March 2003

    Fred watched Angel as he threw his trench coat on.  He was going to Cordelia’s tonight to talk some things, some very important things, over with her.  Their relationship had been strained lately for various reasons.
    Angel straightened his collar, took a few moments to look at the leather jacket hanging on the coat rack by the door, and left.  Fred sighed.  That was Kate’s jacket.  It had been hanging there ever since that awful night.  Every time Angel left the hotel, he would look at her jacket for a few seconds before walking out the door.
    Fred wondered what kind of thoughts ran through the vampire’s mind when he looked at that leather jacket.  Whenever she saw him do it, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the conversation she and Angel had had the night after Kate died.
    ‘Fred.’
    ‘Angel?’
    ‘Kate, she…she tried to tell me a while ago.’
    ‘Tell you what?’
    Fred closed her eyes and remembered the way Angel had sighed.  There had been nothing but guilt and anguish in it.  It brought tears to her eyes even now to think of what he’d said next.
    ‘That she loved me, Fred.  She loved me, and it killed her.  I killed her.’
    He’d thrown his trench coat on and walked out, just the way he did now.
    Fred sniffled.
 

    "What would you have me do, Cordelia?  Tell me that!"
    "Don't treat me like I'm some dumb little girl, Angel.  Don't you dare." Every word was edged with steel.
    "I'm not.  I'm asking you a question." He took one step toward her.  "What other option do I have?"
    "The obvious one!  Don't play their game." Cordelia moved very purposefully behind an armchair.  "You don't show, they can't get in your head, and you don't have your brain melted.  Sounds like a plan to me."
    "I don't show, you die.  No go."
    Cordelia sighed and leaned heavily on the chair.  She waived the floating bottle of painkillers away.
    "No thanks, Dennis.  They won't help." Her eyes strayed to Angel.  "We always seem to end up in the very same place with this—whatever this is.  At least we're not shouting this time."
    "Or crying."
    "Stay tuned," she muttered.
    Angel moved a few steps closer to her, a stricken look on his face.
    "Don’t look at me like that.  You know what those sad cow eyes do to me."
    "That’s why I do it." He smiled and reached out to touch her face.
    "No," she declared, stepping back from him again.  "You are not getting off the hook another time.  The situation is, unfortunately, not just going to disappear."
    "That’s what I’ve been saying all along," Angel said, exasperated.
    "Well, congratulations!  Would you like a plaque or a ribbon or something?"
    "Cordelia, this is getting us nowhere.  I’m done playing around," he said.  "Realistically, there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me, so I’m gonna do what I have to do.  There’s just one thing I have to know."
    "What’s that, Angel?" Cordelia breathed half-heartedly, her eyes beginning to glisten.
    "Why don’t you want me to save you?" His inquiry was devoid of anger or frustration.  It was simple, fearful, and almost timid.
    "Angel…" She stopped, and she felt cold and numb, as if his question had pierced her straight through.  "You can’t save everyone."
    The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted saying them.  Angel opened his mouth briefly and shut it again, swallowing hard.
    "I know that." He looked at her with wide, moist eyes.  "That’s why I have to do this.  I couldn’t save her, but…I have a chance now to save you, and I have to take it."
    "Am I worth it?" she blurted.
    "What?" The look on his face demonstrated how appalled he was that she would even suggest what she was suggesting.
    "Look at me!  I’m falling apart anyway, so what difference does it make what kills me?  Visions, Senior Partners, same result—"
    "No." Angel closed the gap between them with a few long strides.  "I will not sit back and watch the Senior Partners torture you to death.  And there’s no guarantee they’ll stop with you.  The Senior Partners aren’t the type to quit very early in the game."
    "So now you’re saving all your friends, not just me?  Why don’t we throw in the entire world while we’re at it?" snapped Cordelia.
    "We might as well." Angel paused.  "We’re doing all we can for you and the visions, but there’s still more I can do to protect you from Wolfram & Hart.  I’ll do it, even if it means having my brain melted."
    Cordelia laughed a little, wiping tears from her eyes.
    "I know, Angel, but if you die, who will be left to continue helping the helpless, or the hopeless, or whatever?"
    "I think Wesley will be doing this job for the rest of his life, and there are others out there who can help people," Angel said gently.
    Cordelia saw the logic of it all, the necessity of everything.  He was right, right about everything.  Yet, she refused to let go of him.  It felt so terrible to release him into the clutches of evil.  Terrible, and stupid.
    "God, Angel!  You can’t stop talking about saving me and saving the rest of the world!" she exclaimed, exasperated.  "When do I get to save you?"
    "What?" said Angel, taken aback.
    "You heard me." She arched an angry eyebrow.
    "Cordelia, you can’t just—"
    "Bull****, Angel!  What insane rules do you work under?  You risk your life and sometimes everyone else’s lives to save someone you love, but I’m not allowed to do the same?  I’m not allowed to willingly put my own life in danger to keep you alive?" she said, challenging Angel in a forceful tone.  "The world needs you, and dammit, I need you, but you won’t do very much good to any of us if you’re a pile of dust on the floor of a Wolfram & Hart office."
    "Cordelia," he murmured solemnly, moving still closer to her.  His eyes were dark and earnest, and when he spoke, he sounded almost angry.  "I don’t care if you think it’s unfair.  You are worth more than I ever was or ever will be.  I’d rather be that pile of dust than stand back and let them take you from me without a fight.  The answer to your question is no.  You don’t get to save me.  Not this time, not ever."
    Cordelia backed away from him, tears of anger glinting in her eyes.
    "You should go."
    "Cordy, please—" he began tiredly.
    "Angel, get out before I have Dennis throw you out," she said softly, dangerously.
    Angel thought he would burst if he didn’t say something, didn’t let her know how completely in love with her he was beginning to realize he was, didn’t sweep her off her feet and kiss her, didn’t tell her she was beautiful.  To say all the things he needed to say would be inappropriate, especially now.  He left Cordelia’s apartment and didn’t look back.
    Angel would just have to burst.