THE STORM

Category: Angel/Cordelia

Rating: R for angst, sexual frenziness

Content: Angst, drama, friendship, romance, mentions of Her Buffyness and breathlessness :)

Spoilers: "Hero"

Summary: Cordelia and Angel work some things out. Fourth 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: This series takes place roughly 3 years after "City Of".

~The Storm~

By Christie

It was dark, it was pouring, and the last thing Angel was going to do that night was patrol. He knew he should, but the determination he needed to do it on this of all nights just wasn't there. He kept his cell phone charging, in case Cordelia called him with a vision, but that alone was going to be his contribution to the Good Fight for the time being.

If he hadn't had better than human vision, he probably wouldn't have seen the lone figure standing in the pouring rain in front of the office building. It took another hard look to realize the figure was Cordelia. She was just standing, alone, in the rain, looking at the building. She didn't seem to be looking for anything, just...looking.

The vampire's hands immediately went to the locks on his windows, clicking them open. He started to slide the pane upward, then thought better of it, sighing as he grabbed his coat and started for the back door that would lead him to the street.

She looked up when he approached, blinking at him with wide, moist eyes. She looked almost surprised to see him there, which served to confuse Angel further. He reached out, pushing already saturated locks of hair from her face. She looked like she'd been standing there for quite a while. A flash of sheet lightening lit up the sky above them, and Angel waited for the rumble of thunder he knew would follow before trying to speak.

She didn't speak either, which, at this point, didn't surprise Angel in the least. Something was going on, and it was leaving a chill in his body that had nothing to do with the rain.

"What's going on, Cordelia?" he asked, raising his voice only slightly to be heard above the constant downpour. He wanted to grab her and lead her into shelter, but instinct told him not to. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but he knew that she was out here for a reason, and it wasn't something he was going to be able to fix by offering a place out of the rain and a shoulder to cry on.

The girl only shrugged, blinking against the rivulets that coursed down her face. She hadn't taken her eyes off of him since he'd approached her, but she did now, casting her gaze downward at the puddles gathering at their feet.

"I'm just standing here," she muttered. "In the rain."

Angel knew he only heard because he was a vampire, and he assumed she realized that if she were speaking to a normal human being, she would not have been heard. Things like exceptional vision and hearing were easy to take for granted when you had them for 248 years, but Angel always found himself realizing when he would be lost if he were human.

"Why?" he asked. Now he put a hand on her shoulder, but only lightly, and made no move to escort her back into the building. He only touched her there, feeling for coldness, discomfort, anything he could fix. She didn't shiver. She didn't seem cold at all. Now, she looked up at him and sighed sadly.

"You weren't here," she said simply, as though that would explain everything. She lifted a hand and dropped it uselessly to her side. "Now you are."

Angel titled his head at the disappointment in her voice. "I don't understand, Cordelia," he said firmly. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Another shrug. "Doesn't matter now," she stated. "I was trying to get away from you. But you're everywhere. You're in the office, obviously, and you're in my house. I go into my room and you're there, throwing soup at my wall or standing with me at the mirror, telling me how attracted you are to me. I go in my living room, and you're sitting on my couch, laughing at me and making fun of old vampire movies. I go in my kitchen and you're there, cooking me dinner, kissing me at the table…I can't get away from you. So I figured I'd stand in the rain for a while. You hate standing in the rain, so I figured you wouldn't be here." She lifted a hand out once more. "But here you are."

Angel stood, frozen, for a moment. He ran her words over in his mind again, then once more. She didn't sound mad, or accusatory, or even sad. Now, she just sounded resigned. Like a child who had realized there really was going to be no ice cream before dinner, or no 'one last story' before lights out.

He searched his mind for a response, but realized he had no idea what she wanted him to say. Running over what he would say if her feelings didn't matter, again, he came up blank. The vampire was speechless. "I don't—"

He began speaking, with the hope that something would come tumbling out, not caring what it was at that point, but nothing did. Only the rain pounded down on them. Both, Angel realized, were soaked to the bone. He dropped his hand from her shoulder and let it dangle at his side.

Cordelia shook her head, sympathy crossing her features. "It's okay," she said softly, lifting her own hand and touching him briefly on the forearm before pulling back again. "I just realized…you're always going to be here. I can't—I can't get away from you cause you and me are linked. You told me that, and I never realized how damn true it was until just now." She laughed then, a bitter, strangled sound.

Angel cringed. When Cordelia had first started working for him, he always reserved the notion that one day she'd pick up and leave him. It kept him from getting too attached. She was bound and determined to make it in Hollywood, and would have given anything to see that dream realized. But little by little, once after Doyle died, and again several weeks later, the vampire found himself letting pieces of the wall he'd carefully built around himself crumble. He was letting her in, slowly, because he needed her.

After a couple of years, the wall was completely gone. From both sides. Cordelia had stopped the pretenses around him, and he'd stopped holding in every single emotion for fear of getting too close. They were able to laugh together, cry together, and fight like wild animals, and still the trust stayed. The friendship remained solid. It had become one of the only things Angel could count on for consistency in his life.

And he knew Cordelia felt the same. Except now. Now it sounded like she felt stuck.

She began speaking again, and the sound startled him.

"I kinda know now why you had to leave Sunnydale. I mean, I knew but I never really understood. Now, it's so clear. You couldn't be there, be around her, and not be with her. And that's—"

She stopped abruptly and reached out, grabbing one of Angel's hands and looking up, searching his face with bright, hazel eyes. "That's why if I can't have you," she used her free hand to gesture in the air between them, "this; I have to go."

Like a brick falling from the sky, it hit Angel all at once. Perhaps it was likening it to his situation with Buffy that brought it all into perspective, but now it seemed so frightfully clear. She wanted to be with him, and couldn't be around him if she wasn't.

Angel couldn't believe how blind he'd been in the last month. Of all the things they'd been through, and how unconventionally dependent they'd become on each other, he'd only been aware of his feelings, his reactions to her situations, and hadn't once wondered if the feelings he was experiencing were mutual. Cordelia flirted, but never seemed conflicted, never appeared to be holding emotions back or hiding behind some façade. Angel felt that was all he ever did anymore.

How blind and stupid could he have been?

So, he kissed her.

It wasn't tentative, or gentle, or even all that passionate.

Desperation, hunger and furious animal instinct took over as he swept out his arms, crushing her to his body with such force she gasped in surprise. His lips didn't just fall onto hers, he claimed them, marking them, swelling them, with an urgency he hadn't felt in a long time. His tongue plundered her mouth, kissing as though he hadn't kissed in years...decades even. Kissing as though it was his only thread to sanity, and his only hope to survive that very moment, outside, in the rain.

He felt her whimper softly; it curled up from her throat and he swallowed it down, determined not to break contact for as much as a second. He couldn't stop this, or it might never start again. And if that was the case, she would leave, and he'd be alone. Finally, she began to kiss back, threading her tongue around his, moving her lips in the frantic rhythm he'd created, until she was forced to pull away for breath.

The vampire didn't let her go at first, growling softly and winding his fingers her wet hair, disallowing her access to anywhere, to anything but him. But Cordelia struggled, and Angel finally realized that if he didn't let her go, she would pass out in his arms.

When they parted, his hands still grasped at her arms as though they were his last link to salvation. She was panting, lips red and swollen, eyes searching wildly for anything, any sign of explanation on his face. Angel knew he couldn’t give it to her, because he was sure his face looked exactly as he felt: desperate, feral, completely unrestrained.

But still, hazel eyes searched his, and he finally found his voice, ignoring the fact that it surfaced in a low, primitive growl. "Come inside."

She did, nodding slightly and allowing his left hand to slide down her arm and grab hers. He pulled her to the door and then inside. The heavy, ironcast door slammed so loudly Cordelia jumped, but Angel ignored it, grasping her sopping body to him and taking her lips again.

Angel knew his weight was substantial, and he knew when she began to tremble that the cold metal of the door at her back and the cold of his body dispersed across her front was probably not the most comfortable of positions. But he couldn't stop, it wasn't in him to stop just now, because she was warm; even through her cold, wet clothes, she was heat pressing into him.

The soft, even moans winding up from her throat made it easier to overlook her possible discomfort, and Angel let his hands fall from her face and travel under her dripping jacket. Now, her skin felt warmer than it had before, and Angel felt the undeniable urge to feel all of her pressed against him.

He lifted his mouth from hers, and she sucked in mouthfuls of air almost immediately. Angel wanted to apologize, but didn't, instead busying himself with shedding her jacket from her damp skin. Cordelia took hold of the collar of his coat and pushed it off his shoulders, both soaked pieces of fabric falling to the floor of the apartment with muted thuds.

Angel's hands were at her waist as soon as the jacket was gone, pulling the hemline of her shirt impatiently upwards as he trailed kisses across her cheek to her collarbone. He stopped the ministrations of his hands and nipped impatiently at the neckline of her shift with his teeth in order to find more skin. Cordelia laughed then, pushing the vampire slightly backward and pulling the shirt off herself. Angel watched, nearly growling as her torso, then chest were revealed, and divested himself of his own shirt as well.

Immediately, the two crashed back together, kissing as though they'd been apart for months rather than seconds, fingers fumbling desperately at buckles and clasps and zippers until both pairs of pants were also in a wet heap somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen floor.

Without losing his hold on her, Angel propelled Cordelia backwards, abandoning the idea of getting all the way to the bedroom and opting for the living room couch instead. He managed to push her down onto it, and nearly pounced on top of her in effort to remain as close to the heat of her body as possible.

Every touch sent shivers coursing through his body; fingernails trailing lightly across his flesh felt like trails of fire scorching him. She moved beneath him as though aching for contact, for any small sliver of him to touch and entwine with her. It was pure heaven, Angel knew, the most complete he'd felt in a long, long time, and he never wanted it to end.

Then, too suddenly, it did. Cordelia pulled back sharply as soon as Angel's fingers reached for the clasp of her bra, and scrambled up the couch, getting as much distance between herself and the vampire as possible. Chest heaving, she looked at him with wide eyes, bringing a trembling hand up and threading her fingers through her hair.

"Angel."

It came off her lips as a breath, and she reached for him then pulled away, like the ultimate test of look-but-don't-touch; want-but-can't-have. Wasn't that the story of Angel's renewed soul-filled life?

"We can't."

She'd spoken again, and Angel had heard, but he didn't want to hear; he wanted to touch, to hold, to kiss, to feel, to do everything but think at that very moment. His mind spun with fuzzy images, none coherent, none even remotely decipherable, but all there; things to explain, important things to tell. Things he should have told a long time ago.

There were so many words that should have been said, but Angel couldn't make rhyme nor reason of any of them. Instead, he reached for her, wanting so badly to have her against him again, and only succeeded in gripping her shoulders and leaning as close to her as she would allow. The stiffening of her body stopped him from moving any closer.

"I'm cursed."

It seemed that they could only speak in hurried, nonsensical bursts. Angel watched the girl's head begin to bob vigorously up and down, and he saw the look of complete frustration cross her features even moments before it settled there. Even frustrated, she looked stunningly beautiful. But Angel knew that. He knew all of her expressions and how beautiful she was wearing every one.

"I know you're cursed," she blurted, not bothering to hide the annoyance that colored her tone. She tried to tug her arms away from him, but the vampire had a steadfast grip, and Cordelia didn't struggle much. Instead, she sighed. "That's why we can't—"

She reddened, and Angel found himself wondering if she was too embarrassed to say it, was she really ready to do it? But when her eyes snapped back to his, Angel saw an angry fire in their hazel depths he hadn't expected to see. He shifted backward, still not releasing his grip from her, because for some reason he couldn't stand to lose contact even for a second.

"Right. I won't give you the big happy. Only Buffy can do that."

Angel lifted his head at the words she spit at him, filled with so much venom it was a wonder he didn't reel back in pain. But he held his ground, softening his hold on her then drawing her to him in such a tender gesture, one would have marveled at the intensity with which the two got to their state of undress on the living room couch in the first place.

Cordelia struggled against him, murmuring words that didn't make much sense with her face buried in the broad planes of his chest, but words to the effect of 'no' nonetheless, and they made Angel's heart tear into two. He didn't let her go, instead, smoothed a hand down her mostly bare back and dipped his head to her ear. He tried shushing her, but she only began to struggle harder, and he realized she wasn't easily coddled, something that he knew and took for granted as one of the reasons he loved her so much.

Reluctantly, he let her go and she scrambled away, making a beeline for the discarded wet shirts they'd left on the floor and choosing his over hers. She pulled it over her head and tugged at it's hemline, pushing it as far down her thighs as it would go. It was a gesture Angel didn't understand, since he'd seen her in more various states of undress than this, but he said nothing and stood, approaching the now still, shivering girl cautiously.

Though all Angel wanted to do was draw her into his arms, he knew it had been too long between words and owed her something. It was easy to not acknowledge her accusation of not making him happy when he knew it wasn't true, but he had to remind himself she didn't, and the only way she would know would be to tell her. So instead of reaching for her he kept his hands clenched neatly at his sides.

"Don't bring Buffy into this," he finally said, willing his voice to not surface as a growl though he did notice it was lower than usual, probably a result of the immense control he was exerting upon himself to at least not get a blanket and drape it around her shoulders. "I'm not in love with Buffy anymore, I'm in love with you. You've known that for a while now."

She shook her head, wet strands clinging randomly to her cheeks. "No, you said you thought I was a hottie, you said I was the most beautiful woman in the world—" he voice cracked and several tears coursed down her cheeks, reminding Angel of the rain they'd stood in earlier. "But you never said you loved me. Then you acted like you didn't want to have anything to do with me in that way, so what was I supposed to think?"

"I acted like nothing happened because I knew I lost control when I said those things to you," Angel explained, his voice softening. "You never told me you wanted me too, and I didn't want to push. I couldn't push—"

"Right, cause of the curse."

Angel shook his head. He watched another severe tremble course through her body and couldn't wait any longer, moving to the bathroom and grabbing a large towel off the rack. He took it back to her. "Here. Get that wet shirt off. I'll get you something else."

Then he disappeared into his bedroom, reappearing a few moments later in a dry pair of pants with a small pair of sweats and a new t-shirt in his hands. He handed the garments to her and took the damp towel.

"Put these on. They should fit you." Cordelia glanced at the sweatpants, then held them up before her. Maybe a little too big, but they would fit.

"Don't tell me these are Buffy's."

Shoving a groan back into his throat, Angel simply swallowed hard and slapped the towel over his shoulder. "No, they were Tina's."

At Cordelia's look of confusion, Angel realized she'd become a part of his LA life after Tina. He often thought about the first girl he'd failed; the list had remained short, but every victim he couldn't help remained in his mind. Tina had forgotten the pants at his place and Angel had never had the heart to get rid of them; it was possibly the only thing left of hers in LA.

"Tina was a girl in Doyle's first vision. She stayed here for a couple of days when I first got here. She died."

He said the last part needlessly, but Cordelia's face dropped into disappointment anyway. She pulled the pants on over her legs without another word. Her eyes did not lift to meet Angel's as she pulled his wet shirt off and placed the dry one over her still damp bra.

Angel took the shirt from her and threw it with the towel in the corner, joining their pants discarded earlier.

That frenzied burst of passion suddenly seemed like hours ago.

"I'm cursed, Cordelia," he finally said, holding a hand up before she could protest that she *knew* he was cursed. "I mean, permanently. I was granted my soul for good a couple years ago."

Cordelia's hazel eyes went wide, and she took a few steps back, her hand flailing for the chair at the kitchen table she knew was behind her. Minutes ticked by on the old clock that hung above the stove, and Angel only stood, silent, defeated, as Cordelia processed the piece of news he'd just dropped on her like a bomb.

She opened her mouth several times, attempting to speak, but when no words would surface she'd shut it again. After a few moments, she began pacing, agitation in her wringing hands and small steps around the kitchen. Angel again felt the urge to reach to her, but didn't, instead leaning his weight on the back of the couch, content to only watch her.

"Your soul," she finally managed, stopping her aggressive pace for a few beats before picking it up again. "Is permanent? You didn't feel it important enough to tell me?"

Angel dropped his head, eyes roving the floor beneath his feet. He should have told, and in a critical moment, he probably would have, but it was something he felt he shouldn't take for granted at the time, and not telling anyone was as good as it possibly not being true. Of course, he couldn't explain all that to her because it would mean as much as him reciting his recipe for scrambled eggs, but he wanted to give her something. Anything.

He couldn't speak before she opened her mouth again, stopping right in front of him and looking up at him with moist eyes. "Does Buffy know?"

"No."

It came out so rushed, Angel wasn't even sure he'd said it or just thought it, but her sigh of relief was evident, and she slumped next to him, using the back of the couch to hold her weight.

Angel did touch her then, lifting the arm closest to her and draping it around her shoulders, first lightly, then adding pressure when she didn't pull away. Finally, he was drawing her to him and into a hug, his chin resting atop her head. She clung to him, hands pressing against the firm muscles that were his torso and back, bringing heat into places Angel had not felt in a long time.

He sucked in an unnecessary breath and blew it out. "I didn't tell anyone," he said finally, his voice muffled against Cordelia's hair. "It just didn't seem like—"

Cordelia shook her head suddenly, pulling out of Angel's embrace and leaning back in order to look up at him. She smiled slightly. "Doesn't matter," she whispered, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Doesn't—" She leaned across and kissed his other cheek, then straightened, lips hovering just above his. "Matter," she finished softly, then took his mouth to hers in a gentle union.

Angel felt his entire body stretch to her, and he threaded his hands into her hair, then let one travel down her back; any way to press her closer to him. The kiss was sweet, this time exploratory and Angel was able to taste the same sweet honey taste he remembered from weeks before in her kitchen. His tongue found every inch of the cavern of her mouth, never wanting the joining to end but knowing it would. He wanted her taste to linger on his tongue long after he was forced to retreat to allow her necessary breath. The time came and Cordelia pulled back. They looked at each other, neither speaking for what seemed like an eternity.

The feeling that Angel would explode with lascivious desire for the woman before him pervaded every other thought in his hazy mind. Both hands came up, cupping his cool palms against her flushed cheeks. He felt the familiar need to profess his love, one that always left him awash in feelings of fierce protectiveness and unbridled desire.

In the past, he'd walk away from her at times like these, too afraid of losing the friendship around which his intangible need for her was built. Too afraid of scaring her—still young and in many ways innocent—and losing the trust he'd worked so hard to build. Too damn afraid.

And he was afraid now, but less for the armor of his own heart and more for the tumult this kind of union could spiral them into. More afraid for the future of the girl before him; the unrealized dreams and potential that lay in wait for the right person to discover.

The human part of him that housed his soul also housed emotions like selfishness—one he couldn't fight quite so valiantly when it came to Cordelia. He wanted her so badly, with him, always.

The fight wasn't in the vampire tonight and probably never would be. He arched himself down, sweeping his lips across hers one more time and listened with relish as she sighed contentedly.

And finally his voice—words he'd been meaning to say for so long.

"I love you, Cordelia, and I need you so much right now."

Her arms went up and around him, cradling his neck as Angel lifted her into his arms. It was a gesture that had grown almost familiar as of late, but now, carrying her to his bedroom, it all seemed incredibly new. And promising.

Angel felt Cordelia's lips brush his bare chest, once, then twice, and the steady hammering of her heart as her chest pressed against his. He felt the reverberations with each movement he made, still feeling them as he lay her gently atop his bed and disentangled their bodies.

Looking down at her, he realized he'd never seen anything more beautiful and told her so. Her smile in return gave him a new definition of beauty and Angel felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, reaching up for him, wanting him.

It all made his mind a little too hazy—his body pressed against hers, her hands touching him everywhere at once, her lips stealing kisses as though they were candy.

When she whispered in his ear, "I love you," the vampire wondered what was better than this very moment.

End.

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