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jormiwillinghamTitle: Through the Endless Nights
Author: 'mi
Fandom: Angel
Characters/Pairing: Angel/Cordelia
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC r20.19: Balloon (I'm also using this as my first of the Halloween series I HOPE to be able to write this year -- thanks for the inspiration to get it started!!)
Word Count: 1,459
Date Written: 2 October 2020
Warnings: Future, AU, Character Deaths
Summary: Cordelia waits through the endless nights.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She can still feel him sometimes, even though she sits in this room all alone. She raises from her bed at various times, but she never goes any further, save her bathing needs, than this chair right here. She doesn't need to step outside. She knows, both in the light of day and that of night, what's really out and about. She knows far more than most people both the goods and the evils. She knows monsters exist, and she knows monsters exist who fight the monsters. She's known the grandeur of love, and still feels the never-ending ache of love that fails.
She knows the failing love of a parent. She knows the failing love of a child lost. She knows the failures of friends, both real and fake. But worst of all by far, she knows what it feels like to be loved unconditionally, completely, and still lose that love. Tears are never far from her fading, hazel eyes for that very reason. She keeps thinking they'll stop one day, that one day her eyes will become as dry as the desert, but it has yet to happen. A part of her, a very tiny, tiny part that still cares about her own self after all these years of misery and tragedy, fears they never will. She'll never know happiness again -- that much is a fact -- not without him, but she would like to at least not feel the pain one night.
But that night is not to come tonight. She can feel him in the change of the seasons, the haunting crisp that the October air takes on. She can feel his broodiness and his eagerness to hide and sulk in the shadows, his brilliant, handsome hand and cold yet warm hands buried deep into his trench coat. She can feel his hand on her shoulder, but she doesn't bother to look back any longer. She knows he's not there. He's never there, except in her dreams.
Only in her dreams does he still exist. Only in her dreams, it seems, is he still remembered. She's tried finding the others before. They're all dead except for the children, and those who remain pretend not to remember anything from before. They're back to acting like Vampires don't exist, their grandmother or great grandmother was never a Slayer or a Witch or a Demon. Monsters, in their world, don't exist, but monsters do exist. And they're not just of the Supernatural variety.
Angel would have protected her from them all, human and monster, human, Demon, Vampire, any of them, all of them. He was her Knight, and she was his Princess. She'd always secretly craved to have more with him, but where can you go in a romance with a man who can not have sex without literally losing his freaking mind and soul? She'd had to accept his friendship and his protection and pretended as though she'd wanted nothing more from him.
She'd had him convinced of that, too, utterly and completely convinced. She still remembers how crestfallen he'd been in Pylea when she'd recovered from her admission just in time to pretend that it was Groo she loved, not him. She still wonders sometimes what happened to Groo in this world, but she doesn't really care. He'd never actually been the one in her heart -- that's why she'd tried so hard to fashion him after Angel, but even in the hands of the great C, no other man could be Angel but her very own, sweet Angel.
She wonders if he ever got to actually be an Angel. She knows he's no longer living. He would have been here by now to rescue her if he was, even if it were only from her own sorrow. He would have been here by now to whisk her out of this damn, dire mess just like the hero he truly was, if he was still able to fight, if he was still living or . . . or not living . . . or well, just being her Angel, her sweet, beautiful Angel.
Cordelia sighs and leans into the night wind. They forgot to feed her again today, but some one opened a window. The breeze feels like a hand caressing her pale cheek, and for a moment, she's taken back to those tender moments they shared in the tight office before. She's taken back again to his gentle touch on her shoulder, the feather light brush of his cheek against her hair. It had been long and raven black then, not a mess of white hair that makes her look even more ancient than she feels. When was the last time she was able to bathe, she wonders? When did she last get to condition her hair or even run soap and water through it? She doesn't remember. There isn't much from her days now which she does remember.
Still she'll remember him. She'll always remember him for as long as she exists. She'll never forget her Angel, her Knight, her warrior, her best friend, and the truest love she's ever known. New tears begin to spread down her cheeks as the rain starts outside. Why, oh, why didn't she take the chance? There were so many times, so many glorious opportunities she just let slip through her fingers because she knew he couldn't have sex. Sex isn't everything though. She knows that now. She knew that then honestly for no matter how many men she'd bedded, and the occasional woman too, no one had ever come close to giving her what he had even in a chaste friendship.
She should have smashed that fucking bubble to smithereens, she thinks, furious with herself as lightning flashes, cutting the dark, night sky with jagged fingers. The wind builds as she rocks unconsciously, her own wails filling the empty building. She was given chance after chance to make something real with him, something that would have been legendary in and of its own right, as legendary as he should have been except that the government has threatened life and death of all who are left if they do not yet again pretend that nothing Supernatural, let alone Vampire heroes, exists. The night he'd sniffed her air, it would have been so easy to just turn and shatter that stupid "personal bubble" forever with a single, hot kiss.
She knows it would've been hot. It would have been more than hot enough to melt all the ice in the world, just as every one of the few kisses they had shared over the years had been. She could have also continued to pretend to be that dead ballerina, or kept looking for a cure, even if that cure she'd been trying to find was to sought by continuing to kiss him a hundred times over while seeking to free her mind of Doyle's visions. But her mind will never be freed. Her heart will never be free. Her soul will never find its peace.
Her tears and pain have grown with the storm, and the memories clashing in her mind, 'til now she screams. It's a wordless scream though filled with heart. If any who knew her still lived, they would have understood. But instead, passerbys looking for refuge in the storm duck and shudder. "Did you hear that?" one asks the other.
"N-No -- " the girl starts to stammer, yet another woman trying to put on a brave face and lying in order to do so.
Idiots! Cordelia wants to scream at them for they're all idiots. Life is so very fleeting and so very precious. They need to just grab hold of the minutes they're given and give their all to the ones they love, no matter how much of a dumb ass they might be. They need to go after the men they love, their own feelings of fear, doubt, and even pain be damned.
Tonight, she does scream. She screams at the girl who doesn't see her and flies straight into her, knocking her backwards into the arms of the man who's commenting about how the abandoned building looks like it was once some kind of a hotel. Yes, she wants to say in this moment of near-clarity, it was once a hotel, and so much more. It was once a detective agency, and so very much more. It was once her home, and it housed her family. And now they're all gone, including her sweet, dark Knight who she waits for every night despite the pain, despite the endless hours, and despite the fact that he's never coming home to her again. Cordelia cries, and her spirit wails into the night.
The End
Author: 'mi
Fandom: Angel
Characters/Pairing: Angel/Cordelia
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: FFFC r20.19: Balloon (I'm also using this as my first of the Halloween series I HOPE to be able to write this year -- thanks for the inspiration to get it started!!)
Word Count: 1,459
Date Written: 2 October 2020
Warnings: Future, AU, Character Deaths
Summary: Cordelia waits through the endless nights.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She can still feel him sometimes, even though she sits in this room all alone. She raises from her bed at various times, but she never goes any further, save her bathing needs, than this chair right here. She doesn't need to step outside. She knows, both in the light of day and that of night, what's really out and about. She knows far more than most people both the goods and the evils. She knows monsters exist, and she knows monsters exist who fight the monsters. She's known the grandeur of love, and still feels the never-ending ache of love that fails.
She knows the failing love of a parent. She knows the failing love of a child lost. She knows the failures of friends, both real and fake. But worst of all by far, she knows what it feels like to be loved unconditionally, completely, and still lose that love. Tears are never far from her fading, hazel eyes for that very reason. She keeps thinking they'll stop one day, that one day her eyes will become as dry as the desert, but it has yet to happen. A part of her, a very tiny, tiny part that still cares about her own self after all these years of misery and tragedy, fears they never will. She'll never know happiness again -- that much is a fact -- not without him, but she would like to at least not feel the pain one night.
But that night is not to come tonight. She can feel him in the change of the seasons, the haunting crisp that the October air takes on. She can feel his broodiness and his eagerness to hide and sulk in the shadows, his brilliant, handsome hand and cold yet warm hands buried deep into his trench coat. She can feel his hand on her shoulder, but she doesn't bother to look back any longer. She knows he's not there. He's never there, except in her dreams.
Only in her dreams does he still exist. Only in her dreams, it seems, is he still remembered. She's tried finding the others before. They're all dead except for the children, and those who remain pretend not to remember anything from before. They're back to acting like Vampires don't exist, their grandmother or great grandmother was never a Slayer or a Witch or a Demon. Monsters, in their world, don't exist, but monsters do exist. And they're not just of the Supernatural variety.
Angel would have protected her from them all, human and monster, human, Demon, Vampire, any of them, all of them. He was her Knight, and she was his Princess. She'd always secretly craved to have more with him, but where can you go in a romance with a man who can not have sex without literally losing his freaking mind and soul? She'd had to accept his friendship and his protection and pretended as though she'd wanted nothing more from him.
She'd had him convinced of that, too, utterly and completely convinced. She still remembers how crestfallen he'd been in Pylea when she'd recovered from her admission just in time to pretend that it was Groo she loved, not him. She still wonders sometimes what happened to Groo in this world, but she doesn't really care. He'd never actually been the one in her heart -- that's why she'd tried so hard to fashion him after Angel, but even in the hands of the great C, no other man could be Angel but her very own, sweet Angel.
She wonders if he ever got to actually be an Angel. She knows he's no longer living. He would have been here by now to rescue her if he was, even if it were only from her own sorrow. He would have been here by now to whisk her out of this damn, dire mess just like the hero he truly was, if he was still able to fight, if he was still living or . . . or not living . . . or well, just being her Angel, her sweet, beautiful Angel.
Cordelia sighs and leans into the night wind. They forgot to feed her again today, but some one opened a window. The breeze feels like a hand caressing her pale cheek, and for a moment, she's taken back to those tender moments they shared in the tight office before. She's taken back again to his gentle touch on her shoulder, the feather light brush of his cheek against her hair. It had been long and raven black then, not a mess of white hair that makes her look even more ancient than she feels. When was the last time she was able to bathe, she wonders? When did she last get to condition her hair or even run soap and water through it? She doesn't remember. There isn't much from her days now which she does remember.
Still she'll remember him. She'll always remember him for as long as she exists. She'll never forget her Angel, her Knight, her warrior, her best friend, and the truest love she's ever known. New tears begin to spread down her cheeks as the rain starts outside. Why, oh, why didn't she take the chance? There were so many times, so many glorious opportunities she just let slip through her fingers because she knew he couldn't have sex. Sex isn't everything though. She knows that now. She knew that then honestly for no matter how many men she'd bedded, and the occasional woman too, no one had ever come close to giving her what he had even in a chaste friendship.
She should have smashed that fucking bubble to smithereens, she thinks, furious with herself as lightning flashes, cutting the dark, night sky with jagged fingers. The wind builds as she rocks unconsciously, her own wails filling the empty building. She was given chance after chance to make something real with him, something that would have been legendary in and of its own right, as legendary as he should have been except that the government has threatened life and death of all who are left if they do not yet again pretend that nothing Supernatural, let alone Vampire heroes, exists. The night he'd sniffed her air, it would have been so easy to just turn and shatter that stupid "personal bubble" forever with a single, hot kiss.
She knows it would've been hot. It would have been more than hot enough to melt all the ice in the world, just as every one of the few kisses they had shared over the years had been. She could have also continued to pretend to be that dead ballerina, or kept looking for a cure, even if that cure she'd been trying to find was to sought by continuing to kiss him a hundred times over while seeking to free her mind of Doyle's visions. But her mind will never be freed. Her heart will never be free. Her soul will never find its peace.
Her tears and pain have grown with the storm, and the memories clashing in her mind, 'til now she screams. It's a wordless scream though filled with heart. If any who knew her still lived, they would have understood. But instead, passerbys looking for refuge in the storm duck and shudder. "Did you hear that?" one asks the other.
"N-No -- " the girl starts to stammer, yet another woman trying to put on a brave face and lying in order to do so.
Idiots! Cordelia wants to scream at them for they're all idiots. Life is so very fleeting and so very precious. They need to just grab hold of the minutes they're given and give their all to the ones they love, no matter how much of a dumb ass they might be. They need to go after the men they love, their own feelings of fear, doubt, and even pain be damned.
Tonight, she does scream. She screams at the girl who doesn't see her and flies straight into her, knocking her backwards into the arms of the man who's commenting about how the abandoned building looks like it was once some kind of a hotel. Yes, she wants to say in this moment of near-clarity, it was once a hotel, and so much more. It was once a detective agency, and so very much more. It was once her home, and it housed her family. And now they're all gone, including her sweet, dark Knight who she waits for every night despite the pain, despite the endless hours, and despite the fact that he's never coming home to her again. Cordelia cries, and her spirit wails into the night.
The End
