cordelia as a breeder?
Wilson Christopher, for seducing Cordelia when she was vulnerable and needy?
Cordelia, for doing something foolish because she was hurting and she had to prove to herself that she didn't need Doyle?
Doyle, for leaving us, even though we both need him?
Myself, for not being able to stop this from happening?
I can't get her face out of my mind, when Wesley and I found her lying in bed, her eyes blank and staring. Despite her unnaturally bloated body, there was an emptiness about her, like something inside her was missing.
I know what it is. It's the same thing that's missing inside me.
I can't blame her for using sex to try to forget him. I've tried that kind of forgetting before, more than once, as a human and as a vampire.
The difference between us is, I already know from experience that it doesn't work. She still had to find that out for herself.
The demon breeder part of it was more than any of us would have bargained for. But the need to fill that emptiness.... I know it well.
I couldn't protect her from it. How can I, when I can't even protect myself?
WESLEY
When I first saw Cordelia, I thought I had never seen such a beautiful woman. Then Rupert Giles reminded me that she was just a girl, a student, a mere child.
She is not a child any longer. But I think she had not lost her faith in happy endings, until today.
Who was it who took away her innocence? Was it the man who used her last night, or the man who left her behind?
She whispered to me, over the swollen belly that marked what had been done to her: "They're not human. But, that could be okay, right? I mean, look at Angel. He's not human. And Doyle, he wasn't either.... I mean, not totally.... but he was good. Wasn't he?"
She looked at me as though she expected an answer. I had none.
Damn them both, both of them who did this to her. I wish that I could personally kill them both, not only the man who used her, but the other man too, who made it possible.
I realize that all the suffering that I could wish for him will probably happen to him anyway, with no need of any action from me.
That doesn't make it any easier.
It's odd, isn't it? Not long ago, I thought I'd never see Cordelia or Angel again, and at least as far as Angel was concerned, I would have preferred it that way. Now what matters most to me is protecting them both.
But I can't protect them from the one man who hurts them more than anyone else. And that is the one man they both love, as they never will another.
DOYLE
I couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong.
I had promised myself I wouldn't call, not right away. They needed time too, same as I did, even if they didn't know it yet. They had to get over needing me.
If I called them all the time, they wouldn't be getting over it, now would they?
Two or three times, when that feeling came over me, I almost picked up the phone, and then stopped myself. It was for their sake, I told myself, letting them have the space to figure out who they are without me. Cordelia has the visions. There's nothing I can do for them now that whatshisname can't do better.
Who was I kidding? I was missing them as much as they were probably missing me.
Eventually I convinced myself that it had been long enough. I would keep it casual, no flirting with - either of them - forget that thought.
Even then, the first time I dialed the number, I hung up before anyone answered.
Finally, I let the call ring through. Wouldn't you know, it was whatshisname who answered, not Cordelia. Maybe Angel had given up on Cordelia answering the phone by now.
"Angel Investigations."
"Yeah, I know. Is Angel there?"
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"All right then," I ventured after the silence went on too long, "What about Cordelia?"
The clipped British voice was icy. "She's not here at the moment, but if you are perchance inquiring after her health, I'm pleased to say that she has survived, no thanks to you. If it matters to you at all, we nearly lost her two days ago. But I presume that you don't particularly care."
In the background, from a distance, I heard Angel's voice. "She likes magazines. I got a few, you know, for when she comes back. Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you were on the phone. Who is it?"
"No one important," Wesley said coldly, and hung up.
