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“You’ll want to move away from the door now, father.”
“Go through it, but don’t ever expect to come back.”
“We don't need you. You walked away. Do us a favor and just stay away.”
The night was shrouded in glacial winds, the air saturated with the stench of acid rain rising from the dank concrete as it drenched the streets and glistened with the reflection of the city lights from puddles, glass, and steel.
Condemned souls cast into the gutters stood out from the shadows of sheltered men. Men so lost within a psychosis of fame, wealth, power, and vanity that they’re blinded to the demons that walk beside them, that might even be dictating or unraveling their lives, their very sanity.
Some fed on the darkest and most vulnerable parts of human nature, some were the darkest and most vulnerable parts of human nature.
Now here is a riddle for the ages, do demons have demons as well?
Still, beneath the chaos, was hidden another layer.
Caritas was in essence a utopian church, the place where one, regardless of species or morals went to find their path in life. Where The Host found himself.
The magic that provided sanctuary within its walls seemed to evaporate around the dark figure hunched over the luminescent bar wrapped in an aura beiger than Freddie Mercury’s during his solo phase.
Uncomfortable glances hovered around his disengaged form as he tossed back a swig from a bottle wrapped in a crumpled paper bag.
The red sheen forming in the whites of the eyes and the loss of the pupil within the depths of near obsidian irises indicated to The Host that the line between synthetic humanity and pure demon was about to be crossed where welcomes were stretched thin.
“Sorry Desperado, no outside drinks, I’m gonna have to confiscate that.” A trembling green hand clamped the bottle.
A pacifist since birth, he naturally suppressed his demonic strength so when the bottle fell into his grip, he knew it wasn’t a battle of brute strength that he’d won.
A low growl rumbled in the large, framed chest and gold flecks shimmered a tarnished liquid halo in the dark void of the irises. It was only sensitivity to sound as acute as The Host’s that could detect the tiredness.
~~~~~~
On the night luscious blonde hair turned auburn and creamy white skin tanned golden and her name bayed from his soul’s most forlorn depths, the morphine faded, and the curse fulfilled its purpose in its purest form.
He sobbed tasting blood mixed in his streams of tears as the sting of nails ripped through his notoriously angelic flesh. It felt good being delivered by the golden hand in his mind.
"Just so we understand each other…you and I? We’re not friends."
As that cold and indifferent stare dug into his hollow chest, his father’s cruel tongue echoed in the empty caverns of his soul:
“You’re a disgrace!”
“It’s a son I wished for – a man – instead God gave me you! A terrible disappointment.”
He could almost feel the sting of the man’s cold hand against his flesh raw without the numbing effects of alcohol and dismissal.
The true sin was his dear sister’s witness, the expression of horror, drenched in tears.
She was the apple of father’s eye, but he was well on the way to destroying her soul before Angelus was born.
He stood outside Cordelia’s window, watching as she sat in bed flipping through the latest Cosmo with a slump in her shoulders from the weight of the world and bags under her eyes, concentrating on each page as though searching for the one that revealed the meaning of life.
She looked exhausted, thinner, defeated, and his stomach clenched at the wrongness of it, of the obligation that eclipsed the choice.
Like father like son. He’d broken her.
Never again.
He vowed he would never again let someone that close, not after what had happened the one time he’d dared, the blood that was shed, the hearts that were broken. The lives that were ruined.
When he left Sunnydale, Angel had never been so convinced that he was mean to be alone, a stigma, but he didn’t count on Cordelia Anne Chase, the woman who needed no invitation, a chance encounter of two rejects of Sunnydale who'd both escaped to the big city only to lose themselves.
Shallow, spoilt, insatiable pain in the ass that she was, she had shined a beacon of hope on his forlorn existence that night he saved her from Russell Winters. No, that’s not right. If he was honest with himself, it was that night, the eve of Halloween that she sat with him at the Bronze when both had been stood up. It had been the most humiliating night of his life and he’d found unexpected comfort in her companionship. His smile muscles had felt almost stiff and sore from prolonged lack of use.
In retrospect, something about meeting her again in L.A had felt as though he’d been missing fate that whole time and it had followed him and when she’d inserted herself into his life, his fight something clicked into place.
For having been dealt more bad hands in life than one her age should be, she was one of the most courageous and optimistic people he’d ever known, and he’d wanted nothing more than to just be near her. To stand in the sunlight of her smile, to be infected with her lust for life and wrapped in the warmth of her faith, her friendship--- her womanhood.
No one had ever mattered to him as much as Buffy had and giving her up had felt like giving up his soul. She had been his entire world but when he thought about it, that was the problem. He was so fixated on her, so desperate to find purpose with her that he couldn’t see what was missing. He had never felt an emotional connection with her, there was no friendship between them and if he were honest, he was the forbidden puppy stashed in her closet, not an equal, a partner. A friend.
“We don't need you...stay away...you and I, we're not friends!”
Those words flowed through his veins like killer of the dead.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to retreat into the numbness again and for some reason his dealer from whom he’d bought the artificially preserved junk in the 50’s came to mind. It progressively lost its potency every minute it spent outside the vein, but it would do.
“This is not the answer,” the Host chastised, his stomach churning from both the offending stench and bold-faced words on the bottle’s label. “You’re on dangerous ground right now Crumb Cake.” He quickly handed the bottle off to his security guard to be disposed of.
“This is what I am,” The vampire's voice was low and husky with a dark edge. “A demon is a demon, nothing else, nothing can change that. I'm done playing hero."
An ear-splitting boom shattered the atmosphere with a power that vibrated through the earth as the east pillar beneath it faltered.1
Liquid condemnation hissed in the night outside and pelted the shuttering pavement. Another soul teetered.
The sanctity of the walls was tainted.
“It’s not our species and capabilities that defines us Strudel.” The Host scowled, “It’s our choices.”
“You know, it might not have been what the Romani had in mind, but that curse is an all-access pass. A soul isn’t just a conscious, it’s perspective. Guilt doesn’t have to be a disease; it can also be a blueprint to something better. You’re destined to either be the world’s salvation or it’s destruction. I shouldn’t have to tell you which path you’re on.”
Noticing the restlessness of the fist he’d emptied; The Host poured an ale befitting of an 18th century Irishman and slid the glass into the void between the palm and fingers.
“You were not about to look me in the eyes and tell me that you were “playing hero” as you call it as an obligation of the soul? The same soul that was on board when you threw away the people who cared about you, tossed a handful of human beings to two soulless psychopathic demons then slept with one of them!”
“You made a choice. So did she.” Molten eyes narrowed. “She chose you. She believed in you.”
"Stupid girl!” the vampire growled slamming his glass onto the counter after tossing back a couple of swigs. Dark liquid splashed upward, splattering the flesh that wasted it. “She knew better! She should have just walked away!"
He knew better. He should have gotten rid of her after he’d finished Russell Winters. Damn you, Doyle! You sonuvabrachen!
“You ever think that maybe she needs you as much as you need her?” The Host challenged through the nausea the vampire’s cold, borderline hollow aura was causing him.
“I don’t need her!”
As the cold, cruel voice of condemnation sliced through the tension in the room, the Host felt a sense of utter violation.
He’d come to this dimension with the need to spread his deliverance, his salvation. Never had it occurred to him to question its reach, its necessity.
Faith...if not tested wasn’t faith at all but a wish, a delusion...a lust.
“Right, and demons don’t actually exist, this world is some poor psychotic sap’s deep seeded delusion.”
He was so lost in his own insecurities that he’d nearly missed the vampire’s face fall in resignation.
“It doesn’t matter now” Angel growled. “I’m nothing to her but a monster. As it should be.”
“Do I need to go back to the part about the lawyers and psychopathic vampires not to mention the soul suicide attempt?!” The Host stared down at the vampire hard. “Cordelia’s spent her entire life being thrown away” the vampire’s fist clenched, “she doesn’t need apologies, she needs to know what she means to you.”
“Everything” Angel barely whispered but The Host caught it.
“Show her,” The Host urged.
***
Cordelia sighed in exasperation at the Coke that was placed in front of her. Her mature appearance had lent itself well to the fake ID she would use at the Bronze but of course now clubs owned by psychic demons were a thing (empathic The Host had corrected, whatever). Ugh.
When The Host had invited them to a free drink night at Caritas to celebrate its 5th anniversary, she had been eager to drown herself and her last encounter with the vampire she had dared to believe might be different in free alcohol.
She couldn’t believe the gall he had to just show up and act as though he were still a member of their team, as though he hadn’t made her believe that he saw the woman beneath the dollar signs, cared about her for who she was just so he could throw her away like everyone else.
How dare he now step up onto the stage looking like a goddamn lost puppy.
Wait! Why the hell was he on stage?!
“Oh dear.” Wesley leaned back in his chair, removed his glasses, and rubbed a hand down his face, starting to regret telling Angel that Cordelia’s forgiveness couldn’t be bought.
When the music started the group cringed.
“Oh god, what the hell is he doing?!” As if he wasn’t satisfied that he’d ruined her life, now he was about to massacre one of her favorite groups. Oh no, was he looking at her?
Gunn just sat back and crossed his arms over his torso, shaking his head.
Cordy shot up from her seat and was about to turn to leave when his voice, with the mic’s amplification, encompassed the building.
“This is for someone special. Someone I wronged.”
Her body froze and a chill shot through her veins. He was looking right at her. She wanted to jump on a bus back to Sunnydale and impale herself on that rebar again, somewhere more vital this time.
“Cordy,” somehow, she had dropped back into her seat and buried her face in her hands. “I made a mistake. I’m lost without you.”
“It’s not that I can’t live without you.
It’s just that I don’t even want to try.
Every night I dream about you.
Ever since the day I said goodbye.”
She let her fingers slip down the bridge of her nose a few inches. It was one of their newer songs but she was familiar with it; she’d listened to it on repeat when she’d bought the album it had debuted on, imaging red-headed geek macking Xander in this exact scenario, pleading the lyrics to her (Powers, she’d been so pathetic) so didn’t miss the pronoun change in that last line2.
“If I wasn’t such a fool.”
Right now, I’d be holding you.”
Three eyebrows lifted in agreement.
He took a few steps forward, closer to the edge of the stage his eyes still locked on her.
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do.
Baby if I only knew.
The words to say, the road to take
To find a way back to your heart.
What can I do? Do get to you?
And find a way back to your heart?
“I don’t know how it got so crazy.
But I’ll do anything to set things right.
‘cause your love is so amazing.”
She refused to meet his gaze but could feel it nudging against her shoulder.
“Baby you’re the best thing in my life.
Let me prove my love is real.”
Her heart jumped, but she continued to watch the ice melt in her soda and the trail of the condensation flowing down the contours of the glass. It was just lyrics.
“and made you feel the way I feel.
I promise I would give the world.
If only you would tell me girl.
The words to say, the road to take
To find a way back to your heart.
What can I do? Do get to you?
And find a way back to your heart?”
“Give me one more chance
To give my love to you.”
Her head snapped to him.
“Cause no one on this earth, loves you like I do.”
He hesitated a beat after the word ‘earth’ and this time her heart leaped up into her throat. Just lyrics, just lyrics, just lyrics she mentally chanted as a pain blossomed in her chest.
“Tell me.
The words to say, the road to take
To find a way back to your heart.
What can I do? Do get to you?
And find a way back to your heart?”
He climbed down off the stage and advanced towards her. All her instincts screamed at her to run but her legs felt numb.
“I’d turn back time to make you mine
And find a way back to your heart.
“I beg and plead
Fall to my knees”
Following the lyric, he took her hand in his and bent on one knee before her.
She swallowed hard, she’d never seen Angel so emotional, so vulnerable. It was wrong. Oh so wrong.
Run! Run! Run!
“To find a way back to your heart.”
A tear slipped down his face and her breathing became harsh, she was falling under its spell. Damn him!
“The words to say, the road to take
To find a way back to your heart.
What can I do? Do get to you?
And find a way back to your heart?”
As the song concluded, her legs at last remembered how to function and she bolted.
“Cordelia!” Angel called after her and she forced herself to ignore the defeat in his voice.
Feeling like a complete idiot and shooting a condemning glare at the Host who didn’t seem to notice as he dabbed at his searing red eyes with a handkerchief.
“Angel”, Wesley warned as he started to follow her. Both he and Gunn rose from their seats.
“Just let me talk to her, please.” Angel pleaded.
“I believe you’ve overwhelmed her, just give –” Angel darted past them, cutting Wesley off to pursue Cordelia.
He found her bracing with one trembling hand against the wall just outside the club entrance, the other hand was clapped over her breast. Her chest was heaving with each breath, and he could hear her heart thrashing against her ribs. He was going to rip that green shit excuse for a messiah’s head off.
“Cordy”, he begun but the hand that had been over her breast thrust out to deflect him.
“I can’t—I can’t--” She gasped.
“Shh, it’s ok baby,” he soothed as he gently wrapped his long arm around her shoulder. She wanted to resist, to push him off but she was frightened and that weak part of her that was being pulled in, that had missed him reached for his comfort.
“You’re having a panic attack. Look at me.” He tucked the side of his free hand under her chin and softly tilted her head up pressing his forehead gently against hers. “Slow deep breaths. In through your nose.” She followed his instructions. “One two three, out from your mouth. One two three.”
“That’s it.” He praised as she fell into rhythm with him.
As she felt the panic and her chest pain subside, she pressed her still lightly trembling hand against his chest to feel his needless lungs filling. For her. It was profound. For the first time that night she looked into his eyes.
“What does it feel like?” she asked in a whisper. “To breathe when you don’t need to?”
“Like coming alive again.” He softly rubs his nose against hers. “You’re doing that. You bring me to life.”
His words were a bucket of cold water rousing her from a dream. The anger and pain she’d been distracted from reasserted themselves and she shoved him off of her.
“That’s rich coming from the man who threw me in the gutter.” She spat and cursed the tears she felt starting to burn her throat. “You really hurt me, Angel.”
Angel swallowed, shame once again filling his eyes. “I know.”
“Do you?” she asked. “I thought you were different.” She whispered so low that even Angel’s vampiric hearing barely picked it up. His heart shattered.
He cupped her shoulders and steered her around to face the full moon above.
“Do you know how the moon shines?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t. There is no such thing as moonlight. The moon appears to shine because it reflects the light of the sun. Do you understand what I am saying Cordelia?”
She rolled her eyes. “Angel, you’re not making any sense.”
Angel smiled and whispered into the shell of her ear, “You’re my sun Cordy, the light that shows me the way.”
Cordy swallowed, still staring up at the moon, all she could make herself say was,
“But it’s so bright.”
“Just like you.” His arms had moved down and wrapped around her waist. “I meant every word of that song.”
Cordy’s eyebrows shot up as she turned to face him.
“Every word?” she challenged.
“Read my lips.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers and she stiffened. This was not supposed to be happening. This was bad. The need to run started slithering along her nerves again but when he pulled her closer and one of his hands moved from around her waist to cup her cheek, she was overcome with warmth and her lips softly responded for a moment before she pulled them apart.
Angel looked breathless. You’re doing that. You bring me to life. His hand continued to caress her cheek and his thumb swiped at the tears at the edge of her eye.
“You are the best thing in my life.” He told her. “It just took me losing it to see it and now that I do, I’ll never forget it.”
Cordy sighed. She didn’t trust that this was real but if she were honest with herself, she wanted it to be and it felt right.
“Thank you, Angel.” She sniffed. “I still need some time, but I appreciate this.”
A smile spread across his face as though he’d just won the lottery and she couldn’t help returning it. Her dork was back, and it warmed her heart, however it wasn’t the kind of warmth that could combat the L.A winter chill and she shivered.
“Here,” Angel shucked off his duster and wrapped it around her. “Let’s get you home.”
There it is. Demons do have their own demons. These were the demons the Host was devoted to fighting and that night he smiled as he watched the two champions depart together, his faith reaffirmed.
End.