SquidgeWorld Archive

The Hands Have It
by Pirate Turner

        Angel slowly worked his way down the stairs. If his heart had still been beating, it would have been hammering like crazy against its prison in his chest. As it was, the Vampire's face was darkened even more than usual by his scowl, and his eyes flitted nervously around, as if expecting danger to pop out at him from any crevice of his life at any time. If he had been any other man, he would have been smiling, his eyes joyfully dancing at what he should be about to find -- the vision of loveliness who, for a full two weeks now, had met him at the base of the stairs with a cup of blood accented with her little extra touch and his son on her hip --, but he was not any other man. He was Angel, the Vampire "cursed" with a soul, the warrior who must never give up the fight, the Demon that could never repay the world for all the harm he had previously caused it as the Scourge of Europe.

        Things had been going great for him lately. A single case hadn't popped up that they couldn't handle, and his life was rounded out by a full circle of loving friends; a gorgeous woman who he was beginning to think might actually, by some miracle that he did not and could never deserve, feel something more for him than just friendship; and a smiling, healthy baby boy. Everything was going just right for the first time in his long life, but that was exactly what worried Angel so much. It was just too right. Trouble was there. He could feel it, lurking just below the surface. He could smell its foul stench just waiting to snap him up and whisk away all those he had come to care so deeply for. It was there, so close that he could almost reach out and . . .

        "Crap!" The sharp exclamation and the crash of glass that accompanied it cut Angel's thoughts off for just a moment, but as he leapt the rest of the way down the long staircase, he couldn't help thinking that yes, it was most definitely there. He ran to the kitchen and straight to Cordelia's side. "Cordy?" he asked in concern as he took in the shattered mug and the blood pooling on the floor. "Are you okay?"

        "I'm fine," she quickly reassured him. "Just klutzy," she added with a half-grin.

        Looking down at her hands, he found, to his surprise, that they were gloved. Blood dotted the smooth satin of the long gloves. He felt her tense and heard the sharp intake of her breath, though only through his superior hearing, as he gently took her hands in his. "You're hurt."

        "No." She shook her head, but he could tell that she was in pain. "It's just some of your blood that fell out of the mug. I'm sorry. I can make you another one."

        He eyed her in deep concern. "I'm not worried about that blood. I'm worried about yours."

        "Angel, it's not mine. Honest."

        He saw the betraying flash of pain in her hazel eyes as he lifted her hands higher with all the gentleness that he would use with Connor. He lowered his head over her hands and sniffed. Her scent instantly heated his hormones, but his concern overpowered the natural attraction. He could smell the mixture of blood and cinnamon that had stained her gloves as well as their new scent. He frowned. The only blood of Cordelia's that he smelled was that that flowed through her veins, but he knew she was in pain. "What's wrong with your hands?"

        If it were possible, she became even tenser with that soft question. "Nothing."

        "Cordelia, you're in pain."

        "I'm fine."

        "Then what's with the gloves?" he demanded, his eyes raising to meet hers.

        She shrugged but looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. "It's the latest fashion craze. They're new gloves, made by Prada. I just bought them yesterday, and they're totally ruined!" she exclaimed hotly, snatching her hands from his with a grimace. "Now, if you're done with the interrogating, I've got to go see if I can salvage them!"

        He did not speak but watched her turn away from him and storm out of the kitchen. His brow remained furrowed, and his dark eyes ridden with deep concern for the woman he loved. She was lying to him. Something was wrong, and he would find out what it was . . . no matter what she did to try to keep him from doing so. He sighed. He had been right. Something was wrong; something was always wrong.

        Angel turned back from the weapons cabinet to look inquiringly over at Cordelia where she still sat before the computer console. "Aren't you coming?" he asked her.

        She shrugged. "It's just a new nest. I figured you didn't need me."

        He always needed her, but he couldn't tell her that. He gripped the axe in his left hand, testing its wield before walking back over to her. "You could always come along anyway."

        "Let me see," she replied, pretending to actually think about her choices. "I could go with you guys and get hot, sweaty, and totally slimed or I could stay here and see if I can find us any actual paying customers. Hmm." She cocked her head to one side as she looked up at him, and he couldn't help noticing that the usual glimmer that would have accompanied her teasing tone was lacking from her eyes. "It's really a tough decision, but I think I'll go with staying here and away from the battlefield."

        He nodded understandingly. He came to a stop before the desk and started to hand Connor down to her. She hesitated to take him, however, and Angel frowned. "Is something wrong?"

        "Of course not!" she exclaimed, a bit too quickly, with a forced laugh. She stood and started to take Connor from him, but he saw her grimace when her hands brushed his strong arms.

        "Cordelia, what's wrong?"

        "Nothing, Angel!" she sharply retorted as she took Connor from his father's arm. "Now will you stop being such a worry wart and go out and kill something?" She grinned, but he was not fooled for her smile did not meet her eyes.

        "Fine," he replied, turning from her so that she would not see his own eyes and the duel between concern and frustrated anger that warred within them. He snatched the axe up and stormed outside. Cordelia watched him go with sad eyes, and for once, the small bundle in her arms did absolutely nothing to comfort her. Instead, as soon as the guys had gone, she turned and handed Connor to Fred. "I've got something I've got to do."

        Fred's brow creased in confusion as Cordelia turned and stalked away. She shut the door behind her but did not bother to turn on the light. Instead, she slipped her gloves off and gently held her hands, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from crying aloud in pain.

        They found more trouble than they had originally bargained for with the nest, and so it was much later that night when Angel and the others finally returned home. Cordelia and Fred quickly set to work on their injuries, Cordy unhesistantly tending to Angel first while Fred dealt with Gunn and Wesley and the quarrel bickering between the two. Angel had a nasty cut on his shoulder, and although she had had no apparent problems applying the anesthetic, Cordelia had been fighting with the same piece of tape for over five minutes. She could not seem to simultaneously keep the tape from sticking to her gloves and apply it to Angel's wound, no matter what she tried.

        "You know," Angel finally and quietly spoke up, "you could just take off your gloves." She ignored him at first, but after a moment of watching her still struggling with the tape, Angel asked, "Cordy?" Still, she continued to fight with the tape and ignore him until he finally gently clasped his hands around hers. She quickly bit her bottom lip to silence the cry that rose in her throat. "Cordelia," he spoke her name softly, lowering his head and then looking up into her eyes, his gaze forcing her to keep from looking away, "why are you being so stubborn over nothing? Why won't you just take them off?"

        "I'm not taking off my gloves."

        "Why?" It was an innocent question, but she glared at him nonetheless. "Do you have a wart or something?" he asked her. She shook her head. "Then what is it?"

        "I already told you, Angel. It's the latest fashion . . . "

        He cut her off. "The Cordelia I know would never let what others deem to be the most fashionable item of the day keep her from seeing to her friends."

        "What?" she snapped. "You're concerned about how they're affecting my job?!" Her hazel eyes blazed.

        "Of course not, Cordelia!" he exclaimed, his angry voice bordering on a roar. "I'm concerned about you, damn it! What the Hell is going on?!"

        "I already told you, Angel, -- nothing!"

        "The Hell it's nothing!" he barked in response. "Now take off the damn gloves!" He realized his mistake even as he was exclaiming, but he had been unable to shut his mouth in time to keep the words out. "Cordelia . . . " he tried, but it was already too late.

        Cordelia Chase drew herself to her full height as she glared down the legendary Vampire with a soul. "I am not some little dog that you can bark at and order around, Angel! I don't have to take off the damn gloves unless I want to! Nobody tells me what to do!"

        "I," Fred's soft, timid voice hesitantly spoke up from where she stood with the others at a safe distance from the arguing couple, "thought he was the boss?"

        "He may be," Cordelia snapped, her blazing eyes darting back to Angel, "but that doesn't mean I have to do everything he says!" Tossing the tape down at the desk, Cordelia turned and began to stalk off, but Angel deftly caught her wrist.

        The look she shot him made him swallow hard, but he did not fail to question her. "Where are you going?"

        "Home. Got a problem with that?" He started to nod, but her next words shocked him so that he completely froze. "Then my resignation can be on your desk first thing in the morning," she told him flatly with a single rose eyebrow.

        "Cordelia! You . . . You wouldn't --" he stammered out, clearly taken aback.

        "I don't want to," she admitted, "but I refuse to be treated like your little slave, Angel! Now I'm going home, with or without your permission, and I hope you've got your mess together by tomorrow!"

        Angel's jaw dropped, joining the other four open mouths in the room as he released her and let her go. It took a few minutes before any one managed to recover from the shock of Cordelia's unreasonable fury, but Gunn was the first to speak. "Monthly?"

        Fred blushed a brilliant shade of red at the word that slipped out of her lover's mouth, but Angel shook his head with a surprising calmness. "No. It's something more." His eyes shifted to Lorne. "What do you know about Prada?"

        "They make handbags," he answered, looking at Angel in confusion, "and shoes, but what in the world does that have to do with this?"

        Angel ignored the question. "Do they make gloves?" Lorne shrugged, and he turned to Fred. "Fred, find me anything you can on . . . "

        "I'm on it," she answered him, already moving toward the computer, before he even could complete the order.

        Outside, Cordelia sat in her car, looking at the steering wheel in horror. Taking a deep breath, she put her hands on the wheel, curled her fingers, and instantly cried out in pain. She quickly released the wheel and looked down at her hands through tear-filled eyes. "Damn it!!" There was no way she was going to be able to drive herself home that night. She was going to have to leave her car there, take a cab home, and pray that they wouldn't ask her about her car tomorrow.

        She sighed. What was she going to do about Angel? She knew he was worried and had every right to be, but if he found out what was wrong . . . She closed her eyes against the red-hot pain that swelled in her chest at the mere thought. She couldn't let him find out. She couldn't lose him. Before the horrid thoughts could fully grasp a hold of her, she hardened her eyes as best she could against her sadness, fear, and pain; opened her eyes; picked up her gloves from beside her; carefully slid them on over her aching hands; and got out to hail a taxi.

Chapter Two

        "Nothing," Fred said no more than fifteen minutes later. "Prada doesn't make gloves. I did run research on the ones that Cordelia is wearing, however."

        "And?" Angel prompted eagerly.

        She clicked on a link, bringing information up so that Angel could see the picture of the gloves and the company's logo from where he hovered, peering anxiously over her shoulder. "They're made by a local company. No big name or anything like that. Nothing that Cordy would normally be interested in."

        Angel's brow creased. "Are they . . . fashionable?" It was difficult for even he to keep a straight face as he spoke the question he had to ask.

        That question brought Gunn's, Wesley's, and Lorne's heads popping up in shock from the other side of the room. Even Fred turned her face upwards so that she could look into the stoic face of the ensouled Vampire. "Fashionable?" she repeated, clearly surprised.

        He nodded, ignoring the other's shocked expressions and his own disbelief that he was actually researching, or having Fred research, fashion of all things. "She said that the gloves are the latest fashion."

        "Doubtful," Fred replied, turning back to the monitor and shaking her head. "Not these gloves. Maybe others. I can run a lead and see if anything in the latest fashion magazines and channels has anything to do with gloves."

        "Do it." Fred did not question him but only set to work, turning back to Google once more. She shook her head as a stray thought ran through her mind, {One of these days, I'm going to turn into a search engine.}

        Cordelia looked at the locked door before her. She took a deep breath and forced her hands to open her purse and fish out her keys. She had to keep her teeth pressing down on her bottom lip to keep from crying in pain as she struggled to separate her keys from the rest of the objects in her purse. When she finally managed to pick up her keys, she almost had them out of her purse when her fingers suddenly let go, allowing the keys to drop back. She gave a small growl of frustration, a habit she had picked up from Angel, and tried again. It took her two more tries before she was finally able to remove her keys from her purse and slid her key into the lock. Pain screamed through her hand as she turned the key. The door swung open, and she moved into her apartment without bothering to close it and trusting Dennis to take care of it instead.

        As Cordelia slipped out of her high heels, the door shut behind her. She whimpered involuntarily in pain as she began to struggle with her coat's buttons, but a pair of invisible hands soon began unbuttoning her coat for her. She thankfully stood still as Dennis took off her coat, watch, and earrings. He took her purse from her, as well, and then sat all of it onto the couch. Turning back to face her, he watched in sympathetic pain for his best friend as she slowly peeled off her gloves.

        Cordelia pressed her lips together, trying to keep from letting the pain escape her mouth again, as she struggled to slip off first one glove and then the other. The skin of the back of her hands was red and cracked. She studied her hands for a moment, only her watery eyes giving away her pain, horror, and fear. The redness of her hands was even brighter now, and little droplets of blood shimmered in holes in her tender flesh. She swallowed hard and quickly lifted her gaze.

        She could feel Dennis' concern though he couldn't say a word. "Don't give me that, Dennis. I'm not telling him, and you know why. Now just help me into bed, please?" she asked in a voice that was so much more like a little girl's than the one that all who knew her expected to come out of Cordelia Chase's mouth. It tore at Dennis' heart to see her in such pain, but he obeyed, pulling back the covers so that she could slip into bed. She kept her hands lifted as he tucked in the blankets around her. He then picked up two braces from her bedside table and, as gently as he possibly could, helped her to slide both onto her hands. He fastened the latches, then looked back down at her.

        It was killing his heart to see her like this. The Cordelia Chase he knew and loved was a strong, independent, and breathtakingly beautiful woman, but the Cordelia he now cared for was in such pain that her emotions were, at times, almost those of a child. Her big, round eyes made him ache even more to comfort her, and the small line of determination that her mouth was set in told him of the trouble she had had that day. He settled down beside her, wrapping his arms around the blankets that held her and squeezing them gently in order to hug her. He was rewarded with a smile for his efforts, but even then her lips trembled.

        "I hate this," she whispered, and she could sense his response even though he neither spoke nor wrote. "I hate the pain. I hate the lying. But I can't tell him. I can't. If Angel knows . . . If he even suspects . . . I'll lose him, and I couldn't bare that."

        "Nothing," Fred finally announced. "Absolutely nothing. Gloves are just gloves; they're nowhere near the fashion industry's latest accessory. I'm not surprised by that. What I don't get, however," she said, turning from her chair to look inquiringly up at Angel, "is what in the world any of this has to do with Cordelia?"

        "There's something about those gloves. Something she's using them to hide." He could feel the others' eyes on him as he spoke, and his mouth was open to explain further when the phone suddenly rang. He reached out and snatched it up to his ear with a lightning-fast reflex. "Angel Investi --" he started but never got any further. He froze, his eyes wide and a mixture of emotions flashing over his betraying face for on the other end of the line was the whimpering, crying voice of the woman he loved.

        "I can't, Dennis. It hurts so much, but you know what the doctor said. She said that even when it gets better this time, it'll come back later. It's something that'll always be there. It's not going to go away permanently, and if he finds out, he won't want me working for him any longer. He won't want me for anything! He . . . " Her voice broke off abruptly in a whimper of pain that caused Angel to drop the phone. He didn't waste words. He didn't try to explain to any of the others what was happening, much less the warring emotions that were bubbling over in his heart and soul. He just fled the office, heading straight for Cordelia's apartment and silently thanking Dennis as he ran.

Chapter Three

        A drifting breeze fluttered through Cordelia's bedroom. In truth, it was but a sigh emitted from Dennis as he held her through the blanket. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed not to hear his sigh. He had held her far more than enough times to know better, however. She was not asleep but was merely laying still in his arms and breathing shallowly to make him think she had finally fallen asleep and was not still fighting to keep the pain that writhed in her hands from showing or making her cry any more than it already had.

        Dennis was proved right when the window slid open and Cordelia jumped up to a sitting position, her hazel eyes wide and fixed on the hands that appeared on the ledge. A hard lump began to form in her throat, but before it could even fully materialize, Angel's head poked inside. His pale face and dark eyes were clouded with deep concern, and he never saw the anger flash across Cordelia's face as he climbed into her bedroom.

        "Angel!" Cordelia moved so swiftly that when Angel turned around, he had to step back in order to keep from colliding with her. "What are you doing here?!" she demanded, her infamous glare tearing into him more than her words possibly could.

        He managed to remain calm and hide his surprise at her reaction. "I was worried about you," came the admission before he could stop it.

        "So you decided you'd climb into my bedroom window?!"

        "Hum . . . Well, I . . . " Unable to find any words to rescue him, Angel turned instead and met Cordelia's gaze with his own. "Would you have let me in if I had knocked on the door?"

        "What kind of a question is that? Of course I would --" Angel cut her short with a single, raised eyebrow, and her expression turned sheepish. "Well, hum, okay, maybe I wouldn't have, but . . . "

        He shook his head. "No but's, Cordelia. No more games."

        Her eyes flickered. "Are you on that kick again? Nobody's playing any games, Angel."

        "You know what I mean. Stop pretending. Stop lying to me."

        "Lying to you!?!"

        She started to say more, but his snap droned out her words. "Yes, Cordelia," he hissed fiercely through gritted fangs, his eyes flashing, "lying to me! I know you, Cordelia. I know when you're telling the truth and when you're trying to keep something from me. I know when you're in trouble and when you're in pain. I --"

        "If you really knew me, Dead Boy, you'd know when to lay off!" She turned her back to him and quickly pressed her arms close against her chest, but the movement had not been in time. When she had turned, he had seen her hands, which she had been hiding behind her back until then, for just a brief second. She heard him gasp and braced herself as best she could for the worst.

        "Cordelia, let me see your hands."

        "No."

        "Cordelia . . . "

        "I said no, Angel!"

        "Cordy . . . " He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and a warm spark shot through her at the touch. She quickly shoved his hand off, however, determined not to let her emotions get the best of her. "Cordy . . . " he tried again.

        "What part of 'no' don't you understand, Angel?"

        "What part of I'm trying to help you don't you understand?"

        "I don't need your help, Angel." The silence that followed was so heavy that she knew her words had finally cut him . . . and instantly regretted it. She sighed. "Angel, there's nothing you can do to help me. There's nothing any one can do." Moisture shimmered in her hazel eyes, and she hated herself for being so weak.

        "I refuse to believe that," he told her firmly. He gingerly touched her shoulder, and when she did not pull away from him again, he cupped his hand gently around her shoulder. He was careful to keep any pressure from going into the touch and remained ready to pull back again even as he continued to speak. He tried to catch her gaze, but she repeatedly tore her shimmering eyes away from him, refusing to face him. "Whatever it is, Cordelia, it's nothing we can't handle together. Let me see them, and I'll find a way . . . "

        She shook her head. "You can't."

        "How do you know I can't, Cordy? Give me a chance. Let me see them."

        "Damn it, Angel!" she exclaimed, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. "Why won't you ever listen to me?! You can't help me, so just leave me alone please!"

        "If you won't let me see them, then at least tell me why your hands are in braces," he pleaded, his voice a soft whisper that brushed across the back of her neck.

        "For support. To help . . . " Realizing what she was saying, Cordelia shut her mouth and prayed she could still find a way out of this.

        "But why do they need the support, Cord?"

        "Why are you so damn determined to find out what's wrong with them?!"

        The words that spilled from Angel's lips so surprised Cordelia that she froze and stood completely still, unable to believe his words. "Because I care about you." Seeing the reaction that his response had brought, Angel used that moment to move around Cordelia and gently took her by her elbows. He could see her hands now, but he was almost sorry that he could.

        Knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop him now, Cordelia let Angel gently and carefully lift her hands. She watched, her breath caught in her throat and her heart hammering away at a hundred beats per second, as his dark eyes examined her skin. Angel's own habited breathing stopped as his eyes took in the sight before him. The delicate skin of the beautiful woman before him, the one person in all the world who meant everything to him, was blood red and sprinkled with tiny holes and cuts where blood still shimmered.

        His knees felt weak, and compassionate pain welled in his eyes even as his heart and the very fabric of his soul burned in fury. "Who?" he growled out in a dangerous voice so low that Cordelia could barely hear him. "Who did this to you?" He'd hunt them down and kill them, but first he'd torture them for what they had done to her. His red-hot fury built as he waited for her answer. Whoever or whatever it was that had done this to her, to the one woman who meant more to him than any other ever had, he would find them . . . and he would flay them alive.

        Of all the things he might have expected her to say then, of all the names of the ones who could have hurt her that flashed through his mind and that he vowed vengeance on each and every one of them, none of them was the answer he got. "Nobody."

        "Cordelia," he whispered, barely able to retain his anger, "don't lie to me. Please don't lie to me. Tell me. They'll never hurt you again. I promise."

        "Angel, you don't understand," she spoke quietly and sadly.

        His eyes rose from her hands to meet hers. "Then explain it to me," he said simply. His heart felt dead in his chest. Oh Gods, surely, she couldn't have done this to herself?! "Tell me." It took all of his restraint to keep his voice even and not shaking with rage. "Tell me what happened, Cordelia."

        She bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes from his, unable to keep looking at him. If she told him the truth, she'd lose him. He'd let her go in the belief that he was doing the best thing possible for her, but doing so would steal everything she cared about away from her. Most importantly of all, it would cause her to lose him. "Cordy?" Still, she did not answer him, but when he breathed a quiet plea of, "Please?", that bordered on a whimper, the truth fell out.

        "It's a disease."

        "What?" he asked, his eyes first blinking and then widening in surprise.

        "It's a disease," she repeated, almost snappingly. "It's called carpal tunnel syndrome, and there's no cure for it."

Chapter Four

        Fear spiraled through him at her words, and Angel's mind whirled. Carpal tunnel syndrome. Why was that name familiar? Wesley or Fred had mentioned it once, but he couldn't remember when or about what. His glistening eyes returned to her hands as he lifted one of her hands that seemed so much smaller and more delicate inside the brace in both of his hands. "A disease did this?" he asked quietly.

        "Yes." She nodded, biting back the tears that clogged her throat. He brushed his thumb gently across the brace, and she pressed her lips together to silence the gasp of pain. His hands instantly froze, and he looked back to her. "I'm okay," she hurriedly assured him, but he shook his head.

        "No, you're not. What happened, Cordy? How did you --?"

        She closed her eyes for a moment, stilling herself and trying unsuccessfully to prepare for what she was certain was about to come. "Any movement that you do a lot with your hands or wrists can trigger it."

        "But what do you --?" he started to ask but broke off as a picture of her fingers flying over the keyboard flashed through his mind.

        Her heartbeat slowed in dread. Here it came!

        "Typing."

        "No! It's not that!" She hated herself for lying to him, but she knew that if he knew it was, he would do his best to keep her from typing when her hands were like this. If she could not type, she could not be his secretary, and he would not keep her only for her unreliable visions.

        He rose a single eyebrow at her. "Then what is it?" At her silence, he nodded. "Fred can take over the typing."

        Her widened, flashing eyes snapped up at him as she shouted, "NO!"

        He pulled his head back in surprise and examined her scared face. "Cordy, it's no big deal. Fred can handle it, and it would give her something more to do to help out."

        It was no big deal. Of course, it wasn't to him! She wasn't a big deal to him. "Angel, I can handle it."

        "I will not let you continue typing when it will make your hands worse."

        "No! I can handle it!"

        "Damn it, Cordelia!" Angel snapped. "Stop lying to me! Stop lying to yourself! You can not continue typing when it's doing this to you! I won't let you keep doing something that's hurting you! Look at your hands! Do you want them to stay like this?!"

        "No, of course not, but you can't take that away from me! You can't!" The tears that had filled her eyes now started to fall down her cheeks, and Angel looked at her in surprise. "Please," she whimpered, "you can't take that away from me! Maybe my being there isn't a big deal to you, but it is to me!"

        Angel took an unconscious step back as he stared at Cordelia in shock. Where was this coming from? Why was she so desperate to keep doing something that was hurting her? Why was she talking like he was trying to fire her? "Cordy, what . . . ?" He shook his head in confusion, not really knowing what to say. "I'm not trying to get rid of you."

        She stopped; even her tears paused for a moment. "Y-You're not?" she whispered, looking up at him with large, shimmering, brown eyes.

        "Of course not!" he exclaimed heatedly at the absurd notion. "But you can't keep doing something that's hurting you!"

        "But if I can't type, I can't be your secretary."

        "You'll always be my secretary." {And so much more.}

        She shook her head. "Angel, if I can't type, I can't use the computer. If I can't do that, why would you need me?"

        Angel's mouth flew open, and he just barely managed to stop the words that welled in his heart from tumbling out of his betraying mouth. "You can answer the phone, bring me my blood, that sort of thing."

        She shook her head again. "You're not going to keep me around just for doing stuff like that."

        "You're Vision Girl. You said it yourself," he reminded her. "I won't get rid of you!"

        Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as Cordelia remained looking up at him. "I never said that."

        "Yes, you did."

        "No, I didn't," she insisted with a shake of her head. "What I said is that you can't get rid of me because I'm Vision Girl, not that you wouldn't. You've done it before."

        "Biggest mistake of my life." Realizing what he had just said, Angel's eyes flew wide even as he clamped his mouth shut.

        "Really?" Cordelia asked with raised eyebrows. "Since when?"

        "I . . . I never should have fired you, any of you," he hurried to amend. How had this happened? How had she managed to turn the tables and corner him instead?

        "That's not it. There's more to it. Angel, what is it you're not telling me this time?"

        "Nothing!" he quickly blurted out.

        "Angel . . . " she started.

        He sighed; he knew he'd never get away without at least telling her a portion of what he'd came so close to spilling. "I'm not going to fire you, Cordelia. I won't; I can't. You're my Seer, my link to humanity, but you're more than that. You're my best friend, the closest friend I've ever had, and I couldn't do half the stuff I've managed to do without you."

        "Angel . . . " Cordelia breathed his name with shimmering eyes, clearly surprised. "I . . . I never knew . . . "

        "That's exactly why I can't fire you, Cordy. You mean too much to me." {And I love you.}

        "Angel, that's why I was so scared to tell you about my hands. I knew you wouldn't let me continue typing when they're in this condition because of that, but I thought you'd fire me if I couldn't . . . you know . . . complete my secretarial duties. Doing what we do -- helping the helpless -- with the gang and . . . and with you . . . it means everything to me, Angel!" {You mean everything to me!} "I can't imagine a life without it, without any of you, and if I lost it, nothing else would matter!"

        "That would never happen, Cordy." He found himself reaching out to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, and as he did so, his knuckles softly brushed the tender skin of her cheek.

        Dennis, watching the two, groaned in frustration. He had long known how they truly felt about each other. He still knew every time that Angel peeked in Cordelia's window when she was sleeping, just checking to make sure that she was still there, still okay, and still in his life. Cordelia constantly confided in him and, thinking that he'd never have the chance to tell Angel, had even told him that she loved the Vampire.

        He continued to watch them as they stood there, Angel's hand hovering where it just barely touched her cheek, their heads bent so that they look each other in the eyes, their lips just mere inches apart . . . "Well, damn it," he muttered, "if you're not going to do it for yourselves, I'm going to do it for you!" With that, he shoved against Cordelia's back. She toppled forward with a surprised yelp, and Angel caught her instinctively. Even as his strong arms wrapped gently around her slender body, her heartbeat pounded in his ears.

        Cordelia knew Dennis had pushed her and what he was trying to do, but being this close to Angel, feeling his arms around her, made her heart thunder so loudly inside her throat that she could not think to yell at him. Instead, it was all she could do to breathe the name of the man she loved. "A-Angel . . . "

        He knew he shouldn't, but he could feel all sense melting away as he stared down into her beautiful eyes. He had been so scared that he was losing her, and in the space of only a few seconds, two miracles had happened. She had admitted that he meant a great deal to her, even if it wasn't in the way he'd longed for for so long, and now, some force of fate -- Dennis did not even cross his mind -- had all but thrown her into his arms. Even as he struggled desperately to rein in his base impulse, Angel suddenly found his lips upon Cordelia's.

        She did not know what was happening, did not know why he was kissing her, but her lips parted under his, welcoming him. Angel's fingers splayed across the small of her back as he pulled her closer to him, though even then, his subconscious remained careful to keep from crushing her hands against his chest. She moaned softly against his lips as his tongue slid into her mouth to begin a provocative game of tag with her tongue, and their kiss deepened . . .

Chapter Five

        She leaned into him, her spirit seeming to float on air for the joy that filled her, as she returned his kiss in full. Their bodies were so close that each could feel the beat of the other's heart. His fingers dared to run through the hair that had called bewitchingly to them for years, and the sigh in the back of her throat only served to make him deepen their kiss even more. With words flung aside, their actions sang to each other all the love that each held for the other, love beyond both their wildest imaginations until they had fallen for one another! She loved him, he loved her, and for one moment, that was all that mattered in their world! And then the door exploded.

        Or, at least, that's what it looked like had happened when the lovers parted to see Gunn charging into the room with Wesley right at his heels. Lorne and Fred picked their way more carefully through the door, and both grinned when they saw Cordelia wrapped in Angel's loving arms. It took Wesley and Gunn a second longer to catch on to what they had interrupted, and when it dawned on them, their weapons clattered to the floor and their mouths dropped open in shock.

        Lorne was the first to speak, and when he did so, a wry grin teased them. "We can show ourselves out, Peaches. You and Angel cakes just go right back to what you were doing."

        He winked but then frowned for Angel had released Cordelia at his words as though his hands had been burned. Cordelia stood, looking in shock from the door back to Gunn and Wesley and the weapons at their feet. "Guys, what . . . ?" She shook her head slowly. "You couldn't knock?"

        "We thought you were in trouble," Gunn replied.

        "So you just automatically knocked the door?" She quirked a brow at him. "Or did you chop it down with the axe?" And how in the world had she not heard it? She raised a hand to her lips, forgetting for a moment about the pain that shot through her until it flared up her arm. She gasped, then pressed her lips together tightly to keep any more sound from betraying her.

        Angel stepped immediately to her side. He reached out to grasp her aching hands and stopped himself a split moment before he could do so. Touching her would hurt her, and that was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.

        Wesley pushed his slipping glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. "We thought you were in trouble."

        "What would make you think that?"

        Fred piped up. "The way Angel left." Her eyes quickly dropped to the floor at the look Angel gave her.

        Cordelia sighed, hovering on an edge she hated being trapped on. Should she tell them? Would they think less of her?

        "Not gonna happen," Angel whispered beside her, his hot breath blowing against her raven hair and sending delicious tingles through her body.

        She glanced sideways at him. How could he be so sure? They had come to her rescue in a hurry. Even Fred had come, and she was surely not a fighter. Cordelia's half-smile lingered between amusement and pity. She doubted the poor girl could fight her way out of a wet paper sack!

        Lorne's yellow eyes enveloped his two best friends in their caring gaze. "What's happening, brown eyes?"

        "Tell us, Cordy," Fred agreed, daring to raise her eyes to look at them again.

        "You know we're here for you, Cordelia," Wesley spoke, "whatever it is."

        A sudden flare of anger blew out of Gunn's nostrils. "Who did that?" he seethed through grinding teeth. "I'll cut his damn head off!"

        Cordelia smiled sadly. Her friends loved her, and if Angel wasn't going to throw her away because she was useless, they surely would not. "No one, Gunn." She raised her hands for them to see and watched the caring, compassionate expressions fill their faces.

        Wesley let out a sharp breath. "Carpal tunnel syndrome." He had seen a case this bad only once before.

        "Carpal what?" Gunn questioned.

        "A disease that tends to afflict any one who uses their hands and wrists in the same motions too often," Fred replied as though it was obvious. She nodded, "I'll do the computer work."

        Lorne's eyes met Cordelia's, and she was struck by the tears she saw glistening therein. "Why didn't you just tell us?"

        "Yeah. You don't have to be Queen C with us," Gunn put in.

        "We're your friends, Cordelia," Wesley added. "You should have come to us."

        "There was nothing you could do, guys . . . " Cordelia's voice broke abruptly off as Fred, who had walked across the room to join Angel and herself, wrapped her thin arms around her. One by one, the men came to join in the hug. Cordelia could not stop her tears from falling as she was embraced by all her friends . . . no, she amended herself silently, her family.

        "Anything you need me to do, you just ask." The others agreed quickly with Fred's offer.

        "And don't you ever keep anything else like this from us," Wesley threatened, and though he could never pull a threat off quite accurately in Cordelia's eyes, she was nonetheless moved by the loving, caring emotion she saw shining in his dark eyes. She nodded mutely and squeezed them all again.

        It was odd, she thought a few minutes later, that they had all filed out quietly after the hug. No one had asked any more questions, though Wesley had said he was going to check on the operation that she already knew was never completely accurate. Every one she had spoken to about the operation said it only worked for a few months, at best, and then the disease came right back.

        She looked up at Angel, who was the only one who remained, a strange shyness wanting to claim her. She shook it off. She might never again have to be Queen C, but she was, and always would be, Cordelia Chase, and Cordelia Chase did not do shy! The intent gaze Angel gave her made her breath catch in her throat. Okay, well, most of the time, she didn't do shy . . . "Angel?"

        He stepped forward, closing the small gap between them, and cupped her face in his hands. His fingers brushed with feather light touches across her silky hair as he tilted her head to make sure he had her full and complete attention. "Nothing in this world or any other could make me get rid of you, Cordelia."

        Relief flooded her soul and lit up her face like a child on Christmas. But, still, there was something more she had to tell him . . . "Angel, I . . . "

        He placed a single finger gently upon her lips to silence her. "I'm sorry for being so angry with you, Cordelia . . . "

        Her jaw went slack with shock from his admission.

        " . . . but the truth is I couldn't think straight. All I could think was that I was going to lose you, and that scared me." He took a deep breath, though he had no need for air, as he stilled himself for what he had finally determined he was going to tell her. "I wouldn't blame you for leaving me. Gods know there's so much more that the outside world can offer you . . . "

        She shook her head, her need to correct him finally rising above her desire to hear everything he had to say. She kissed the tip of his finger, then pulled just far enough away from his touch that she could speak. "It doesn't have the number one thing I want," she told him in a hushed voice, her breath tickling his finger. She gazed up into his eyes, wondering for the hundredth time in the last minute if she dared complete what she burned so badly to tell him.

        "What do you want, Cordelia?" He had no idea what she was about to say, but she knew it wasn't the answer that he wanted. He wanted her to want him. No, not just to want him. He wanted her to love him for he loved her with all his being and would rather embrace the sun than spend one night without her in his life.

        She took a deep breath, then spoke the word in a rush, "You." Her eyes searched his for some sign of acceptance, but she was taken with awe by the rush of relief and happiness that flooded his dark orbs.

        He caressed her soft cheek as joy elated his soul. He more than half-expected to lose his happy soul right there on the spot, but, miracle of miracles, Angelus did not show to rear his ugly head. He could hear his voice in his mind, warning him not to get too happy or else he'd be out and the first thing he'd do would be to drain his gorgeous, beloved Cordelia dry. With a silent snarl, Angel told his evil side to shut up and dove head in to the rest of what he had ached for so long to tell this wonderful woman in his arms. "I love you, Cordelia, and I never want to lose you!"

        She couldn't help it. She squealed her happiness to the Heavens as her arms flung tightly around him! "I love you too!" He picked her up and spun her through the air, elation filling them both. Their smiles lit their faces with the brilliant radiance of more happiness than either had ever felt before. For once, he didn't dare to question his good fortune, and she didn't care to hide her emotions. Joyful laughter peeled from her luscious lips, and he brought her down, sliding her slowly down his body, so that he could claim those tempting, luscious lips for his own.

        As Angel and Cordelia drank deeply of each other in a kiss so passionate that it could never be shown on film for it would have melted the tape, applause erupted from the doorway. They pulled closer into each other, neither caring that their friends were watching, and it was only Lorne's voice, which almost went unheard, that broke them apart. "It's about time!" he exclaimed merrily. "Thank you, Dennis!"

        Cordelia and Angel pulled apart just enough that they could chime in with their family, "Thank you, Dennis!", and then returned to the kissing they had waited for too long to do! Had they been able to hear him, they would have heard Dennis whooping his own joy at their happiness as he danced across the ceiling.

The End