Title: And Other Strangers
Description: Cordelia-POV. A spin-off of the AtS season 3 episode “Birthday.” Asks what would have happened if Cordelia had stayed in the alternate universe created in that episode, for a while longer.
Rating: Part 1, PG-13; later parts, NC-17
Disclaimers: Not mine. Some dialogue, taken from the episode "Birthday," written by Mere Smith, will appear in italics.
Thanks: To Stoney for lovely beta and encouragement.
There was this actress and a one-armed guy. It’s a long story. -- Cordelia Chase, “Birthday”
Author’s Note: Just a quick refresher/intro for those who haven’t watched “Birthday” as obsessively as I have over the past week. During this episode, Cordelia goes into a “mystical coma” caused by her visions, and meets Skip, a demon-guide who offers her an alternative life as a world-famous actress, on the condition of giving up the visions. In this alternative world/vision, she meets slightly altered versions of Gunn & Wesley, and a very altered Angel. The AU portion of the episode ends with Cordelia kissing Angel, once again receiving the visions, and returning to the “real” world -- now slightly altered herself. This fic takes things up from the point of the kiss, but in this case it didn’t transfer the visions. So basically, we’ve got an AU-AU from that point on. So. . .enjoy!
And Other Strangers: Chapter I
It was nine o'clock on the evening of her twenty-first birthday and Cordelia Chase -- star of TV's Cordy, Revlon lipcolor spokesperson, and number seventeen in People's "25 most intriguing" list for 2001, that Cordelia Chase -- knelt in the back room of a seedy apartment in a seedier part of town, trying to ignore the shackles hanging from the ceiling, and kissing a vampire.
This was not exactly how this day was supposed to go. She was supposed to tape her show, go home, ignore the fake birthday messages from a procession of stupid men. This was her birthday resolution, to have a loser-free year. Tonight, she had planned to assemble an entourage, hit all the hottest hot spots, schmooze like a star and dance like a fool, get wasted – legally – and, if any of her loser-exes showed their faces, she would challenge them to a dance-off.
Yet here she was, kneeling close to Angel in this cold bleak back room, bathed by the blue neon light that shone into the window from a sign in the alley. Here she was pressing her lips to Angel's, and she couldn't have begun to say why. She had known Angel, back in Sunnydale, but they hadn’t been close. And he didn’t look like the Angel she remembered at all. He looked like a child, shaking and terrified, lost in the cold. So Cordelia placed her hands on his shoulders for a moment, hoping to calm the shaking, and then she leaned in and kissed him, softly and tenderly on the lips. Kiss a frog, she thought, Sleeping beauty kisses the prince. It wasn't a love-kiss, it couldn't have been, so she thought that it must be a magical one.
And then he stopped shaking and pulled back from her. "I remember everything," he said softly. "Cordelia? You're Cordelia?"
She ruffled a hand through that stupid pointy hair of his. "I don't know if I count as everything," she told him. "But I'm a start." She nodded toward Wesley and Gunn, who stood stone still. "Remember these guys?"
Angel frowned then said slowly, "Wesley?" and Cordelia could see Wesley release his breath. "Gunn,” said Angel. “Hey. I'm sorry, I. . ." He shook his head. "I felt like I got confused. I didn't mean. . .Wow,” he said weakly, then rested his head against Cordelia's shoulder. "I feel like I need to sleep. Maybe for a hundred years."
"All right, brooding beauty," Cordelia said softly.
“Sing me a song?” he murmured.
Nobody ever asked Cordelia to sing. But she rocked the vampire’s body back against her, murmuring the words to a tune that rang sharp and fresh in her mind, although she couldn't recall where she might have heard it: Sleep my love, and peace attend thee/ All through the night/ Guardian angels, God will send theee/All through the night. And in a moment, Angel's head lolled back and his eyes closed and, if he could breathe, she was sure that his breath would be soft and easy, maybe for the first time in years.
“Well,” she said, looking at Wesley and Gunn, “I guess we should let him rest.”
*
They moved quietly out of the room. Gunn walked with confidence toward the door. Cordelia followed, but Wesley hung back. She still wasn’t used to seeing him like that, with the five-o-clock shadow and disheveled hair, and especially that dingy Army coat, with one empty sleeve pinned on the left shoulder. Kungai demon, a couple years ago, he had said, sounding like he wanted to apologize for having an arm chewed off.
Now he divided his gaze between her and Angel. She thought about what he had said to her, just before she went Angel, the way he grabbed her arm. Don’t get too close. Well, that was what Wesley was supposed to do. She remembered Buffy and Faith trading impressions of him: A good slayer is a cautious slayer . And Cordelia knew she was no slayer. The most demonic creature she had fought off in the past two years was a casting director with a schoolgirl kink -- because, hello, she didn't care if he did have Spielberg and Harvey Weinstein on his speed-dial; that was not a use God intended for a lollipop.
Cordelia knew she wasn’t as strong as Buffy or Faith, but after his words of caution, Wesley had stood back and let her get to close to Angel anyway. Now he kept looking from Angel to her, from her to Angel as though he didn’t exactly believe what had happened. As if some disaster had actually occurred, and if they had only listened to him it all would have been better, but now it was much much too late. Wesley was very good at that look.
So Cordelia followed Gunn into the comparative non-squalor of the outer room. “That was tight, Queen C. That was something else. I’ve never seen anybody handle Angel like that. You oughta do a movie, man. The girl who talks to demons. Bigger than The Sixth Sense. And maybe there’d be a part for a brother? I mean, this face?” Gunn pointed at himself. “I’m thinking Taye Diggs. You know him? Maybe you can give him a call.”
“Taye?” Cordelia stammered, taken aback by Gunn’s sudden shift into fanboy mode. “I mean, he did a guest spot on the show last year, but we’re not exactly. . .” She stopped, and took a measure of his playful eyes. “You are so messing with me.”
“I am,” he tapped her shoulder. “Consider yourself messed. I bet you get that shit all the time.”
“No,” Cordelia said gravely, “Never,” then broke into a smile. She liked this guy. How rare was it, anymore, to meet an honest unpretentious person who wasn’t on the make? Yes, she thought, A demon hunter babysitting a crazy vampire, and he’s the most normal person I’ve met in years. Not exactly someone she would have expected to be buddy-buddy with Wesley, either.
And speaking of Wesley, he was still scowling. “Angel hasn’t slept in some time. Maybe months. Vampires don’t physically require sleep, of course, not in the same way that human beings do. But it certainly may benefit his mental health to get a good night’s rest.” He nodded toward Gunn. “It’s my turn to stay with Angel, so perhaps you can see Miss Chase home? Cordelia, it’s been. . .” He wasn’t quite looking at her, and didn’t seem inclined to finish the sentence, when Gunn broke in.
“Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout, English?” With a nod at Cordy, he said, “See, I could’ve been a TV star too? I was all set to play on Diff’rent Strokes, but they told me I was too tall.”
“Tragic,” said Wesley, and started to turn his back on them, when Gunn said, “Wes! I’ll take Angel-duty tonight. I bet you and Cordy have some catching up to do.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t . . .” Wesley began, at the same time Cordelia said, “I wouldn’t mind. . .”
“English!” Gunn reproved. “Show the girl some chivalry, or I might have to do it for you.”
Cordelia glanced at Gunn, and decided that might not be such a terrible thing. Wesley must have picked up on the look she was giving his friend, because he sighed and said, “Come on, I’ll take you wherever you need to go." He opened the door, as Cordelia shrugged at Gunn.
“Later, maybe?” she said.
Gunn formed his hand into a pistol and pointed it at her, then dropped his thumb-hammer. “I could get behind that.”
When the door closed and she was alone with Wesley in the hall, Cordelia asked, “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble? Can you --?”
“Drive?” he said. “Yes. I do have a prosthesis. It just tends to get in the way when fighting.” He nodded down the hall. “I have a place right here. We ended up renting out the whole floor. In some of his fits, Angel can get quite loud, and it cuts down on questions. Some of Gunn’s associates use the rooms for storage and various . . . activities, I try not to ask.”
He took a key from the pocket of his old army-style jacket, turned it in the lock of the nearest door, then used his hip to push it open. Cordelia watched his movement and thought of all the things she used two arms to do, all the actions she took for granted. She thought back on the efficiency he had used to take out the demon that afternoon. He had always moved so stiffly in those perfect suits, but now his body, working at a disadvantage, hidden under a loose jacket and worn-out jeans, displayed a curious grace.
He turned to look at her with a half scowl. “What?”
“Nice place,” she answered, looking around, and realized that it was, in its own small way. Neatly arranged furniture, a framed poster of the Tower Bridge on the wall, lots and lots of books. Alphabetized, no doubt. She had a feeling, that if she had ever been able to get an invitation out of him to his apartment in Sunnydale – and she had dropped some hints, but Wesley was either too proper or too clueless -- it would have looked much the same. Nicer things, probably, but the same place.
“Just let me,” he said, and with an eyeroll, “Get my arm, and we can be out of here.”
“I wouldn’t mind staying,” said Cordelia. He looked at her as though waiting for the punchline of a joke. “I’m not in a big hurry to get back.”
“Yes,” he said, changing course to walk toward the apartment’s small kitchen. “I can see how you would be reluctant to return to your luxurious home, meteorically successful career, and legions of admirers.”
Cordelia leveled her gaze at him. “Look, Wes, I’m not going to apologize for being successful. But a day like this is not exactly the kind of thing I can discuss with people whose life goal is to get past the bouncer at the Viper Room on the first try.”
“Fine,” he said, wearily. “Let’s sit and talk about our feelings, why not?” Opening the refrigerator, he said, “Can I offer you. . . blood, leftover Chinese food, or five cases of Anchor Steam?” He rolled his head back. “Jesus, Gunn,” he muttered. “I am taking away his key. Here, then, it’s all I’ve got.” He started to hold out a bottle, then narrowed his eyes at her, and pulled it back. “Are you even legal?”
“As of today,” she answered. “Happy birthday to me.”
“Oh yes,” he said. “I saw that in the paper. Right next to the horoscopes and under the word jumble. Model-slash-actress Cordelia Chase turns twenty-one.” He offered the bottle again, and said, “According to Gunn’s cousin, this stuff fell off a truck.”
“Beer fell off a truck?” Cordelia said. Wesley shrugged as well as he could, then Cordy took the bottle and said, “What the hell, I’ll live dangerously.”
“Not just a model-slash-actress,” he said, in a deep mock-movie-trailer voice. “A model-slash-actress on the edge.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. He almost managed to smile, and followed her into the small living room. She sunk onto the sofa, while he slipped out of his jacket, folded it, and took the single chair. Cordy raised her bottle and said, “To living dangerously.”
“Yes,” Wesley said, “About that.” He drank, and then looked at her. “What you did in there, Cordelia?"
"Oh, you know," she said, downplaying the remark the way she had learned for press interviews -- oh, I suppose the show is kind of successful. "It was nothing."
"No, Cordelia. It was something. It was extremely, extremely – and I cannot emphasize this enough. Extremely stupid.”
TBC