gorysortofstory | Open Post the Sequel

Her breath catches a little when he's suddenly stepping in closing to her, brushing her hair aside.

"I trust you, Angel. You wouldn't tell me something like that without good reason."

Angel’s hand lingers. He palms her neck, thumb brushing against the curve of her jaw while his fingers thread themselves into the hair at her nape. He’s watching her intently, studying her as if he needs to rememorize her features even though he’s gone over them every single night since her lost her to the coma that stole her away into eternity in the wake of that thing’s madness.

“I trust you,” he tells her in turn. “I hope you never forget that, because I do. Even when it might seem like I don’t.”

It wasn’t Cordelia that he had distrusted. It was that otherworldly being that had crawled up inside her and used her up.

His hand lingers on her and she's struck by how warm it is. Angel's touch has always been cool before, like all vampires, but now it's warm and more and more it seems that for whatever reason he's human now.

His words seem cryptic (even when it seems like he doesn't? what does that mean?) but she tries to dweel on the nicer side of it. She smiles a little.

"Well duh. I'd be a little offended if you didn't, at this point."

"The last thing I want to do is offend you, Cordelia."

He's still close, still touching her. Angel hasn't been this close to her in so long; he's basking in it.

"That's because you like living."

Okay, so the prolonged touching bit is a little weird. Not bad, but Angel also isn't usually Mr. Touchy Feely.

"Everything okay?"

Angel nods, but he still doesn't move. He actually smiles — a warm, affectionate smile reserved for her benefit and her benefit only.

"For the first time in a long time, everything is perfectly okay."

A true smile out of Angel is always kind of a rare sight -- but one of her favorites (perhaps partly in how rare it is). She can't help but return it with a smile of her own.

"That's not something that happens too often here, huh?"

His other hand comes up to mirror the one already cupping the side of her neck. Touching her like this was something he shied away from for too long, something he held back from addressing or bringing up until it was too late. He wasn't about to make that mistake again, especially when he no longer had all the time in the world.

In all likelihood, neither did she. Being part-demon didn't mean you were automatically blessed with a demon's longevity.

"Not often at all."

Of all the weird things that have happened today -- this is one of the weirdest, honestly -- and that includes him not bursting into flames. The touch is soft and intimate in a way that's still pretty new to her, honestly. But not in a bad way. In a surprisingly nice sort of way, honestly.

"We should try to find ways to make it more often -- that smile is far too good to let it go to waste."

"I'm game for that."

Closing his eyes, Angel touches his forehead to hers and inhales her scent. It's not as potent as he remembers from when he was still a vampire, but she still smells distinctly like Cordelia, and that's comforting to him in ways she will likely never comprehend.

She doesn't get it. The sniffing thing was always a little weird to her, honestly. But she figures it's just one of those weird vampire things or whatever. Except he's not a vampire anymore. Details.

"That's a plus to this -- you being happy is something I can just enjoy instead of worry about."

She had lived in Sunnydale when Angelus came out, she remembers.

It's true; he isn't a vampire anymore, but after 250 years of being undead versus the twenty-six he originally spent as a human being, vampiric habits come a lot more naturally to him than not. Angel fumbles with humanity, unaccustomed to living as a person who possesses a functioning heartbeat. That hadn't been too much of a problem while Los Angeles was submerged into hell, as he'd gone out of his way to make himself appear to still be as much of a vampire as — well, humanly possible. It's surprising the unhealthy amount of primordial glamour he'd been wearing to accomplish such a feat hadn't killed him.

He chuckles warmly in response to her comment. "You and I both."

Happiness, especially perfect happiness, had been dangerous no matter the form it came in, no matter what inspired it or brought it about. There was always that risk of getting too happy that made how stressful his life was, how futile some of the situations he found himself in were, something of a blessing in disguise. Being miserable kept him good, but now, he wouldn't have to worry about that.

It makes him smile again, knowing how secure his sense of self is. No more soullessness, no more being unable to understand the difference between right and wrong, no more demonic impulses and a pull towards darkness that was more innate than he liked admitting. There was just him. And he could be happy. He could have the things he told himself he couldn't, that he was better off never having had the chance to have, because being happy was dangerous.

Not anymore.

"That means I can do this." Boldly, Angel closes the gap between them, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

It surprises her when he kisses her -- it's not that she's never thought about the idea before, when she first laid eyes on him in Sunnydale she had definitely noticed how attractive he was but it was an idea she never really let herself entertain for long. For one it was hard to imagine him ever getting over Buffy (and she's played second fiddle before, she's learned a lot since Xander Harris) and for another? Well a relationship is kind of doomed when you can't actually allow the other person to get perfectly happy. And if he didn't, well wouldn't that just be insulting? And thirdly, he was her best friend, the person she probably felt closer to than anyone else. That's something she never wanted to risk losing. Better not to go down that route. It only ended in heart ache. Humans and vampires don't make for good love stories. Okay, so she's part demon now but the argument is still really valid.

Except he isn't a vampire anymore, he's human. He's here, and he's human somehow and he's kissing her and suddenly all of those thoughts and worries go out the window. She reacts almost on impulse, stepping in a little closer now to return the kiss.

He deserves this, she thinks. The chance to live life without the curse constantly looming over his head. Without the struggle with his literal inner demon.

Wesley might give them a lecture on inter-office fraternization later but he can deal with it.

This isn't the first time he's kissed her, but it is the first time since she pressed her lips against his in a desperate attempt to pass Doyle's visions on to someone else that he's actually kissed her as she ought to be. The last time, the only real time that didn't involve possessions or figments of his own imagination, it had been with an astral projection of her.

There were not words to describe how grateful he was to know that he wouldn't have to continue living in a version of the world where she never woke up. She came back long enough to get him back on track – forever his moral compass, forever that voice of reason when the other voices in his head got the better of him – but that phone call had been one of the most devastating moments of his life.

He really was lost without her.

And now she was kissing him back and stepping in closer to him. One of Angel's hands remained on her neck, the other dropping down to her shoulder, sliding the backs of his fingers down the length of her arm. It was a gentle, slow kiss; meant to be savored, not rushed. He's waited too long for this moment to thunder through it, to not take things slow now that he actually has the opportunity to do so.

The last time she had kissed him it hadn't even really been him -- it had been the insane version of him that existed in the world where she never got the visions. Where she was successful and had her own sitcom -- the life she had thought she wanted. But seeing what the visions did to him -- even in a world where they weren't close like they are -- it had stirred something in her. She kissed him and took them back and the rest was history. Before that she had only kissed him to try to get rid of said visions -- back when Doyle had first passed them along to her. A lot's changed since then.

This lacks the desperation of those kisses, the urgency. It's slow and sweet and she finds her eyes fluttering shut so she can get lost in it. This always seemed like something better to not think about, that they couldn't risk entertaining or exploring -- but it's different now, and she can't help but be glad about that.

He didn't know about any of that. She'd been rather vague about her experiences with Skip when she'd been comatose after that rough vision that sent her flying into the weapons cabinet. Eventually, he'll sit her down and ask her about it, for he always regretted respecting her boundaries in that instance and trusting her to share with him that which she felt was important after learning of the part Skip had played in Jasmine's hostile bodily takeover.

Right now, all he can focus on is her. The feel of her lips moving against his, the warmth of her body against the hand that's now cupping one of her hips... He's had dreams about this — all out vivid hallucinations — but nothing compares to the real thing. And it's with a gasp that he reluctantly withdraws from her mouth, and only because his lungs are demanding air.

"Still not used to that whole breathing thing."

It had been easier to be vague, honestly. As much as Cordelia talks about saying what she thinks there's often a lot she holds back. Like the fact that she had known for all that time that the visions were effecting her so badly in the first place. Let alone what she had gone through in order to be able to keep them and not die.

But her mind isn't really on any of that.

What it is on is how his hand is resting on her hip -- if she's thought about it before it's not a thought she's ever allowed herself to entertain for long. But she's entertaining it now, that's for sure. She laughs softly at his words, still trying to catch her own breathe.

"Guess that's one of many things you have to adjust to, huh?"

"Small price to pay. It's n—"

Whatever he's about to say after that is promptly silenced by the sound of his son wailing in the next room. Reluctantly, he withdraws from Cordelia to tend to the previously sleeping infant, returning with the baby in his arms.

Whatever Angel was going to say -- well she's probably not going to hear it just now. She can't find herself objecting that much as he comes in with Connor, though. She makes her way over to them, peering over Angel's shoulder at the baby.

"Hey, little man."

Connor's fussy, uneasy in his father's arms. Angel realizes belatedly that the boy can probably feel the difference in body temperature. He used to run lukewarm at best — room temperature — and now he's brimming with heat, especially after kissing Cordelia. That heat he now generates is making his son turn away from his chest, bringing fresh tears to eyes that have already been crying.

Unsure of what to do and out of practice when it comes to caring for the infant version (not that he was so great at handling the teenage one), Angel gently eases Connor into Cordelia's arms.

"I think he can tell I'm not dead anymore."

Cordelia takes the baby easily, cradling him into her arms. She rocks him gently, smiling down at him.

"Probably. He just needs time to adjust."

Babies can be fussy enough just left to their own devices, let alone having to deal with that much change. But it'll serve them both better in the long run -- making it possible so Angel can take his son out during the day now without worrying about getting crispy.

"Probably."

It ought to bother him a lot more that his son is seemingly put off by his pulse, but Connor not knowing how to handle a human version of his father beats watching him struggle with the world around him in the wake of escaping Quor'toth. No matter what he did after that, he couldn't seem to put his son back together again. Even after he made that deal with the Senior Partners, there were still parts of Connor that remained broken and out of place, things that were doomed to remain in shards.

He'd sooner die than watch his son's life shatter again.

"I'll get a bottle." And he does, disappearing to the kitchenette area of his room.

If Cordelia knew how bad Connor's life was going to get she'd be all the more determined to make sure that whatever terrible future Angel lived through before -- they don't go through it again. But for now she's just rocking Connor gently, whisper singing to him -- she's not the best of singers but the baby certainly seems more receptive to it than most people are.

Or at least, he isn't crying louder because of it.

Open Post the Sequel

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