Ballad For Dead Friends
The lobby of the Hyperion was encased in darkness, and while this was hardly bizarre, it wasn't difficult to isolate that something was wrong. Nothing concrete to offer a voice of louder reason. The men crowding the entry had seen enough of the darker side of humanity to identify an ambiance of trepidation when one was presented.
"Anyone else having a serious Jack Nicholson moment?" Gunn asked when no one spoke.
Nothing for a minute. Wesley blinked and looked at him oddly. "Pardon?"
"He's referring to The Shining," Wright clarified before the other man could leap inward with amplification. "You know? It was a very bad horror movie made in the '80s."
Gunn frowned. "Bad?"
"If you've read the book," the demon hunter replied with a shrug. "I've nitpicked at a few books over the years. You get bored when there are no monsters to kill. The Shining just happened to be one of them, and what Kubrick did to the story—despite the godliness that is him—was just...awful."
"Movies aren't made to follow books."
"Then they shouldn't include a 'based on' in the opening credits, dumbass."
"As fascinating as this is," Wesley said slowly, venturing a step inward. "I think there might be matters of greater significance afoot." His gaze swept the scene before them. There was still nothing. Then, quietly, "Spike?"
Zack blinked. "Why would Spike be here?"
"Well, he did disappear at random from the hunting brigade. Maybe he found something and wanted to share."
"If Spike was here, he would've greeted us in some undoubtedly unorthodox fashion," the hunter replied wryly. "No...this is something else..." He stopped, holding up a hand. "It's..."
Then he wasn't speaking at all. Before either of his associates could get another word in, Wright had bolted across the lobby and leapt behind the check-in desk. It was almost amusing—he actually did jump over the mini barrier rather than opt for the more logical circumnavigation approach.
When Wesley and Gunn followed, the found him in the corner with Cordelia, cradling the sobbing Seer against his chest and murmuring comforting reassurances into her hair.
"Oh God, Cordy," the Watcher gasped, hurrying forward.
Gunn was paralyzed with dreaded astonishment. "What happened?"
There was nothing for a long minute. Just gentle rocking amidst the soft sobs she cried into the hunter's shoulder.
"Cordy, are you—"
The instant another step was taken in her direction, she clutched more tightly to Zack and shook her head, mumbling something intelligible.
"What is it?" Wesley asked.
"She says she doesn't wanna talk about it," Wright replied.
The Watcher nodded and cocked his head. He didn't attempt to approach again, though he similarly made no move to leave her in peace. In any regard, it wasn't expected. Something had happened that was worth investigating. "Cordelia," he said softly. "Was it a vision? Did someone hurt you?"
Zack's eyes went wide. "The girls." A sense of urgency suddenly corded his muscles, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave her. He met Gunn's eyes, and the other man nodded his understanding.
"I'll check it out," came the unneeded reassurance before he disappeared up the staircase.
Neither man seemed to register his sudden absence. Their eyes met briefly in mutual admittance that whatever had reduced Cordelia to this needed to be singled out before they went any further. Wesley hated seeing her cry—namely because he had known her long enough to identify that tears on such a tower of strength were not only deeply disturbing, but similar forewarning that something terrible was on the horizon.
Luckily, she seemed to compose herself without much hindrance. That was one of the many good things about her. While she succumbed to the more likely waterworks every now and then, she did not rely on them so much that she found it impossible to stop crying once she started.
"It wasn't..." she began hoarsely. "The girls are fine."
Wright expelled a sigh of relief, but that didn't stop him from tightening his arms around Cordelia when she tried to sit up. The entire incident had suddenly made him very protective of her as well, and he wasn't quite ready to let her go.
Wesley had the same idea. Cautiously, he leaned next to her, cocking his head to the side. "Cordy..."
"I'm fine," she replied defensively, sitting up. The remark earned a foray of skeptical glances. "What? I'm...I—"
"Cordy, we saw you," Wright said softly, wiping away a lazy tear from her cheek with his thumb. The gesture had such gentlemanly softness to it that she glanced to him with wide-eyes that suggested another entourage of weeping. As though she had not expected that he had it within himself to be so convivial. "You better tell us what's wrong."
She shuddered within his arms a bit, shaking her head. "I..."
"Girls are fine," Gunn announced, jumping back into the lobby. "Is she all right?"
"We don't know," Wesley replied. His gaze remained trained on them with unmoving precision. "She won't tell us what's wrong."
At that, the young woman became defensive. It was actually rather admirable, considering that she looked ready to start crying again at any turn. Neither Gunn nor the former Watcher were particularly familiar with seeing her in such a state, though while they perturbed an air of discomforted concern, Zack had no such thought to any sort of reaction. "That's because," she said, glancing back to the demon hunter. "There's nothing wrong."
"Nothing you wanna tell us, you mean," Gunn clarified.
Wright glanced to him sharply, eyes narrowing. "Just back down, all right?"
"It might be important. Cordy, we love you. You know that, right? If something happened—"
"It was nothing," she repeated. "I..." And then trailed off completely, gaze distancing with thoughtful perseverance that took them all by surprise, if not by the implication, than the direct slap that stated whatever it was merited more consideration than any could have foreseen. When she came back to herself, her eyes shone with clarity. Understanding. More strength than anyone could have wagered themselves, given her condition of just moments before. "I need to speak with Zack alone, please."
There was a surprised furrow at that. The men exchanged curious glances.
It didn't seem so radical a request to Wright. He helped her to her feet, keeping an arm around her middle as to steady her in case she decide to fall. The move was likely superfluous, but he needed the reassurance, anyway. "Right, guys," he said. "You heard the lady."
Wesley didn't seem convinced. "Cordelia—"
"I'm fine, Wes. Just...go home. See Virginia or something." She plastered a weak smile on her face and wheedled from Wright's arms to give her friend a hug. "I wouldn't lie to you."
"I know," he replied. "It's just...with things as they are..."
She nodded. "I know. I love you guys, too. But this...this doesn't have to do with you. Okay?"
The Watcher looked at her for a long, reflective moment before nodding his reluctant agreement. "All right," he murmured. "All right." Then, with a sigh of concession, he turned to Gunn and nodded for the doors. "Come on. We better go."
The other man was not so easily moved. A permanent frown seemingly depressed his features, and he was studying her harshly with no other means than a protective older brother. It was understandable, given the circumstances. "I don't like this," he said. "We—"
"Please, Gunn. I'll see you tomorrow. Okay?"
Nothing, and finally a nod. A very reluctant but understanding nod. "All right." His gaze turned to Zack's. "You're staying with her tonight?"
"Yeah."
"Let us know if anything—"
"I will."
"Okay."
It seemed to be a fairly open and shut case: no one was bleeding, Cordelia hadn't confessed another vision, and all seemed to be within the boundary of control. Admittedly, it was more than unnerving to see the Seer so bereft with grief—especially when she refused to single a source—but the young woman was far too hardheaded to allow something as insignificant as concern sway her judgment once a decision was made. It was nearly an ordained miracle when Wesley and Gunn left when they did. While she was notably not helpless, they both felt a sense of obligation toward her that out measured any exterior persuasion.
There was an uncomfortable silence when it was left to just two of them. Zack and Cordelia glanced to each other uneasily.
"Ummm," he said. "I'm going to go check on the girls."
"They're fine."
He smiled understandingly. "Yeah. Well, maybe when you have kids, you'll understand."
"Nikki's your kid?"
At that, he paused, eyes wide. "Good God, no!"
"Didn't think so."
A pause. Wright appeared genuinely affronted. "Do I really look that old? Honestly?"
Cordelia grinned, though it was only a shadow of her usual glower. The sheen of dried tears glimmered lightly off her face, and while neither wagered her as likely to break down again, there was innate fragility in her tenor. "Well, I dunno," she mused speculatively. It was odd to hear a voice that was usually bathed in its own confidence quiver without tangible suggestion. "Maybe if you shaved and smiled a bit more, like I said earlier." It was natural: Zack scowled, and provoked a small chuckle. "Or do the exact opposite. Whichev."
"This is getting back at me for calling Wes old, isn't it?"
"Ummm...sure."
His eyes narrowed at her. "Yeah. Uh huh. I'll be right back."
The girls were fine, though he had known they would be. A picture he had seen a thousand times. Nikki was curled on her side, one hand tucked under her pillow where she kept a stake, just in case it was needed. He had told her that such precautions were not necessary while guests in the Hyperion due to the enhanced invitation charm, but she didn't care. It was habit, after all, and she couldn't sleep properly if there wasn't a weapon within convenient reach.
Rosalie was on the opposite bed, wrapped like a hotdog in her sheets. The sheets themselves had been a godsend: Wright hadn't known the hotel to have extra accommodations, though he reckoned that Cordelia had snagged them from Angel's room. No one had approached the Hyperion's missing caretaker's quarters with any means of getting rest there. Zack knew for a fact that Spike had avoided it the night before, and he, while he conventionally lacked the same reasons, had followed suit. Perhaps it was silent suggestion. Despite his knowledge on the Aurelius family, Angelus himself was a face left to text rather than experience, his encounter the previous night notwithstanding.
Wright figured, aside the obligatory abhorrence for vampires, that he disliked Angelus because he had gotten himself a soul. In a roundabout way, had the monster remained the monster, he never would have registered as a twinkle in Darla's eye. Sure, people would have died. Many people would have died, but Amber would have lived. She would have lived, and he would never have known about vampires, demons, or other uglies that went bump in the night.
Purely selfish reasoning, of course.
At least, that had been the consensus. The people he knew now had given him something back. Wesley and Gunn, even Spike. His thoughts drifted to Cordelia downstairs. The idea of not knowing her did not rest well with him. He didn't know if he had been out of the loop too long, if he was merely reaching for a connection that had been sorely missing from his life, or if he was seeing something that wasn't there, but that didn't change the radical dive his feelings had taken. Slowly at first. Little things.
Seeing her sobbing like that had been one of the single most horrifying moments in his life. Not quite tying with two others, but he had long since stopped counting. After all that had happened, all that had led him here, he couldn't stand it if another one of his girls got hurt. Rosie was all right. Nikki was all right. Cordelia was not, even if she attempted to deny it. She was a pillar of strength, he had to admit. Even Amber at her best couldn't have witnessed and done the things that the Seer had with such a cheery, open-minded disposition.
And still, the thought of moving on in that regard sickened him. Thoroughly sickened him. As though there was some clause that demanded he remain faithful, body and soul, to a dead woman. He didn't know whom to resent: her or himself.
Better to get downstairs. Apart from everything else, he didn't want to leave her for too long. The girls were fine: that was all he needed to know.
Wright found Cordelia in much the same state that he had left her. She had moved to one of the sofas in the middle of the lobby and was sipping at a cup of hot tea. He smiled. A tower of strength. Even towers had their off days. She was visibly worn, fatigued from an emotional outburst, and more than slightly disturbed to have been caught in such a state.
A flicker and she glanced up.
"Hey."
The smile on his face broadened. She spoke as though he was a friend visiting for the weekend.
"Hey."
"Girls all right?"
"Yeah. Sleeping."
A shadow of a smirk crossed her face. "Told yah."
Wright's grin remained but he didn't reply; instead completed en route down the staircase and assumed a seat in the chair opposite her. They sat in companionable silence for a few seconds—enjoying the art of not speaking—before acknowledgement that discussing what had happened was inevitable, and more than needed for the refinement of understanding.
Things grew serious before a syllable could be uttered. He didn't know that that had ever happened to him.
He was glad she was the first to speak. The last thing he wanted was to coax her into submission without rightful prompt. And yet, her words chilled the already cold air around them, and rendered him thoroughly frozen.
"She was pretty."
Such a small statement. Three little words. Nothing specific, and yet he knew what she was talking about. Wright wasn't aware that he was staring at her until Cordelia shifted uncomfortably and averted her eyes with a note of the same.
Then she was rambling, and that was never good.
"Really, from what I saw, Rosie looks just like her. Well, you got the blonde thing going. Where did the blonde come from? Brown plus brown equals blonde? Maybe it was something on your parent's side. But totally—the eyes. The eyes are, like, the same. I can—"
Zack grasped her wrist suddenly, his own eyes seeking hers. "You saw her."
A trembling breath slipped passed Cordelia's lips, and she nodded, gaze fogging again with the shimmer of unshed tears. "I saw her," she replied hoarsely. "Oh God. I...there was...over and over again. So much pain. So much...so much rage. I hadn't felt anything like that since...well, last year, when the visions wouldn't stop and I felt like my head was about to explode. It was so vivid. I felt it. I felt everything that bitch did to her." A sob rattled her system, and she caressed her mouth with the back of her hand. "I can't...it was...and then you. I felt what you felt, and I..." It didn't take much: her entire body gave way to the tremors it could not prevent, and sank slowly against the cushions of an unmade haven. "I'm so sorry," she gasped. "So...so..."
"You have nothing to be sorry about."
"But I felt it, Zack. You don't understand. I felt it. I felt everything." She shook her head and tried to turn away, but he wouldn't let her. It was important to maintain a form of eye contact, even if it wasn't wanted. "Everything. Her. You. Even Rosie, I think. On a level. It was...and I don't know why! It's not like it's something I can get everyone on. It's not like I can tell Wes and Gunn to pile up the car with stakes and crosses so we bust a cap to go save her. It happened, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I feel helpless, and I...I'm never helpless. It's—"
That struck a chord he did not wish to investigate, even if it was for the better. "I know."
"Sensory overload. God, it's never been like that before. I've never felt everything before." She shook her head. "And it was tearing me apart. It didn't last long, but it felt like forever. It felt like—"
"I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner."
There was a cold pause and her gaze met his again, once again cascaded with tears that she did not want. And then, anger. Random but real anger. She jumped to her feet and wiped at her eyes irately. "Would you stop already?"
Wright frowned. "Stop what?"
"This! Stop...stop just pretending that you're concerned about me, all right? I know now. I know everything. I get why you're here. Why you want Darla dead so much." Her hands fisted. "God, she was right here. Right fucking here and Wes and I didn't just...kill her like we should have. 'Cause Angel had to go on his all holy quest only to find out that—hey—she couldn't be saved. She was gonna die and there was nothing his redemptive ass could do about it." Cordelia stopped again, anger subsiding in waves. "There are only so many lines a person can cross before redemption's not listed under the options section of the How To Live As A Dead Person guidebook."
Zack rose to his feet. "I wasn't pretending."
"That's swell. But I can't make it stop." She clutched at her chest. "I can't make it stop. I just keep seeing it over and over and over again. I can even..." A painful pause. "I can even hear her laughing. Darla laughing as she...as she butchered—"
That was too much. He held up a hand and closed his eyes tightly.
"I'm sorry," Cordelia whispered after a minute.
"I am, too. Sorry you had to see that. Go through it." He shook his head and glanced away. "It was hard enough the first time. Doesn't get any easier, either. Turning into who I am. Doing what I do."
A thoughtful pause. "You do good, though. You've done a lot of good."
"I've done my fair share of bad, too."
"I think that comes with being human, sweetie. Just the way things are." A sigh coursed through her lips. "Though I can definitely see why trusting Spike was a big for you. Hell, I was there for the entire 'Angel goes bonkers, take one' and I still...I forgave him. Came and worked for him. Saved him from being hot-pokered to death by Spike."
Wright quirked a brow. "Someday, you're gonna have to tell me that story, start to finish."
"It was before he was a good guy." She shrugged.
"You call Spike a good guy?"
"Despite my new and improved position against all things vampy? Yeah." Cordelia smiled thinly. "He's one of us. Besides...you were able to see passed the fangs."
"Took me a while."
She gave him a skeptical glance. "It's only been a few days."
"Felt longer. And I haven't given him a clean bill of...whatever you give vampires." Wright frowned. "But I see...sometimes I see so much of me in him. What he's doing for this chick."
"Buffy."
He made a face. "Horrible name."
Cordelia chuckled in agreement. "I think her real name's Elizabeth or something normal like that. I dunno. The girl was always on the wrong side of weird back in high school. Of course, she had the slaying thing and the typical 'whoa is me, my boyfriend's a bloodsucking fiend from beyond the grave' thing going for her. The Angel and Buffy show. Really wish we'd had a mute button."
"And now she's Spike's girl."
"Well, Spike wants her to be his girl. There's a big difference." She frowned. "I hope he knows what he's doing, or realizes it, anyway. Buffy and I were never close for the obvious reasons, but I do remember her being a little on the high and mighty side when it came to vamps."
Wright gave her an obvious look. "Well, she is the Slayer. From what I've heard about those the past few days, it's sorta her duty to not allow vampires clemency."
"Even with what Spike is doing for her? Risking for her?"
"Spike's said he doesn't expect anything in return."
"And you believe that?"
"Yes." He held up a hand in clarification. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't want anything in return. He just knows he's not gonna get it. And I see myself in that. More so than I wish I did."
Cordelia pursed her lips thoughtfully. "This is purely on a Seer level," she said after a minute. "But...I think you two were in the same state before you met. And despite however little you like it; you're bringing out the humanity in each other, because you can see where it needs to go. You said you see yourself in him. Maybe he sees himself in you, too. Maybe he sees what will happen to him if he...if he can't save her."
There was a pause. Wright smiled ironically. "He'll turn into some self-loathing demon hunter who can't see but from kill to kill, and doesn't stop even when he knows it's destroying him?"
"No." She took several bold steps toward him, gaze steady and intent. Another odd whim. He had never known a woman who could go from crying one minute to looking so damned courageous and determined the next. He had always boasted Amber's strength and independence, but he didn't know now if he had seized the full grasp of his own initiative. "Instead of doing all the saving, he'll become someone who needs to be saved just as badly. And he'll be too proud to admit it when he needs help."
What followed remained perpetually in a blur. Wright felt something warm brush against his lips—soft, pliable, and aching with as much wrought tension and liberation as he had ever thought to give or receive. It was delicious. Bold. God, it was another first. The girls of his past had usually been too shy to make such an audacious move, even if it was birthed from friendship rather than sensuality. New, boisterous, and wonderful, and gone too quickly. Cordelia smiled at him warmly with kindness he reckoned she didn't even know she possessed and made to pass him with a note of the same. "Good night."
Only, somehow, he couldn't allow it to rest at that. Not after being given a sample of something he had denied himself for the better part of a decade. Before he could gouge the consequences of his actions, he had grasped her by the arm and drawn her mouth back to his. Needing, hot, and relentless. A surge of cool relief flooded him when she did not challenge him, rather sank in with the same note of surrender. Whatever battle he had thought to come to blows with tonight was over. And after years of denying himself anything that could be regarded as a human touch, he was ready to drown.
She understood. Fully. Of everyone that had tried to break down his wall, she had succeeded. Because she felt it just as real as he did.
Too soon it was over. They pulled apart gasping.
"Wow," she breathed.
"Yeah," he agreed, a little dazed. "Sorry, it's...it's just been so long."
"I didn't mean to...that wasn't what I was trying—"
"I know."
They were silent for a few more minutes. Heaving needlessly and studying each other without trade. Something there that neither wanted to approach. Something to be saved for another time.
"Well," Cordelia said, clearing her throat and stepping aside. "I'm...ummm...going to go to bed. Use...well, I guess Angel's room is the only room that's all bed-ready."
"I can take you home, if you like."
"No. I'd rather...ummm...stay here." She offered a weak smile. "Little late to be going out again. Besides, your girls'd be all by themselves."
He nodded. "Yeah. They would."
Another moment. Another nod. And a look of affability. "Goodnight, Zack."
Cordelia made it halfway up the stairs before he stopped her.
Wright looked perplexed by his own request for a minute, wrestling with thoughts and words until they met on a similar axis. And when he spoke, it was more than heartfelt. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being one to save me." He grinned slightly. "For being that damned stubborn."
A pause before she smiled. Zack made a note then to get her to smile as often as possible.
"Anytime," she replied with a wink. Then disappeared into the darkness of the upper chambers. Up with the others. Nikki and Rosie.
His girls.
To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Four: Bleeding From Yesterday...