Title: Cordelia: Chiaroscuro

Author: Jeanny

E-mail: jeannygrrl@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13

Distribution/Archive: Go right ahead, if you like, just let me know where it's going.

Spoilers: Angel Season 3 Through Heartthrob

Disclaimer: I don't own them, would that I did. The characters herein belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, Greenwalt, Fox, etc. I'm merely using them to tell my own little story.

Feedback: Please! I need it.

Summary: Cordelia visits an gallery where some of the art tells a story...but for her it might not have a happy ending. Based on the Challenge in a Can (http://www.dymphna.net/challenge) challenge: Cordelia. Lost. Painting.

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chiar·oscu·ro. noun. 1. pictorial representation in terms of light and shade without regard to color. 2. the arrangement or treatment of light and dark parts in a work of art. 3. the quality of being veiled or partly in shadow.

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It was no secret that Cordelia Chase had been born to the finer things in life. Her early childhood had been filled with nannies in place of parents, and cultural events in the place of play dates. The young girl was lonely and perceived herself to be unpopular, largely the cause of her lashing out at those around her. The cultural emersion that had been thrust upon her had lasted until the day after her twelfth birthday, when she finally put her foot down as only she could, demanding that her parents acknowledge her existence in some way more immediate than opera tickets. The adolescent rebellion she had staged had been more about lack of attention than her cultural education, but it had cemented her identity as a useless airhead in her father's eyes. The visits to the theatre, art galleries, museums, operas and concerts ceased without warning or discussion. Cordelia pretended not to care, but secretly she missed all of those things, especially the galleries and museums.

Despite her bitter complaints, Cordelia had loved looking at the art, especially portraits. The emotional connections she found in swirls of paint had been poor compensation for the lack of feeling with which she was surrounded, but it was something. Without it life had been gray and colorless, and she had immersed herself in a quest for popularity. It was what had been expected, and also something she hoped would fill that void. Instead she had become as vapid and shallow as her father had always believed her to be, and only late at night did she mourn the loss of the thoughtful child who had wept over operas and dreamed of swirls of paint on canvas, creating stories about the people in those pictures and how their lives were full of love and hate and every strong emotion between.

It was only after her parents' fortune had been lost - indeed, after she had moved to Los Angeles - that she had discovered galleries again. Secretly she spent many an afternoon walking through museums, galleries, any place she could find to lose herself in the stories she fashioned about these strangers that felt closer to her than her own family. Sometimes closer than her own friends. She wasn't totally sure why she kept her art excursions secret. She knew the others might understand...especially Angel, who was an amazing artist in his own right, at least when he was Angelus. They would understand, they would accept...but they would also know her in a way she simply wasn't ready to be known, not by anyone. It felt like a kind of ownership, and Cordelia Chase refused to be owned again. Not even by those who already held her heart.

So it was on such a typically sunny Southern California afternoon that she stumbled across a small undistinguished gallery that lacked even a proper name, the small handcrafted sign reading only "Art Gallery. H. Anenye, Proprietor." Cordelia lingered outside, for a moment uncertain as to whether she should go inside this place. It seemed a bit...off, for a gallery. But she opened the door anyway, entering a cool white room that had a number of large portraits hanging on the wall. None of them appeared to be individual portraits, but all were some kind of family or group gathering. Cordelia smiled. A rather attractive man, appearing to Cordelia to be in his mid to late 40's, approached her with a welcoming smile.

"Can I help you, Miss..." the man addressed her in a clipped British accent.

"Chase. Cordelia Chase," Cordy replied absently, her eyes already drinking in the remarkably lifelike works. She felt as if these people might jump right off the canvas and begin speaking to her directly. She turned and focused on her host for the first time. "These are extraordinary!"

"Yes, I agree," he smugly concurred.

"Do I know the artist?" Cordelia asked.

"You've probably seen his work before," the man replied cryptically, "but by name, most likely not. Almost all of his works are done under aliases and pseudonyms. I secured this collection due to a...personal connection with the artist."

"Strange he wouldn't want to be known, with talent like this," Cordelia said.

"Indeed," the man agreed. "But fortunately for me, oddly profitable. Most of these works have been sold already, but the owners are not ready to take possession and I must admit I've grown rather fond of them. So I continue to show them to discriminating patrons, such as yourself."

"Hmmm," Cordelia said, still engrossed in one of the paintings, then her ingrained manners kicked in. "I'm sorry, I'm being very rude, Mister..."

"Anenye," he said, pronouncing it like `Ai-nuh-NIGH.' "But, please, Miss Chase, call me Hart. And I certainly do not find you rude, my dear."

"Hart," she repeated with a smile. "Do you mind terribly if I look around for a while?"

"Not at all," he said with a thin smile. "That is why I'm here, after all. Let me know if there's anything you need. A cup of tea, glass of wine, perhaps?" Cordelia politely demurred and the man wandered off, leaving her to wander freely. The gallery had seemed very small from the outside, but it seemed like there was more of it at every turn. She walked slowly, drinking in the small details: rings on hands, wrinkles around eyes, even the realistic five o'clock shadow on a man that appeared to be a vagrant. She had no sense at all of how much time had passed when she came across the painting that made her gasp out loud.

It was a simple family portrait: a man standing, his wife seated in front of them, their young daughter kneeling at her feet. The clothing appeared to be late 19th century, possibly early 20th century. Obviously their Sunday best, but Cordelia could tell immediately they were not wealthy, no better than middle class. Happiness, affection and love seemed to radiate from them even in the stilted pose; the woman had been captured looking down almost wonderingly at her daughter, who smiled at the artist enigmatically. But that wasn't what had made Cordy's heart beat faster. The man and woman looked so much like her parents...and the little girl had long dark hair just like her own at that age. Other than that the girl didn't really resemble her at all; her eyes were a beautiful china blue, her features much more angular than Cordelia's, but still...

"Quite nice, isn't it?"

The voice from behind made her give a little scream. She turned and saw Hart Anenye smiling at her. Her hand went up to her throat as she struggled to calm her suddenly fast beating heart.

"You startled me."

"I do apologize."

"Who were they?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. The man looked at the painting appraisingly for a moment, then shrugged.

"I have no idea. Why?"

"They seem..." Cordelia whispered hoarsely, reaching out unconsciously to touch the little girl's hair, then jerking her hand back guiltily. "Familiar," she finished awkwardly. The man made an elaborate show of looking around to see if they were alone, then moved up to her conspiratorially.

"Go on. Touch it."

"What? No," Cordelia said, licking her lips. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she stared at the painting again. The girl almost seemed impatient with her, as if wondering what was taking her so long.

"It's okay. I know you want to. I'll never tell. It'll be our secret."

Cordelia found her hand moving almost of its own volition towards the painting again. She had no idea where this urge to touch it came from, but it overwhelmed her. She touched the painting and gasped, her body jerking as if she had touched a live current...

"...sit still for just one second," her mother said, laughing at her squirming. "I do declare, you got your father's vigor, child." Her father came in and kissed her mother fondly, reaching down to pat her head affectionately.

"Ah, but she got her mother's beauty, so much the better," he boomed, reaching down to brush her mother's lips with another, deeper kiss. He eyed Cordelia with mock sternness as she giggled. "You mind your momma now, Dee."

"Yes, daddy," she said primly, sitting still long enough to allow her mother to finish brushing her hair. As soon as the brush was set aside she jumped up. "Now may I go play?" she asked plaintively. Both parents smiled indulgently.

"Run on, now," her mother said. Cordelia gave her a quick hug and kiss, then her father swept her up in his arms, twirling her around for a moment and making her giggle. She hugged him to her fiercely.

"I love you, Daddy," she said, and she knew that she did, with such intensity it almost blazed out of her. She looked into his dark eyes and miraculously saw the same ferocious love echoed there.

"I love you too, my darling girl. Go on now, have fun," he said, setting her back down. Cordelia giggled and ran toward the front door. "But stay on the grounds, in sight," her father called after her. "I never want you out of my sight."

Cordelia stepped outside and looked up, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. She skipped down the front steps of their little house, careful not to step where the boards had worn a bit thin, and began to spin around and around, feeling giddy and warm and loved and carefree, all at once. When she came to a dizzy stop she laughed out loud from pure joy...then screamed as the warm day suddenly turned to the darkness of night and she felt a hand latch onto her arm. A familiar voice whispered in her ear.

"You're lost, Cordy," the voice said, and Cordelia gasped.

"Angel?"

"Miss Chase?" Cordelia whirled around, and suddenly she was back in the gallery. Hart was frowning at her in concern. "Are you alright?" Cordelia's hand flew to her head automatically, but she realized that she didn't have the mind-splitting headache she normally did after a vision. In fact, she felt fine except for being a bit tired, and...suddenly she couldn't remember what she had just been thinking. She had been fascinated by the painting, that was all.

"I'm fine," she said. "You just startled me."

"I seem to keep doing that," he said with a small rueful grin. "I'm very sorry, but the gallery is closing for the day." Cordelia's eyes flew open wide.

"Oh my God! What time is it?" she said, panicking. She wasn't supposed to be gone more than an hour...

"Oh, it's still early. It's just that I've other business to attend to, so if you wouldn't mind..."

"Oh. Oh! Of course..." Cordelia stammered, letting him steer her towards the exit. They made it to the door so quickly she felt disoriented. Apparently the gallery wasn't as big as she'd thought. As he opened the door to usher her out, she felt a sudden sense of loss that made her turn back. Mr. Anenye smiled, seeming to understand the cause of her distress.

"The gallery will be open tomorrow, of course," he offered, and Cordelia almost sagged with relief. She could no longer quite remember what had happened to her there, but she knew she needed to see that painting again. She smiled at the man.

"Thank you, Mr. Anenye," she said, stumbling over the name. He smiled and patted her arm.

"Hart," he reminded her, and the still dazed girl blushed.

"Hart. Right. Tomorrow."

Cordelia wandered out into the sunlight, quickly regaining the confidence in her stride. The man who called himself Hart Anenye watched her go, then quickly put the closed sign on the gallery and made his way back to that special painting. His smile broadened as he gazed at it for a moment, then pulled out his cell phone and punched a number on speed dial.

"Yes, it's me. Everything's going as planned. The final portrait is being filled. Yes indeed, I believe this will be my finest piece yet...I'm not sure I should let it go for such a paltry..." As he listened to the calm but angry voice on the other end, he paled slightly. "I see your point. That does sound unpleasant... Delivery? As soon as it's finished. You know, an artist such as myself shouldn't be rushed. But soon," he said as he smiled at the child in the picture.

A beautiful child. So fetching with her big brown eyes.

"Yes, I'd say very soon."

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