SHADOWS OF GUILT

Category: Angel/Cordelia

Rating: PG-13 for major angst

Content: Friendship, major angst

Spoilers: "City Of", "Hero", "The Prodigal"

Summary: A vision sends Angel and Cordelia to Angel's hometown. Third in the White Hat, White Horse series.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt, Mutant Enemy (grr...argh), the WB, not me.

Feedback: Makes me one happy puppy.

Distribution: Those who have my fic archived, anyone else please ask!

Author's Note: I took complete creative license with any detail of Angel's human life that was not expanded on in "The Prodigal". It's safe to say 99% of Angel's past as depicted here is not canon and a product of information from irelandnow.com and my imagination. This series takes place roughly 3 years after "City Of".

"For over a hundred years I offered an ugly death to everyone I met. And I did it with a song in my heart." -Angel (Excerpted from "Angel", BtVS Season 1)

~Shadows of Guilt~

By Christie

Possibilities, schmossibilities.

The kiss Angel and Cordelia had shared over a week ago had transpired to nothing. And suffice it to say, Cordelia was frustrated. Angel hadn't mentioned anything about that mostly horrible night, except to make sure she ate three square meals a day like some overbearing, overprotective mother hen. If Cordelia was to even make a face at the food, all hell broke loose.

Well, not literally. But fighting with Angel wasn't nearly as much fun as it used to be. Mostly because she knew he was right this time. She'd gained back five of the seventeen pounds she'd lost, but would never tell him that she actually felt better for it.

Still, Angel seemed pleased with her progress. And Cordelia was... well, taking one day at a time. She still had residual panic attacks at the most inopportune moments, but even those were fading with every day that passed. The key was not allowing food to run her life. She had other things to think about. Like the fact that she hadn't gotten a vision since this whole ordeal began. And no clients meant no money. No money meant serious detriment in the new spring shoe line at Macy's.

Mostly though, she kept her mind occupied with thoughts of Angel. For the first few days, it was what he'd said to her in her apartment as they stood in front of the mirror, fighting like cats and dogs. Or vampires and humans.

Whatever.

Then, even those words began to feel like a dream. Or a nightmare. Whichever way you chose to look at it. Cordelia was beginning to wonder if he'd really meant them, or if he was the really good actor in the family. Frankly, it pissed her off that he'd decided to act like it had never happened.

To his credit, she hadn't said anything either. But then, she had other things on her mind. She was the one with the crisis wasn't she?! It had settled heavily on her heart, but she knew the right thing to do was not to pursue it. It could only lead to disaster anyway. Angel had made it clear that matters of the heart were not what he was in LA to deal with. If she had green skin and a mean attitude and went around killing innocent people, well then he just might find it necessary to take some time on her. But that was about her only chance of getting that close to him again.

To be honest, it sucked the big.

Now, she sat at his kitchen table, just about dinner time, and watched as he made her spaghetti. This night would be the same as the last. She'd eat under his watchful eye, all the while making useless chatter to keep her mind off what she was actually doing: ingesting calories into a body that Hollywood had decided was not good enough for them.

Okay, so that was an exaggeration. Jason Styne had been one jerk in Hollywood, and, as Angel reminded her, not even a very successful jerk when it came right down to it. But still...it only took one scathing remark to cut her self-esteem to ribbons.

When she was done eating, Angel would drink his blood while she did the dishes, dutifully not watching him even though she insisted it wasn't as disgusting as she'd led on in the past. Still, he'd rather she didn't, and she respected that, though she didn't miss one occasion to point out that he insisted on watching her even though it made her uncomfortable.

He always replied that when he tried to starve himself of essential nutrients that kept his body functioning, she could watch him to make sure he ate.

She always shut up after that one.

After the dishes were done and Angel was fed, he'd don his weapons, take her home, and go out on patrol.

It was the same as it had been, and this was, Cordelia counted on her fingers, the eighth night of their comfortable, if not slightly whacked, routine. At least Angel had respected her privacy and not told Wesley of her entire embarrassing ordeal. Then she'd have two father hens nagging about her every move. One was certainly enough, thank-you-very-much.

If they didn't get a client soon, she would have to go out and drum up some trouble herself. Angel insisted on not charging those he happened to help while on patrol. They hadn't asked for his help, he reasoned, he'd just been in the right place at the right time.

Risking your life for theirs, Cordelia had pointed out. That hadn't flown. She'd just gotten reminded of how much easier it was to snuff out their mortal lives than his immortal one.

Yeah, yeah. Show off.

Just as Angel placed a way too large plate of spaghetti in front of her, the vision hit. Cordelia would have changed her mind about wanting to get one, if she could get a grip on the pounding, vibrating, throbbing mess of veiled images that had become her brain.

Angel was at her side in an instant, pushing the plate away and cradling her gently in his arms, always unsure of the best thing to do other than to hold her until the vision stopped. When it did, she cursed as she usually did, and immediately put a hand to her head, as if massaging her temples would somehow recede the pain.

Gathering the supplies she would need, a glass of water, some extra-strength pain reliever, and a pencil and paper, Angel returned to the table, handing first to her the water. She took it gratefully and ingested a large gulp, still panting from the viciousness of the attack.

"God," she muttered, putting the glass up to her throbbing temple. "Remind me never to hope for one of those bad boys again. Damn, that hurt." She took two aspirin with a shaking hand, bringing the glass down only long enough to swallow them, then returning it instantly to her head. With her free hand, she took the pencil and began writing.

Angel read over her shoulder. O'Malley's Pub. May 22. 7:15 p.m. Evil Happenings. She put the pencil down. Angel shook his head and seated himself in the chair beside her. He thought for a moment, mapping out L.A. in his brain. He couldn't place O'Malley's Pub. Finally, he looked at Cordelia, who was leaning back in her chair, rolling the cool edge of the glass over her head.

"Where's O'Malley's Pub?" he asked softly, knowing that she did not appreciate loud noises soon after a vision. She and Doyle had both described them as ten times worse than the worst hangover. He didn't envy them. Cordelia leaned forward, finally placing the glass of water on the table. She looked tired. Or frightened. Or both.

"Well, it's not in L.A.," she supplied helpfully.

"Where is it?" Angel asked. He was confused, and trying to read the cryptic expression on his friend's face wasn't helping. The only time he'd ever gotten a message of trouble outside of his city was when Doyle had seen Buffy. He really didn't want to have to go back to Sunnydale again, not after all this time. He was over Buffy, he was pretty sure of that, but it probably wouldn't help to see her. It was much better if they stayed right where they were. He liked his life now, with Cordelia, even with Wesley. He missed Doyle, but it had gotten easier as time went on. There didn't seem to be so much heartache now. He didn't want that back.

The Powers had stopped giving him reasons to have to go to them at their mercy. Because of that, he was in their favor. They'd restored his soul to permanency a couple of years ago. But he'd taken care in not celebrating over it. Angelus was still within him, and would always be.

Angel hadn't even told anyone. What would be the point? He couldn't go be with Buffy, that would be a direct disservice to the Powers that had given him such a gift. He was in L.A. to protect its innocents, and that was where he belonged. Cordelia was his Seer, which linked her directly to him for as long as she lived. He selfishly relished in that fact, even though he knew she'd trade the visions for a new Gucci handbag any day of the week. Things were the way they were supposed to be, now. Buffy was happy back in Sunnydale, he and Cordelia and Wesley had a thing that worked here in L.A. There was no need to mix those two worlds again.

Which brought him back to his inquiry, the one Cordelia still hadn't answered. Far as he could recall, there was no O'Malley's in Sunnydale either. Unless it was a new place. Though he wondered what kind of new place would have the nerve to call itself a pub. You never know, retro was trendy.

"Cordelia, where is O'Malley's? I can't really go there on..." he looked at the paper, "May 22, if I don't know where it is."

Cordelia looked up at him, as though shocked to hear his voice. Perhaps she'd been lost in her own thoughts. She did a quick calculation. May 22 was four days away. Not really a lot of time to hem and haw over this one.

"O'Malley's Pub is in Ireland," she reported slowly, gauging his reaction. What If there was one, she didn't catch it. "In Galway."

There it was. First disbelief, then shock, crawled across his handsome features. Cordelia watched him stand, as if in slow motion, and circle around the table, fists clenching at his side. She knew he wasn't going anywhere, just walking, as she realized he did lately when he didn't know what else to do. Angel was dangerously close to not qualifying as stoic anymore, she realized. Agitated was more like it.

"They can't send me a vision for Galway, Ireland," he finally said, voice low, hoarse. He turned, gazing at Cordelia. "Can they?"

Cordelia shrugged, her heart thumping in her chest. "They did," she said meekly. "I don't know why, Angel. I'm just the messenger."

I'm just the messenger. Angel flashed back to the first time he'd met Doyle. Angel had gotten all badass when Doyle had said that, and retorted back, "And I'm the message."

So he was. Suddenly, he missed the half-demon hero more than ever. Doyle could make sense of this, couldn't he? He could at least get excited about going back to the Old Country. But Doyle wasn't here, and Angel would have to do this alone. He couldn't take Cordelia. He wouldn't let her see what facing his past could do to him. The anguish was nearly ripping him from the inside out already. There was no way he wanted her to see that. She always told him he was strong, her protector. He kept her safe. This trip might completely dash those illusions to smithereens. But he couldn't face this alone. As much as he didn't want her to go, he needed her there. Because she didn't think it, or believe it, but she was his strength as well. She kept things in perspective for him, and kept him from falling into a black hole of dispair and grief. He just might fall in Ireland if she wasn't there to pick him up.

What the hell was he going to do?

"I'm going to the Oracles," he said instantly, answering his own inner musing. "I shouldn't have to do this. They've got to have another warrior—" he spit out the word, "closer to Ireland than I am."

Cordelia nodded silently.

Angel looked at her. "Who would patrol while I'm gone? I shouldn't have to go."

It was almost as if he was pleading at her to agree. She only nodded again, seeming to have lost her tongue along with every other rational thought in her body. He was in pain, and she hated that. Worst of all, he was trying to hide it from her, which just pissed her off. He'd seen her in her most vulnerable state, he'd picked her up, naked, unconscious, off the shower floor for goodness sake! Didn't she deserve to help him too?

Angel was gathering his coat. He pointed at the plate of spaghetti, now getting cold on the other side of the table. "Try to eat," he instructed, though there wasn't much feeling behind the words. "I'll be back soon." Time stood still while he was visiting the Oracles, and the only time Cordelia would experience going by would be the time it took for him to get to the Post Office, then back to the apartment.

The very next night, Wesley was driving Angel and Cordelia to Los Angeles International. The Oracles had given the souled vampire more non answers than answers, which really didn't surprise him but annoyed him to no end.

The verdict? He was going. The golden twins had generously pointed out that it was his choice, as it was with every vision, to fulfill his duty as a Warrior of the Light. They knew damn well Angel would do it. He'd fumed on the streets for a while, dusting a few vampires to work off some steam, but eventually went back to his apartment to face Cordelia and his impending trip.

She was still at the kitchen table when he'd gotten back, the plate of spaghetti half-eaten. He was proud of her despite himself, since he had been sure it wasn't going to go farther than the disposal that night. He hadn't pressed her on the rest, and simply cleaned up the kitchen and fed while she waited for him to tell her what was going on. When he finally had, which was basically that the Oracles said he'd gotten the vision, so it was his duty to respond, regardless of where in the world evil lurked, they'd fought about who would go with him.

Angel preferred that no one did. That wasn't really true, but that's what he said aloud anyway. Truth was, he couldn't decide whether it would be easier or harder to have Cordelia or Wesley there with him. So he'd decided on his first instinct, that this was an evil he'd have to face alone. But Cordelia insisted on going, and went round and round with him about their loyalty.

He'd been there for her, she reasoned, in her darkest hour, and it was only right that she be there for him too. He'd scoffed, said this would hardly be his darkest hour, considering the life he'd led, but she knew better. Close enough. Atoning for a past that was continents away was one thing. Squaring off with it was quite another.

Angel decided it was part of his punishment, because while his soul was now permanent, and that was a good thing, for a century he'd have given anything to have it ripped back to shreds. It was wrong, but he had to admit it was easier, not to have a conscience. Not when you were a vampire. Not when you were Angelus, the One with the Angelic Face.

As usual, Cordelia's stubbornness outweighed his own, and she'd booked herself a ticket while she'd booked Angel's. They were taking the red eye, better to be safe then sorry, she presumed. The flight to Ireland would take nearly two days, since they were flying tonight to JFK, then spending the day holed up away from the sun, and flying out the next night to Galway City. They would arrive approximately sundown on the 22nd of May. Just an hour or so shy of their 7:15 rendezvous with Evil Happenings.

Galway was nothing like Angel remembered it and yet, strangely the same. He was acutely aware of how much time had gone by since he'd been there last, but still, to him there'd always been a static quality about it, and he took it for granted that things would indeed evolve in two hundred long years. Some buildings looked familiar, even to his faded memory, but of course, that was the nice thing about Europe, their "new" buildings were usually older than America's old ones.

The windows of the rental car were tinted enough that Angel could sit comfortably in the passenger seat, but still he kept his coat around him, wary of the dulling sun that was working its way toward the western horizon. He navigated with a map and by memory as best he could, and Cordelia had been surprisingly patient, wordlessly flipping u-turns when she needed to, uncomplaining of the sudden sharp turns she'd been forced to make when they'd almost missed them. In a few minutes, the sun would set, and they would venture on to O'Malley's Pub. Angel was nervous. He knew, realistically, no one that would recognize him was alive; it had been two centuries since he'd been home. But still, he couldn't shake the feeling that the people he would face, the people that would treat him like a welcome guest in their hometown, were people whose great great grandparents he'd probably tortured, then gleefully killed.

Being back here reminded him more than ever of the sins he'd committed, and the mirth he'd taken in doing so. He could feel the rage of the demon within him. It was inevitable, and he knew that. Angelus had been created here, and Liam ceased to exist. Angelus had grown here, flourished. He'd created his reputation here, and carried it with him all throughout Europe until that fateful night in Rumania, when he'd met his Soul again.

Angel felt the familiar stirrings of self-loathe, and the notorious dark cloud settled above his head. Cordelia would surely notice, but Angel had the strange feeling that this time, she wouldn't mention it.

She was good that way. He was glad she had come. Being alone right now might have been too much to handle. He was strong enough to fight Angelus within himself, but contrary to popular belief, he was no superhero.

Angel was fairly relieved when they pulled up to O'Malley's that it boasted establishment in 1902. For Ireland's standards, this pub was downright new. Cordelia had wrinkled her nose as they approached the heavy wooden doors, claiming that it would probably barely pass a building inspection if it was that old.

"Nothing, unless of historical significance, of course, should still exist if it was built in 1902," she announced, looking furtively at her companion. "Except," she amended, "you. You can just go on existing forever as far as I'm concerned."

The sentiment was genuine, but the notion didn't make Angel smile. It was 6:35 p.m. local time. Nothing could make him smile at this point. He didn't bother to launch into an explanation of old time construction, and how things back then were built to last. Cordelia was no longer listening as all eyes turned to her the minute they stepped in the door.

And, Angel figured, why shouldn't they. She was young, she was beautiful, and she was one of only two beings lacking a Y chromosome in there. The other was an old barmaid, fretfully wiping at tables and snapping at the men as they sloshed their drink.

Cordelia flashed a bright, wide smile, one, Angel knew, would mesmerize everyone present, and stepped up to the bar. Angel followed her, surreptitiously surveying the room, realizing as he passed a gaze over each man, they returned their own eyes away from Cordelia and down to their drink or game of cards. It was equal parts respect and fear, Angel surmised, since he appeared at least thirty years younger than the youngest man in there, and in infinitely better shape.

In Ireland, at least when he had been mortal, wenches were plentiful in bars and pubs, but the respectable ones, the ones worth marrying, were not promising much more than pleasant company each night. If a man entered a bar with a particularly lovely woman on his arm, you may look for a few, but as the man caught your eye, you turned away. His woman was his woman, and the Irish respected that.

Angel hoped that standard still reigned. He didn't even want to bring Cordelia in the first place, preferring she stay at a hotel while he pursued the Evil Happenings in her vision. But she'd insisted, knowing that he'd want to hop back on a plane and leave the country as soon as the evil was disposed of. She reasoned it would be her only trip to Ireland, like, ever, and she would at least get to see a genuine Irish pub.

He probably would have fought her more on the point, promising they could stay another day if she would just steer clear of O'Malley's Pub at 7:15 p.m. on May 22. But time was short. Cordelia was pretty good at holding her own in a fight, and if she couldn't, she knew enough to run for cover and hide until Angel could get the skirmish under control.

Usually, though, the visions felt worse than they really were, or Angel was just that much better than a demon caught unawares, and the Good Fight lasted no more than 10 minutes. Cordelia was hoping for that kind of Good Fight tonight. She didn't want Angel getting any more worked up than he already seemed to be, and confronting a bunch of evil in a place he used to be bunches of evil probably wouldn't be all that good for the soul. Pardon the pun. Cordelia got Angel a beer, opting to go dry for the night herself, and handed it to him. He took it and sat on a barstool next to her, eyes still sweeping over the sparsely populated room. Nothing felt amiss. He didn't sense any non-human presence. He looked at his watch.

"6:45," he muttered, glancing askance at Cordelia, who was surveying the room with as much curiosity as he was. Only she was a bit more blatant about it.

"I don't sense anything," he reported, though she hadn't even acknowledged he'd spoken. "But I guess I've got a half an hour to wait and see."

Finally, Cordelia looked at him. "Are all the pubs in Ireland like this?"

Angel looked surprised that she hadn't mentioned the vision, but shrugged and took another pull on his beer.

"Some. The smaller ones I guess. Some serve food and let children in until 10."

"I can't imagine Doyle hanging out in a place like this," she finally explained, wrinkling her nose. "Too many old people, not enough women and rabble rousing."

Angel chuckled softly and nodded. Definitely no rabble hanging around here. He wondered what the Evil Happenings would consist of. "The pubs and bars in Dublin are much bigger. Doyle probably couldn't find a bar this empty back home. Even the bad ones."

"Oh I'm sure he hung out in the bad ones," Cordelia amended. "Just not this... geriatric. I think I could fight off whatever impending evil is lurking around myself."

"Yeah," Angel agreed slowly, nursing his beer and hoping to make it last through 7:15. "It kind of makes me nervous. Like the calm before the storm. All you saw in that vision was the place, date and time?"

Cordelia shrugged. She closed her eyes, as if calling the memory forth in her mind. Angel knew she never forgot a detail of the vision, just like Doyle never did. But he was sure both Seers took the effort to push them as far back in the recesses of their minds as possible. Not pleasant stuff to be reliving over and over, that was for sure. "I saw the outside of this place, then the inside, that calendar," she pointed to the calendar hanging above the register. Above it was a clock. 6:58.

"And that clock," Angel finished for her.

Cordelia nodded. "Yeah." She looked confused. "There was no way I could have known this place was in Ireland, or the date I should have focused on on the calendar was May 22. I just knew those things." She turned her eyes toward the vampire. "What if I was wrong?"

Angel shook his head and instinctively put a comforting hand on her back. "No. The Oracles didn't tell me you were wrong. They seemed to know all about the vision. That information, the date and place, that must have just been stuff you were given along with the vision."

"And the mind-numbing, blinding pain," Cordelia reminded him.

Angel laughed. "And that," he agreed.

"Like a free gift with purchase," she added grimly.

It was 7:12 p.m. when the Evil Happenings entered the bar. Six less-than-desirables, as Cordelia would call them, clamored in, talking and laughing boisterously. They looked like a bunch of mean bikers, but Angel sensed them immediately. They were vampires.

Angel was hoping for a lucky break, sometimes vamps were too wrapped up in their own plans to kill to notice other vampires in the vicinity. If he'd been alone, he could have melted into the shadows and they probably would have been none the wiser until it was too late.

But he wasn't alone, in fact, he was in the company of a very attractive, very young, human girl. Angel knew they would smell the pureness of her blood. He knew their mouths would water at the prospect of such a sweet kill. In moments, the entire pack had fixated on Cordelia.

Angel felt a surge of protectiveness and struggled to keep himself in check. All six of the undead looked like they were ready to pounce. Too bad for them, Angel decided, because they'd get to Cordelia over his dead body. And that, ironically, wasn't very likely to happen twice.

The youngest of the pack, probably, from Angel's judgment, only 17 or 18 years old when he was turned, leaned over to an older, much larger vamp at his side. He spoke low enough so that no human could hear, but Angel did quite clearly.

"We can't all have her, so why don't we get on with what we came here for?"

The older vampire only shook his head in silent admonition to the boy's impatience and leered wildly at Angel.

"Looks like we've got ourselves some competition, boys," he stated loudly, addressing his gang and clearly indicating Angel. "We weren't aware we'd have to share the wealth, brother."

Angel slipped the hand that had been resting on the bar behind Cordelia to her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. It would be to his benefit to keep these guys thinking he was on their side, he only hoped Cordelia would go along with it and play the unsuspecting would-be victim.

Worth a shot, Angel figured. If she blew it, he'd start hitting people hard in the face.

"Just here for a drink, gentlemen," Angel told them, reverting slightly back to the Irish lilt he spoke with so many years ago. "The lady and I can be on our way."

He stood, pulling a slightly bewildered but compliant Cordelia with him and started for the door. The largest vamp put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"This one likes his food to go."

The others laughed, and Angel felt Cordelia shudder slightly at his side. He threw a silent apology her way.

"If you don't mind," he said, looking the other square in the eye, "I've spent a lot of time on this one. Preparing." He gestured vaguely toward Cordelia who whimpered softly. "You can see why. Though I'd prefer it if she were a bit more than skin and bones."

Cordelia blanched, snapping her head up. She didn't miss Angel's triumphant smirk. He was proud of himself for getting that barb in, even during a very dangerous charade.

Bastard.

She dug her nails into his hand but he barely flinched. Frustrated, she let go.

Another member of the bikers from Hell stepped forward. "Due respect," he said in a thick Irish accent. Angel pegged him to be from right there in Galway or a region even further north. "This is Angelus."

Cordelia's eyes widened at the recognition, but she quickly masked it into sheer confusion. "You told me your name was Patrick," she faked.

Angel smiled at her and squeezed her hand. The other vampires only stared, some with reverence, others with skepticism. Angel knew that while some of the demons before him had already been turned during his hey day, others were simply reacting to the horrific legend that had spread among the living and undead alike about the Scourge of Europe. It made him ill to see the delight at which these vicious killers took in tales of such maim and brutality.

Oh yeah. He was going to dust them all and enjoy every second of it.

What was that about taking delight in brutality?

Pushing the unwelcome thought away, Angel nodded slightly. "The lad speaks the truth," he confirmed. "I am Angelus." The demon within him raged at being falsely represented. Suck it up, Angel thought.

The oldest of the vampires, at least, Angel surmised, oldest when he was turned, crossed large arms over a brawny chest. "Legend has it Angelus was cursed with a soul. That he fights with the humans now and beds a Slayer."

Angel felt Cordelia bristle at his side, and he rubbed a concealed thumb along the inside of her hand. He managed to keep his composure, though he wanted to stake the guy right there. Controlled, he purposely shifted into his demon visage. Yellow eyes glowed and elongated fangs showed as Angel grinned wolfishly. Cordelia gasped appropriately, though Angel wasn't quite sure it was so much stellar acting as it was sheer surprise. "Don't believe everything you read, brother," Angel growled. He shifted his hand from Cordelia's and she took the opportunity to try to get out the front door.

So she wasn't that bad an actress. Angel was proud of her performance. Easily, he slipped his arm about her waist and drug her back to him. She winced as she plundered to his side, but Angel had barely felt her contact and wasn't gripping her very hard.

"Please," she whimpered.

Not a bad actress indeed.

Her purse was between them and he felt her slip her hand inside. Good. She had stakes in there, and since the fight was going to break out with her right in the middle, she'd need them. Angel only now realized how stupid it was to try to play into the vamps charade. If he hadn't, perhaps Cordelia would have been able to find shelter behind the bar when the fight broke out. Now, she'd have to fight, and she'd have to win.

The oldest vamp nodded in appreciation. "Nice to see the rumors have been exaggerated," he crowed, clapping a hand on Angel's shoulder. "Join us then. We are going to make this lovely establishment our lair."

At the words, all six other vampires donned their gamefaces. They dispersed, descending on the frightened patrons like a wolf to its prey. Angel had run out of time. He lifted an arm, extending the wooden stake from it's spring trigger at his wrist, and the vamp at his side smoked into dust. He let go of Cordelia, who pulled three more stakes from her bag and tossed one to Angel who had already taken advantage of the momentary stunned silence that engulfed the room and dusted another one.

Snarling, a vampire launched itself at Cordelia. She ducked and the undead went sprawling in a heap on the floor. She stepped a heeled foot on its chest and crouched, driving the stake deep into its heart. It shrieked and exploded into ash.

Angel glanced behind him to make sure Cordelia was alright, but was pulled back into the fight when two more vamps launched themselves on him. He shrugged one off effortlessly, then kicked back at it so powerfully it flew through the air and smashed into a table, impaling itself on a wooden splint before bursting into flames. The other had sunk its fangs into Angel's cheek and the souled vamp cried out in fury.

He barely registered Cordelia's shout and was barely conscious of anything but the stinging pain of the vampire's incisors and the aroma of blood surrounding him. Then Cordelia was there, plunging a stake into the vampire's heart.

Angel heard it's strangled cry seconds before it dissolved into dust.

Angel's hand immediately went to his face, wincing at the blood that smeared his flesh. Cordelia grasped two hands onto his shoulders. "Angel," she breathed. "Are you—"

Her words were cut off abruptly as the last remaining vampire clamped onto her leg and pulled her feet out from under her. Cordelia went down with a yelp of fear and a loud thump. The vamp, already on it's hands and knees, climbed atop her crumpled heap, seeking access to her neck.

Cordelia kicked and clawed at the offending creature, refusing to remain still long enough for it to get a good grip on her. The vampire wrestled with her patiently, taking only a few seconds to pin her shoulders down and gain access to her neck.

He lowered his head to bite when two booted feet placed themselves on either side of Cordelia's head. The vampire looked up at Angel, yellow eyes aglow. "Sorry traitor, this one's mine." Angel wasn't sure if it thought he was out of weapons, or if it was just that cocky, but he didn't waste time pondering the issue. He pulled a stake from inside his duster and plunged it into the vampire's back, all the way through to its heart.

Angel locked demon eyes to demon eyes. "Mine," he growled. The vamp exploded and Cordelia screamed. Angel spared a look around. Every one of the pub's patrons was behind the bar, crossing themselves and murmuring softly under their breath. Angel knew he wouldn't be invited to stick around for the after party, despite the fact that he'd saved their lives. He was still in gameface and decided it would be a good idea to make haste before the good residents of Galway picked up a wooden stake and decided to finish the job.

Crouching down, he drew Cordelia into his arms and lifted her. She grasped for her purse that had fallen beside her and he paused, allowing her to pick it up and cradle it to her chest.

Then, he stood and walked to the front door, only vaguely aware of the chants of prayer filtering from the bar behind him. The cool night air was welcome and the inside of the rental car, more comfortable still. Angel managed to calm himself enough to shift back into his human visage as he placed Cordelia in the passenger seat then climbed into the drivers side. He waited as Cordelia fished in her purse for the keys. Her hands were trembling. Neither made a sound.

The ride to the small but charming hotel called the Miller House was short. Angel knew they both must look a sight and was grateful that Cordelia had made the reservation and paid with a credit card in advance. He dimly wondered what the bite on his cheek had healed into as the clerk at the desk handed him the room key.

Cordelia headed immediately for the shower, leaving Angel to sit by himself in the blessedly dark hotel room. He'd poured himself a scotch from the mini bar and was nearly done with it by the time Cordelia emerged from the bathroom's steamy confines.

In maroon silk pajama pants and a white cotton tank top, dark hair damp and flowing down her back, Angel couldn't help but realize she looked like she'd walked off the pages of one of those fashion magazines she loved to read.

He didn't protest when she flipped on the light and remained silent as she pulled the other chair in the room so it was facing his and sat in it, leaning forward. She inspected the cut on his face, then shrugged.

"Looks okay," she reported, even though he hadn't asked. "It's closed and it should be faded by tomorrow." Angel nodded slightly. He continued looking at her—studying her—until she leaned back and shifted slightly.

Finally, he said, "you did good tonight. Real good."

Cordelia only nodded absently.

Angel continued. "I put you in danger unnecessarily and I'm sorry. Next time I'll just kick their ass and not be cute about it."

This drew a smile from the girl. "It was kind of cute," she admitted. "And I was brilliant, wasn't I?" Angel chuckled and nodded resolutely. "You really were," he said sincerely. "To be honest, I was surprised. I may lose you to Hollywood yet."

It was meant to be flippant, but it drew Cordelia back to the silence she'd been lost in before. Angel finished his drink and sat with her in silence for a few more moments. She was fidgeting absently, and Angel wondered if his presence wasn't just agitating her further. Finally, he made a decision and stood.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said, moving toward the bathroom door.

He was almost inside when she spoke. "Did you mean what you said to that vampire?" she asked, reluctantly raising her eyes to his.

Angel stepped out of the bathroom and waited. He could hear her heart thumping in her chest.

"About me," Cordelia clarified, voice stronger now. "Being yours."

It was something he'd said in the heat of the moment, like the confession of how attracted he was to her in her bedroom over a week before. Both things he hadn't intended to say aloud. Both things he'd rather she didn't know. Now, she was asking, and what the hell was he supposed to say?

'Yes, Cordelia, you are mine. Is that okay?' Or how about the brutally honest truth. 'Yes, Cordelia, that's how I think of you. I can't help it. Every time I see you with another guy, I want to tear his throat out and drain him of his blood. It's the demon in me, you understand.'

No. None of those would go over real big. Angel stood dumbly for a few more moments. He couldn't figure out which would be worse: scaring her or hurting her. The hurting would have to do until he could get a grip on himself. Self loathe settled into the pit of his stomach as he turned and stepped into the bathroom.

"I was just mad, Cordelia. I'm going to take a shower now."

The bathroom door closed and Cordelia stood resolutely. She almost went after him, demanding that they hash out their feelings right then and there. But she stopped herself and flopped onto one of the twin beds instead. Perhaps Galway wasn't the place best suited for such a talk. Angel was obviously less than stable here. And frankly, she was tired.

It was only 8:30 but exhaustion was claiming her, fast. Turning over and burrowing deep beneath the covers, she let sleep overtake her consciousness.

The sun was still far from peeking above the eastern horizon when Angel rose from bed and dressed. It was just past 2:30 in the morning according to the watch clasped to his wrist. Cordelia had been asleep when he had emerged from the shower, and the vampire spent the remainder of the evening lying awake, listening to her soft night sounds as she slept.

He could hear them all, though, to any human, the room was silent. Her soft breath in conjunction with the steady beat of her heart soothed him. The smell of her blood warmed him.

The sensations combined made him feel completely normal, and completely animal at the same time. It reminded himself of what he used to be, the unruly son of an angry father, a sad mother, and a loving, reverent sister. And it reminded him of what he'd become. The monster that killed them. The monster that had delighted in doing it.

It was the guilt that would eat at him the most—more than the gypsy girl he'd lured into love then crushed into submission, the senseless act that would leave him cursed with a soul. More than the rampage he'd wreaked on Buffy and Co., more than the murder of Jenny Calendar.

Oh, he hated himself for all those things, but he abhorred his very existence for savagely murdering his own family, then sitting at the dining table, their bodies littered around him like his prize. Angel pulled the comforter up over Cordelia and passed a hand over the silky hair spilling over her pillow before slipping out of the hotel room and into the night.

Bypassing the rental car, Angel opted to walk to the graveyard. He could navigate the way by memory alone, and a low, dull ache settled into his throat as he passed familiar quaint storefronts, outdoor markets and homes of people he used to know. They were all the same, yet strangely different: evolved somehow.

What used to be Old Man Ryan's fish market was now an accounting service. Lynch's Castle, towering above in the hills like a watchful bird hunting it's prey, now a savings and loan.

As of course, Angel reminded himself, they should be. Two hundred years was a long time. Especially by human standards. To be honest, it was impressive for a vampire as well. Angel had to remind himself even Spike wasn't two centuries old yet, and it seemed that pain in the ass had been in his life forever.

The vampire entered the cemetery and suddenly became aware of the chill in the air. He was ashamed that he would have to search for his family's graves; this was his first visit.

It didn't take long to find them, somehow, Angel was drawn to a trio of grave markings curiously separate from the rest. They weren't headstones of marble, or even granite, but the cheap, poorly crafted wooden crosses, as there had been no one to pay for their craftsmanship. No dates adorned the stones either, only names. Angel felt ill and he knew it had little to do with the discomfort of looking directly at the symbols of Christ. He immediately vowed to give his family the markings they deserved—marble headstones with names, dates and inscriptions.

Legs suddenly felt like lead weight as guilt ripped through him, bringing a gut wrenching cry from his throat into the still night air. Angel collapsed in the chilled grass, tears streaming down his face, wrenching his soul. The promise of expensive headstones and the babble of apologies streaming from his lips seemed a minute compensation compared to his mother and baby sister's only crimes: blind faith and devotion. That earned them abbreviated lives and terrifying deaths at the hands of their beloved who had turned into Angelus, the One with the Angelic Face.

In his mortal life, Angel hadn't gotten along with his father, and felt just in death for killing him. In fact, Angelus had delighted in it. Angel wasn't stupid--he knew the demon in him still felt just, to this day. But it hadn't been justice, it had been a horrible travesty. His father, however flawed, did not deserve to die.

Most of the humans who had become Angelus' victims had not deserved such fate.

Angel stayed, for what seemed like hours at his family's graves. He didn't bother to check his watch, or keep track of the impending sunrise. He simply didn't care. Curled on the dampened grass, fists pulling handfuls of dirt and sod, uncontrollable sobs ripped themselves from his throat as Angel mourned. And waited for the sun to rise. He waited, and prayed for the only salvation he could grasp.

Then, warm arms encircled him, pulling him from the wet, cold earth. Her voice was soft in his ear, breath warming his skin, pulling him gently in the opposite direction of death.

"Angel, it's okay. Get up."

It was Cordelia; Angel should have realized she'd come. She'd never let him give up on himself, even when he deserved to. Even when most of humanity would probably be better off if he burst into flames.

He must have processed this thought aloud, because she sucked in a breath and hauled him to a sitting position. "I really don't give a rats ass about humanity right now," she insisted, brushing the dirt gently from the side of his face. "I care about you. So we're gonna get you back to the hotel before the sun comes up." She stood. "Come on."

Angel just sat there, staring dumbly ahead. Cordelia looked at her watch and shuddered. Perhaps from the cold, perhaps from the prospect of watching her best friend, albeit pathetic best friend right then, go up in smoke.

"Come on sweetcheeks," she muttered, grasping his forearms and pulling at him with all her might. "You gotta help me out here, just do that little thing called walking. I can't carry you."

Still, the vampire didn't move. Cordelia released her grip and stumbled backward. When she regained her footing, she kneeled before him and burst into tears.

They were tears of fear and frustration, and she really didn't want to be crying right then. She wanted to yell at him to get his ass up and walk with her to the car, but it wasn't in her. He was right, she shouldn't have come. She had plans of being his rock during this god forsaken trip, and now she was in a graveyard, thirty minutes from sunrise, trying to get Angel to the safety of shade while he had some sort of nervous breakdown.

She put her hands on his cold flesh, forcing dark, vacant eyes to hers. She searched them, pleading. "Angel, please. Please! Snap out of it and help me get you back to the hotel! I cannot, I will not sit here and watch you kill yourself!"

No response from the vampire. He did blink, however, and seemed to come back to the present, at least partly. Encouraged, Cordelia continued, stroking the sides of his face with her hands.

"Do you remember how mad you were when I wouldn't eat that soup? Remember? You vamped out so hard I thought Angelus had come out to play. Well, that's how mad I'm gonna be if you don't get up right now and get in the car. I can't do this without you, Angel. And you promised. You promised you wouldn't be stupid like this. You promised to stick with me and now you're backing out!"

She screamed her last words at him, dropping her hands from his face with a sob. Humiliation leaked its way into the myriad of emotions she was feeling and she stood, practically running out of the graveyard to the car. She climbed in and sat, concentrating mostly on her watch and the eastern horizon beyond the tinted windshield. She'd brought a blanket from the hotel room and had it in the back seat. She vowed to take it out there and throw it over the stubborn vampire if need be. Fury washed over her and she began to shake.

It was 20 minutes to sunrise and counting when the passenger door clicked open and Angel got into the car. Neither looked at the other or spoke as Cordelia started the engine and drove the short distance to the hotel.

There was 5 minutes of predawn darkness to spare when the hotel room door clicked shut behind them. Of course, the room was so dark, as most hotel rooms stayed when the curtains were drawn, that it could have been midnight. Cordelia didn't speak, didn't even bother to go into the bathroom as she changed back into her pajamas and slipped under the covers.

Angel knew that if he sat or lay down, he would do just that for the remainder of the day. It was easy to brood when you let yourself. But he couldn't. He owed at least that much to Cordelia.

His mind was still reeling that she'd gone to find him in the graveyard. How had she known to go there? And why had she? Wouldn't she just assume he'd come back to the hotel room at sunrise?

Would he have?

He was cutting it pretty close when she arrived. Then when she did, all the pain started all over again. The realization that she was always going to do that for him; always be that person that he could count on...didn't she realize, he didn't want to count on anyone any more? Didn't she understand that was how the people who loved him got hurt?

God, he wanted her so much. And too many times he'd come close enough to the breaking point to tell her. What exactly would that accomplish? 'Cordelia, I'm not going to lose my soul, so technically we can be together, but you're mortal, and you're gonna end up wanting things when you get older that I can't give you, like kids, and a house that's not underground, and...'

Hello, repeat of Sunnydale, repeat of the Angel and Buffy show. No thank you.

The vampire watched as she lay beneath the covers, silent, unmoving, but definitely not sleeping. Her heartbeat was too erratic, her breathing, too unsettled. No doubt she planned to spend the entire day in bed, until it was nightfall and they could go to the airport to catch their post-sunset flight.

No, she couldn't do that. They had to work this out. They had to work something out.

Angel pushed himself from the edge of the dresser he was leaning against and picked up the phone. He ordered room service, then closed himself into the bathroom to take a shower. Maybe while he was in there, all the answers would come to him.

Probably not, but here's hoping.

When Angel emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, Cordelia was sitting on the edge of her bed, glaring at a tray of food that had been set on the small table on the opposite site of the room.

He cleared his throat, and the glare turned on him.

"You hungry?" she asked, sarcasm so thick dripping from her voice it made Angel cringe.

He shook his head and ruffled through his suitcase for a shirt.

Cordelia waited a few beats, then groaned softly. "Someone was pretty generous to order the nice couple in room 234 some breakfast then. Wow, I wonder who to send the thank you card to."

Angel paused, midway through pulling a black t-shirt over his head. "Cordelia," he muttered, voice low and muffled through the fabric covering his face. "I got that for you. For you know, later."

Watching as he pulled the shirt down his torso and ran a hand through his now tousled wet hair, Cordelia wondered if she should really fight this out, or drop the whole angry charade and get to the bottom of just who the hell he thought he was to scare her half to death in a graveyard in the middle of the night.

The fighting won out when she looked over at the plate of food once more.

"Later," she deadpanned, standing and strolling over to the tray on the table. "Eggs, toast, fresh fruit...none of that sounds very appetizing when it's been sitting around for a few hours. Did it not look to you like I was sleeping?"

"I knew you weren't," Angel muttered softly.

Cordelia ignored him. "Or, is it that whole not eating thing I had going on? You want to watch me over my shoulder and lecture me about that when I nearly had to pitch a tent over you in a graveyard to keep you from spontaneously combusting before my eyes? Lets talk about doing stuff that's not exactly healthy for us Angel. Cause you have no room to lecture now, do you?"

The vampire hung his head and slumped onto the mattress of his own bed. He watched Cordelia pick up a piece of toast and bite into it angrily. A wave of satisfaction washed through him, realizing that even though he'd acted like a complete hypocrite, at least it had worked.

When she'd finished half of it, he spoke. "I'm sorry I scared you. I'm sorry I did that I just–I had to go. I had to go see their graves."

She glared at him.

"Can we not fight?" he asked. "I can't talk about this if you hate me."

Instantly, the girl softened. She put down the piece of toast and placed herself on the bed next to her friend. She put one hand on his arm and squeezed softly. "I never hate you," she told him uselessly. "Even when Angelus comes for a visit, I don't even hate him. And if I don't hate Angelus, well then I suppose the devil himself has a chance of getting on my good side."

Angel smiled in spite of the pain it sent through him to be reminded how just how horrible Angelus was. "This was the first time I'd ever seen my family's graves," Angel told her, gaze directed downward to where his hands were entertwined in his lap. "Truth is, I didn't want to come to Galway because I knew I couldn't leave without facing that…without facing what I did to them." He paused, and his voice broke. "I killed them, Cordelia." Cordelia shifted and put her arms around Angel, pulling him into an embrace. He cried silently, the only indication of his tears was the cold wetness that dampened Cordelia's neck and collarbone.

He pulled back of his own volition, wiping tiredly at his eyes. Cordelia let him go, though it ached her heart to see him this way and she desperately wanted to curl into his arms and forget everything but each other for the remainder of the day.

"You didn't kill them, Angel," she finally said, knowing the attempt to tell him what he already knew would be pointless. "Angelus did."

"You know it's the same thing, Cordelia. You know it."

Cordelia shook her head stubbornly. "No, I don't know it. You tell yourself that. I don't believe it. How can you even think you and Angelus are the same? You know the kinds of cruel things he says, lord knows you know everything he's ever done. He is a monster. You, Angel, could never treat people the way he does. You are a person with a soul. He is a demon. You can't carry the burden of both."

"But I do, Cordelia. My body, Liam's body, houses both of us. The Soul and the Demon. I, the Soul, am responsible. That's why it's a curse. I did these things, I killed my family, I took pleasure in killing the little gypsy girl who loved me. That's why I was cursed with a conscience. To live with this guilt. Only..."

"Only what?"

Angel's nearly choked on the words. "It's too hard."

"So you were gonna light yourself up like a match?" Cordelia asked, tilting her head to look him in the eyes. Angel avoided the contact. "Sometimes I think it would be easier."

"Not to be selfish, Angel, but what the hell kind of cop out is that?! I mean, first of all, what about me? You were just gonna leave me in Ireland? That's a fine how do you do. And secondly, if you're supposed to be atoning, and helping innocent people to make up for everything Angelus did, don't you think the PTB would be pissed if one day you just offed yourself cause it was too hard? You didn't want to do it anymore?"

Her outburst seemed to surprise him, though Cordelia wasn't really sure why. She stared back as Angel stared at her, his eyes flashing everything from anger to hurt to sheer desperation.

"I really could give a damn what the PTB think. I know I shouldn't say that, but so many things have happened to innocent people, like Doyle dying, that I feel like shouldn't have. I'm afraid they're taking things from me to teach me a lesson. What if they take you from me next?"

Cordelia snorted. "Are you kidding? I'm your Seer. You said yourself we're linked forever."

"For as long as you live. Don't forget Doyle was my Seer too."

A perfectly manicured hand extended as Cordelia declared, "I'm not kissing Wesley before I make the ultimate sacrifice to save hundreds of demons."

Angel couldn't smile. "You know what I mean."

Cordelia watched her vampire friend for a moment, waiting for something...she just wasn't quite sure what. Whatever it was, he wasn't giving it to her. Instead, he stared back for a few seconds then dropped his gaze again. Cordelia traced the patterns on the bedspread absently. "You're scaring me. You really think I'm gonna die?" Angel shook his head. "No, I mean, not most days. But I get scared of losing you."

"So sitting in a graveyard while the sun rises is your solution?" Cordelia asked incredulously.

"Cordelia, that's the only reason I didn't. You." Angel spoke softly, evenly. "I didn't want to leave you, not in Ireland, not in L.A., not ever."

"Well then good. So that will never happen again then."

"I can't make promises. Just like you can't promise never to leave me even though you do all the time. It's just something that we don't know what's gonna happen and it's scary. That's life."

"Or un-life," the girl muttered unhappily.

"Or un-life," Angel agreed. Shaking his head, the vampire couldn't help but ask the question that had been plaguing the back of his mind for a long while now. "Cordelia, how did you know where to find me? How did you know about the cemetery?"

Cordelia blushed slightly, her hair shrugging over her shoulders and curtaining her face. "Wesley," she muttered. "I woke up, you weren't here, I panicked. I called him and he said to check either your old house, or the cemetery." She raised her eyebrows. "He knows you pretty good, eh?"

Angel shook his head. Frankly, he wasn't surprised at the ex-watcher's intuitiveness. He was highly educated in demon behavior and very perceptive about Angelus considering he'd only been acquainted with Angel's demon side once.

It was silent in the room for a time, and Cordelia kept her eyes focused on her crossed legs. Angel kept his own eyes focused on the fisted hands in his lap. Finally, when the girl felt like she would go completely insane from the quiet, she spoke. "Angel."

The vampire looked up, eyes liquid. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I don't know what I would have done without you here." He paused, swallowing down a lump in his throat. "This is so hard."

Cordelia moved so that she was flush with him, and Angel opened his arms, allowing her body to fall against his chest. She rested her head against him, listening to the nothingness that she knew used to contain a heartbeat. "I know, Angel. I'm sorry we had to come here. And I'm sorry I yelled at you. I don't act like it all the time, but you're my best friend and I care about you more than anyone in the world. If you weren't around..." Angel stroked her hair. "You don't have to..."

"...I'd be a big old basket case."

Laughing softly, the vampire pulled away and looked down at her. "You are a big old basket case."

Cordelia untangled herself from him, challenged flashing in her eyes. "Don't make me kick your ass."

"I would love to see you try," Angel returned, cocking one eyebrow and regarding her coolly.

Cordelia laughed and settled back into him. "Ooh, if I wasn't so tired, you'd have yourself a match." She yawned. "Raincheck?"

"Any time," Angel murmured softly, dropping a kiss on her forehead as she snuggled back into him.

"Okay. For now, can we just go to sleep for a while?"

Angel nodded and pulled them both back, settling against the pillows. He knew he wouldn't sleep, at least not for a while, but it felt nice to have Cordelia here in his arms. She was warm, and safe, and that had to be enough for now.

Cordelia misinterpreted Angel's silence and lifted her head, looking anxiously at him. "Can I stay here? I mean, sleep with you?" She bit her bottom lip. "Well, not sleep with you, cause I really don't want you going grr while we're on the plane, not many places to run, but sleep with you, you know...in your arms?"

Angel smiled and tightened his hold on her, nudging her head back down to his chest. She shivered, and he reached down, pulling the rumbled comforter up over her body. Coming back to Ireland had been hard, and he wasn't itching to do it again anytime soon, but he was sure that it was only because of Cordelia that he was even in this hotel room, rather than a pile of dust on his mother's grave. And she was right. He could atone for what he did to them by serving the light, being their warrior. And he would, for as long as he was allowed.

End.

Feedback is better than falling asleep in Angel's arms. tinamishi@yahoo.com