here comes the rain againRated: PG13
Posted: July 5, 2000
Updated: May 2, 2001
Lyric References: "Here Comes the Rain Again"
Notes: Revised May 2, 2001.(New chapter added)
Rating: A couple of naughty words, that's all.
She was on the floor, flat on her back.Whoever cooked the evening meal claimed the sofa. The washer-upper-er got the floor. Cordelia told him she thought that a fair exchange for a tasty, non-charred dinner. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to sit on the floor.
Angel had his doubts as to who had the better deal. From where he lay pressed into the soft cushioning depths, he had an all too clear view of Cordelia’s body. Certainly a lovely prospect, but only bearable for a short while. Then it would become uncomfortable and only a short time after the uncomfortableness started would come the restless urge to take a walk, prowl, hide.
On the evenings which released them from both the office and tracking down demoniac villians, they usually watched television. At least, Cordelia watched the movie or game show or reality program. He couldn’t rouse much interest. Never had. And now, how could he be expected to even consider looking at a small screen with screeching characters and little storyline when he could, however briefly, peacefully watch her.
He had, fleetingly, considered declining her invitations to cook dinner and avoid the close company altogether. To shove that option to the dark recesses had taken seconds. He had tried to do without her chatter and smile on several recent occasions, a self-enforced chastening which failed abjectly.
Misery.
On those few nights, in the absence of her society, his intention had been to prowl and patrol the dingy, dreary, lonely danger areas but somehow he always, eventually, found himself in the street outside Cordelia’s apartment. Even when she had been away, out of town, he had felt it forlornly comforting to stand and look up at her empty windows, envying a phantom.
No, he had to be spend as much time with her as possible, until he could feel the anxious restlessness creep over his achingly apprehensive body, the pressure of flushed hope swelling like the sound of approaching rain, forcing his departure.
Torturous without her, torturous with her.
A bunched up cushion from the sofa was scrunched under her head. Her hands were clasped behind her neck, pushing the long hair up and over the cushion, shimmering in the simple mottled light from the tv screen. Straight today. He never knew if she would saunter into the office with curly or straight, up or down. She looked gorgeous whatever the style. Her hair had a beautiful perfume too - half Cordelia Chase and half lavender and bergamot - drifting on the heat of her skin. Heady. Cordelia.
Looking down on the relaxed body, he had little opportunity to admire the long slim pale neck. With her hair running every way and her head tilted forward to see the television his view was obscured. Hell, what was he thinking? Grumbling that he couldn’t watch her for too long and complaining still when he couldn’t see her particularly erotic neck. Move on.
The summery top lifted a little around the neckline. Between her breasts lay an enticing, throbbing shadow with a faint outline of the lace that enclosed the beautiful flesh. He daren’t linger here at all. The memories and erotic images from countless dreams pounded back - the taste, feel, smell, sight and even the sound - his lips against the satiny skin, noisy moist sucking and her moans that….
Damn, too long.
He turned his gaze to the insipid comedy on the screen. Some idiots. He had trouble making sense of the supposed story. Not watching at all for the last ten minutes obviously hadn’t helped. His attention lapsed and once more he was quietly gazing at Cordelia.
He could hear the rain.
Her belly was flat under the thin lycra leggings, all the way down to the small hypnotic mound of bone and flesh.
“Mmmm.”
“Angel? You okay?” She was quickly on her side, looking up at him, as though he had cried out in pain. In a way, he supposed, he had.
Her face was still turned towards him, expectant. Nowadays he tried to avoid studying her face too closely. While her breasts, neck and body stirred the blood in his loins, her face could break his dead heart.
Only a few days ago he had been detailing her cheekbones where they curved under her eyes. A scene on the television had made her laugh. She had turned to him, wanting to share the laughter. He couldn’t. It had been so excruciating. The laughing, smiling eyes, glowing with joy and life.
She had been frightened when she saw the response on his face. Mouth working, unable to speak, defunct heart breaking into - no, not breaking, it had cracked, splintered, disintegrated.
It had taken all his resolution to gather himself and blame the expression of pain on a cramp.
“Angel? You okay?”
“Fine. This show isn’t doing much for me, sorry.”
She smiled at him. Not a grin but a small, kind, sympathetic smile. Please, not kind, no sympathy.
“We can put on some music and talk?” Cordelia pushed herself up onto her knees and leant her hands on the sofa next to him, as she tilted forward the cleavage of her breasts was suddenly pronounced and closer. Closer. Not good.
“No. I’d better be going.”
He reluctantly unfurled himself from the cushions.
“I want to go down by the wharf and check out that demon lair.”
Business-like, efficient, impersonal.
“Oh.” Did she sound deflated? Resigned?
He waited as she scrambled to her feet, reaching out a hand to steady herself against his arm. So close, he could feel the warmth from her skin. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from wrapping his other arm around the slender body.
“Be careful. Call by when you are done?”
“And wake you? No.”
He dropped a kiss onto the smooth, disappointed forehead.
“Mmmm, sleep well.”
A business-like kiss followed by an efficient thumb tracing impersonally across her flushed cheek.
It was raining again.
“Call by when you are done?”Of course he wouldn’t, he never had.
“And wake you?”
If she worried, she wouldn’t sleep; if she slept, she wouldn’t worry and if she didn’t worry, he might not ever come back.
A kiss on the fore-head, one of his by-the-way stop-worrying drops of affection.
“Turn on that damned never-needs-charging-because-it-is-never-used cellphone! Get over your selective technological duh-ness - call me.”
“Oh that’s a good idea. A phone call won’t disturb you at all.” He had flicked his thumb at her chin, given her a half smile and left.
Cordelia waited for a call that she knew wouldn’t come and a knock on the door that he wouldn’t make. She put away the dinner dishes, folded the laundry, polished the silk flowers, painted her nails, played blackjack with Dennis, read a magazine - anything to pass the time.
Back to worrying. She worried that she might never see him again, she worried that she worried too much, she worried that she worried too little, she worried that if she didn’t worry she would never have to worry again because there would be no need, he would be gone. She didn’t want to lose anyone else. No one. Her family had dissolved into an oblivion of tax-evasiveness and there was only Angel. Occasionally, briefly, she worried about caring too much.
Losing him would be .... no, it would be... not a good place to go. She didn’t want to linger on the possibility, instead, she fretted over his well-being. Injuries were fairly commonplace. What if he were injured so badly one night and couldn’t get to them for help? What if they didn’t know where he was? What if.... no, leave the what if’s. Angel would be fine.
But, whispered the little, lonely voice, one day, one night, her world would come thundering down. Whatever entity he was after would have the final lunge, the final stab and Angel would not come home. Ever.
No explanation, no body, no good-bye. A quick, painless staking or a lingering, torturous end. Don’t, don’t, don’t.
Some nights she imagined lashing him to the sofa so he couldn’t leave. After the spasm of useless wishing had ended she would stand at the door, hurrying him away with a “don’t make evil wait on its booty-kicking” bravado cheer.
Once, she had followed him from the office. Not to spy on him, but to ensure he was safe. Cordelia Chase, looking out for a vampire! At the end of the block she realised she had lost his dark figure somewhere in the half-shadows of the street lights. He blended so well. She cursed his vampiric disappearing acts, turned huffily and smack-banged into his solid chest. And hadn’t she cursed him to hell and beyond for the fright! The scare wasn’t the last of the incident. Like a wayward child, she was ignominously steered back to their office, hand firmly on her elbow and lectured the whole, mercifully short, distance. No more following.
Cordelia pushed her limbs into a set of comfy short sweats and crawled into bed, teddy bear in hand. Teddies were cuddly, important beings. Angel was quite huggable himself, when he let himself be. She giggled at the sudden picture of a big, cuddly Angel, sitting cross-legged on top of her pillows, waiting for her to come to bed every night. Hugging him close, snuggling his furry body under her chin... furry? Oh no. A little snicker crept out. Falling asleep with him wrapped in her arms...
The smile making thoughts died. Would a man ever prefer her company to scouring the city for demons or a casual soul to save? Not, forbid the thought, that she wanted Angel to prefer her company to ...oh, yes, she did.
Surely, if there were a man in her life she would stop focusing on Angel. She needed a living man to concentrate her affections on, damn there seemed to be so many affections bubbling around her insides. Craving the perfect closeness, intimacy, that heady belonging, ohhh...
Cordelia pulled her knees up close to her breasts, teddy squashed to her shoulder, squeezing tight to prevent the desperation and desire from flooding out.
That couple, this evening, she had almost managed to block them from her memory. Now they were back again and a gentle nausea swelled in her belly. As Angel drove her home from the office she had asked him to stop by the mall to pick up a new mouse. Oh.... the girl was tall and slim and shimmery, the boy was taller and slimmer and oooh, masculine. They had scuffled together near the ice-cream parlor. She had cuffed him over the ear and darted away with a squeal of taunting delight. The girl only made it a few steps before the boy had wrapped an arm around her waist and twirled her around to face him and then, so easily, so knowingly, swung her body down and between his legs, poised over her, laughing into her sparkling - God, she had seen the sparkle from twenty feet away and it had *hurt* so badly - why didn’t she have that? Never, not ever, would she ever? To be able to lose yourself in a man’s eyes, trust him so, be held so lovingly, to laugh...
Crap.
“I am a strong, independent, beautiful woman and I do not need a man to validate my existance,” she chanted.
She still felt sick.
Cordelia dragged herself out of bed and curled onto the sofa. Television would be good, healing. “Love Story”. Oh boy, she was so not going to get all weepy. “Gone With The Wind.” Yeah, she could cheer on her favourite bitch.
Angel sat on the curbstone, feet in the gutter.The encounter in the storm drain had been closer than he anticipated. In retrospect, he probably needed back-up.
Done now. Three Ynos dead, one slightly wounded vampire. Not too bad.
He leant his shoulder against the Plymouth’s tail light and steadied his aching rib cage with his sore arm. At least all the painful parts were on the one side.
Her lights were off.
If she had really wanted him to come back, wouldn’t she still be awake? She had asked so often in the past, he couldn’t blame her for giving up.
Maybe she was watching television in the dark. Why not? Giggling over the Cartoon network with Dennis.
There were no lights at all. She must be asleep.
He muttered a vicious “told you so”. She couldn’t have been too concerned after all. Anyway, if Cordelia had been awake, so what? A quick patch-up and he’d be on his way again. Cordelia’s hands soothing bandages into place, then, uh... bye, see you tomorrow. Well, go on, what else can you expect? The warm hands and fingertips, touching his aching body... oh, geeze.
He could go up and listen at the apartment door... just in case. Use the key, you’ve got a key. Go inside, check that she is asleep. Sit quietly for a few minutes to make sure all is well. Watch her sleep. Smooth the long hair from her face and eyelashes, lashes beautifully dark along her cheekbone. If he were careful he would be able to slip off his shoes, fold his duster over a chair and silently stretch out alongside the sleep-drifting Cordelia. For a little while. She would never know. Rolling towards him in her sleep, deftly enclosing his arm around her snuggling shoulders; lying, absorbing her warmth, staring into the dark, listening to the rain pounding on the roof.
Shit, the rain was back.
He wanted, no, deeper than want - he longed, ached to hold her body close. Nothing new. But those two skinny kids at the shopping mall ... shit, but they had driven home the overwhelming loss. They were so full of light and life and love. The peals of laughter and the loving... fuck it. No point. No point. To hold her in his arms, surprise gurgles of pleasure from her... no way... worse than a horse-hair shirt. Everytime he had to walk away from Cordelia it was another shovel load of stinking shit flung into his pit, burying him in his miserable existence.
“You okay?”The voice came from far away, through the rain pouring inside his head.
“Cordelia? You’re awake? What...”
“Well, duh! I looked out the window and there you are doing the non-dancing, non-singing version of ‘Singing in the Rain’!”
“Rain? You can hear it too?”
“What? Of course I can... never mind! You’re getting wet, Mr Gene Kelly, come inside. Next time - umbrella.”
“The rain isn’t real, Cordelia. You get used to it. The rain will go away if you, when I, when we are ap...”
“Look! Rain - wet rain, even. Did you get hit on the head tonight?”
Angel lifted his face to the hazy night sky. Dollops of rain splashed into his eyes and onto his cheeks.
Real, cold, rain.
Cordelia’s hand tugged at his good arm and he stumbled to his feet with only the smallest of groans.
“Do I need to go into Florence mode?”
“No. No, I’ll be fine... with some rest.”
“Then why did you come?”
“You asked me to.”
“Right, like you always do what I ask?”
Cordelia encouraged him up the stairs, pushed him into the apartment and gently prodded him out of his wet clothes, leaving him the modest silky dignity of his boxers. She wrapped him into the bed cover and he lay motionless, breathless, as she slipped under the sheets next to him. She pecked him on the cheek, whispered an I-was-so-worried goodnight and rolled away to the other side of the bed.
Cordelia screwed her eyes shut and balanced her body along the edge of the bed. She prayed for the strength to overcome the overwhelming, despairing, disastrous temptation to fling herself into his arms.
Angel lay on his back and stared up at the darkened ceiling. He wanted to talk, the way lovers do; whispering and cuddling together in the precious minutes between sex and sleep. Instead, he listened to the rain thrumming against the roof.Here it comes again.
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Disclaimer: The characters are Joss Whedon's, Mutant Enemy's and probably a heap of other people about
whom I know nothing.
I lay no claim to ownership of the characters, I simply like to ask them out to play now and then.