Seeing Clearly
by Debbie Nockels
COPYRIGHT: January 2003
RATING: G
SPOILERS: Seasons 1-7 of BTVS, to date; Seasons 1-4 of ATS, to date
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon (who ought to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, David Greenwalt, the WB, UPN, Fox, etc.
THANKS: To my beta-readers, Anja and Janice, who always have a word of encouragement and help. Thank you, sweeties; you're the best!
__________________________________________________________________
Angel gazed blankly at the ceiling of his bedroom. Seeing Cordelia and Connor together in bed, having sex, had been an overwhelming shock. He wasn't sure just how he'd gotten back to the Hyperion, although he had a vague memory of stumbling blindly down a staircase intermixed with flashing glimpses of dank sewer walls. He only knew that some hours ago he'd found himself lying on his bed staring upward, unseeing and numb. Now, finally, he was beginning to come out of his daze - and he was able to wonder why he'd been so stunned. Cordelia had made her feelings clear earlier that very day, hadn't she?
"When I got my memory back, everything came rushing in: Sunnydale, moving to Los Angeles, meeting you again. I wanted to tell you, but it was just too much."
He hadn't understood. "Tell me what?"
"What I remembered when I was a higher being: I remember seeing you . . . your past. When you were Angelus."
Still he didn't get it. "I've never tried to hide who I was or what I've done. You already knew."
The look in her eyes. "Knowing's different than living it. When I was up there, I could look back and see everything you ever did as Angelus. More than see - I felt it. Not just their fear and pain - I felt you, and how much you enjoyed making them suffer."
Her words hit him like a blow, leaving him speechless, for of course there was nothing he could say in his defense. Everything she'd said was true. As Angelus, he had reveled in the suffering of his victims, doing everything in his power to prolong it. And she'd shared all of it along with them - their agony, their terror and despair? The thought turned him cold. Then came the touch of her hand on his face.
"I love you, Angel, but I can't be with you. It's just too soon. Maybe if we just give it a little time. . . ."
Her vision of the Beast's arrival in their world had struck just then, ending the conversation, and from that moment on all their energies had been focused on the coming event. Angel linked his hands behind his head and continued his brooding. He knew there were more important issues he should be concerned about - vital, world-threatening issues such as the Beast and how to avert another Apocalypse, not to mention the deal he'd made with Lilah, something he was absolutely certain he'd regret before long - but all he could think about was the expression in Cordy's eyes. Oh, she'd tried hard to keep it hidden, but he had centuries of experience at reading mortals and her revulsion was obvious to him. Her voice kept returning, over and over:
"I love you, Angel, but I can't be with you."
Well, of course she couldn't. What woman could? He didn't blame her for feeling that way. Every time Cordelia looked at him she'd be reminded of unthinkable evil; she'd remember the screams and pleas of his victims, and his own exultant laughter. What normal woman would want to put herself through that kind of torment? Of course she'd grabbed at a chance for a more normal relationship, even if it was with a mere boy.
No. Angel shook his head involuntarily. Despite being only eighteen, Connor was no "mere boy." To begin with, he was the offspring of two vampires, which by all known lore ought to be impossible. Add to that the fact that he'd been raised in one of the most inhospitable dimensions that existed, where he'd been killing monsters for most of his young life and where he was known as The Destroyer, and the indisputable truth was that Connor was no mere person, much less only a boy. He was as able to protect Cordelia as he himself was, and Angel had no doubt that his son cared for her. Whether or not it was real love only time would tell. Not that it mattered. Cordy had chosen, and he had no intention of making a scene about it, however much it hurt to think of them together.
Angel's eyelids felt heavy. No, Cordelia had made her bed and now she had to lie in it . . . with Connor. . . . He drifted off into a light sleep.
They were on a hilltop overlooking the town. The first hint of dawn was just beginning to glimmer palely on the horizon. The unusually warm breeze fanned his face; the bones of her arms felt fragile in his steel grip. Cold tears trailed down his cheeks. "Am I a thing worth saving? Huh? Am I a righteous man? The world wants me gone!"
As he crouched above her, forcibly holding her down with all his vampiric strength, he saw that she too was crying. "What about me?" she cried. "I love you so much. And I tried to make you go away . . . I killed you and it didn't help." Her forceful shove sent him sprawling. She scrambled to her feet and now it was her turn to loom above him.
"And I hate it! I hate that it's so hard - and that you can hurt me so much! I know everything that you did, because you did it to me." Her breath caught in a sob that tore at his heart. "God! I wish that I wished you dead! I don't. I can't."
Angel awoke with a jolt, her voice still in his ears. How well he remembered that night - morning, rather. A minute later the air had inexplicably turned chill, and within moments snow began to fall, ending the unseasonable warm spell in Sunnydale . . . and obscuring the just-rising sun with heavy clouds, thereby thwarting his suicide attempt.
It had been a true miracle. They'd both realized it, and their trip back to the mansion had been a silent one. He could still remember the feel of Buffy's hand in his as they walked through the whitening streets; still recall his sense of wonder and awe. For the first time since the return of his soul a hundred years earlier it had dawned on him that maybe his continued existence wasn't simply eternal punishment for his past . . . that maybe, just possibly, he was being offered a chance to redeem himself, to atone for the horrific deeds of his evil alter ego.
Ironically, that night, that realization, had sown the seeds that eventually led to his decision to leave Sunnydale. Not because he wanted to and not for the reasons he'd given Buffy - he knew as well as she did that her life would never be normal. No, the real truth of it was that he was afraid; afraid that being around her would prove too much for him to handle; that he would succumb to his love and his need for her and lose his soul again. And that this time Angelus would succeed in destroying her.
"I love you, Angel, but I can't be with you. It's just too soon."
"I love you so much" . . . "I know everything that you did - because you did it to me!"
Angel slowly sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His brain felt as though it was working for the first time in weeks. No - months! It was his epiphany all over again. Events tumbled into their proper perspective and suddenly became crystal-clear. Earlier he'd wondered what woman could look at him without constantly being reminded of horrifying evil, and now the answer stared him in the face.
Buffy could.
Buffy had.
When he'd dreamed about some of his past kills that Christmas four years ago, when he'd relived the circumstances of their deaths, Buffy had been there too, in his dreams. . . had seen it all. Maybe she hadn't actually felt his emotions as Cordelia had, but she didn't need to. Her recognition and horror of Angelus's cruelty, of his gloating enjoyment as his victims died, had been writ on her face plain to see. Yet it hadn't changed her feelings. She'd continued to love him; more than that, she'd stayed with him. They'd patrolled together, fought together, been together as often as possible.
"Are you still my girl?"
"Always."
Remembering, Angel closed his eyes. A pang went through him. Although he still didn't blame Cordelia for not wanting to be with him after all she'd experienced, he now saw her "love" for what it was - a pale imitation of the real thing. As were the feelings he'd begun to have for her. It wasn't hard to see how it had happened. They were both set apart from the rest of humanity by their differences, and loneliness and proximity taken together could be powerful influences, especially when accompanied by the far from subtle urging of their friends.
Yes, he loved Cordelia, just as he loved Fred and Gunn and, until his betrayal, Wesley. They were not only friends, they were his family. Each of them had risked his or her life for the others more than once, and wouldn't hesitate to do it again should the need arise. No. When the need arose; unfortunately, there was no uncertainty about it.
But he wasn't in love with Cordy; he could acknowledge that now. In the almost two hundred fifty years of his existence there was only one woman who had captured his heart, instantly, utterly, and forever.
And if matters were bad here in Los Angeles, what were they like at the very mouth of Hell?
His mouth suddenly dry, Angel reached for the phone.
THE END
Click here to return to BTVS menu
OR
Click here to return to Main Menu