Author: Morgan R.
Email: Lshallot@juno.com
Rating: G
Summary: Think way back- Doppelgangland back. Bad Willow, BAD Willow!
Feedback: I'd be delighted.
Author's Note: I'm sort of dabbling in a Cordelia Retrospective- looking
at old episodes from the new perspective two seasons of Angel has given.
Love her.
So yes, I recover quickly from intense fear. I'm not into fragile.
Maybe I was a little unfeeling, but really, there were so many
extenuating-
Whatever. Moving right along, she left and I was alone with Wesley. So
I said, "Willow. They got Willow. So, are you doing anything tonight?"
He didn't quite know what to do with that. Lots of blinking.
"Really, Miss Chase, I um, that is, I'm not sure that- ahem. Perhaps we
should return to the library, hmm?"
I made him stutter. I loved that. I was sick of varsity jocks taking me
as their due, of Xander's ability to always find a smoothly sarcastic
response. The only thing smooth about Wesley was his appearance, and I
revelled in my ability to find the flustered, tongue-tied schoolboy
underneath it all.
"Are you sure it's safe?" Not that I really thought he would know, but I
wanted to give his equilibrium back. Authority. It hurts when it's
missing.
"I should think so- but stick close. I don't want anything happening to
you."
"I will," I whispered in his ear, and smiled a little when goosebumps
broke out on the nape of his neck.
**********
"Do you know what happened? Was that why you were here?"
He shook his head. "No, I was coming to retrieve some of my books from
Giles' office. No one told me anything- but they all care for Willow
very much. They would be understandably distraught."
I nodded, but we both knew that wasn't enough. Not enough of a reason to
lock him out, not enough of a reason to run off without leaving word.
Not enough- even this senseless death wouldn't be enough to make me
forgive her, not yet. Her mouth might have turned cold and sharp, but
the sight of it hungrily covering Xander's was still so-
"What time is it?" I asked, if only to remind him of my voice, my
presence. He looked at his watch with that grace that was always
surprising, his wrist held at a sharp angle.
"Half past eleven."
"Do you think they'll come back soon?" My fingers were twisting together
in my lap, and the glitter of my dress looked out of place underneath the
tense flesh.
"Probably. Eventually."
If I hadn't looked up then, I might have never-
But I did.
And I saw him, deflated, looking as small as I had been feeling ever
since I learned I wasn't good enough. Ever since I learned that being
smooth and brilliant just wasn't enough when you just weren't welcome.
Wesley had trained his whole life, and any other slayer would probably
consider herself lucky to get him. (Any other school dork would consider
himself lucky to kiss me-) But he wasn't the one they wanted, he wasn't
the one that fit. He came too late, after the group was closed for
membership, and we were so alike it made my still-healing stomach hurt.
We both had an endless stream of words, pouring from our smirking lips,
smug smiles and sarcastic eyes completing the picture. We were both top
of the line, the best and brightest in our respective fields. I had
owned an entire high school, and he had been chosen to work with the best
Slayer in centuries.
We neither of us made the grade. Not the one that mattered.
Their cold eyes, inability to comprehend, unwillingness to accept- it was
inevitable. No one could be good enough for the boy they adored, no one
could replace their surrogate father. The fact that we didn't attempt
such lofty goals was lost on them, and the animosity only grew.
He sat in the chair, slumped as I had never seen him, his starched shirt
protesting. He was a mirror, that night. Under cover of bravado we were
equally empty, looking for an approval in the vain hope that it might
come if we wanted it enough.
"They should have told you," I murmured, and I cursed myself for the
almost-break in my voice. It clashed with my dress, that weakness.
He looked up, and seemed to fill out a little. Certainly understand.
"Well- thank you."
"Do you always carry crosses and holy water?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Of course."
I smiled. "Giles almost always forgets."
The corner of his mouth lifted, and I was queen again. Just for a
moment.
"Cordelia, how exactly did you find out about vampires?"
"Well..." How to say it, how to tell... "I'm very perceptive." Leave it
at that.
He didn't dream of the snide remark I would have gotten from anyone else.
He didn't even think to question or insult me. He took his glasses off,
setting them on the varnished wood, and looked up at me with youthful
blue eyes.
"You are."
Appearance deceives- but at least we could see that.
The End
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