Tear In Your Hand
Rating:
PG
Summary:
Aha, the first "Disharmony" fic! Come on, you knew I would :-) Some feedback
would be REALLY nice---please! This will as usual be at my web site http://www.oocities.org/masked_spangler and others can have it
with permission, Standard disclaimers apply, and yes, there are spoilers :-)
Tear
in Your Hand
Cross-bows, stakes, swords unsheathed. Fists flying.
Arms swinging. And by the time the dust cleared, a lone, lithe vampire
skittering away. By the time the guys had recovered enough to notice Harmony
escaping, Cordelia’s tense body had slackened, two cross-bows hanging limply in
her shaky hands. She blinked once and took a slow, deep breath.
“Don’t
say anything,” she said carefully. “Not a word.” And she marched out with little
more than a nod in their direction.
***
They couldn’t feel
annoyed, not even mildly. After all, they had done what they came to do, Harmony
or not: they had freed the captives, killed the vampire leader. And
Cordelia…well, if Harmony had been a closer friend, tonight would not have been
a big surprise. But she had been a friend, still…
Cordelia was already in
the car by the time they approached it, moving quietly, one foot in front of the
other and eyes way ahead of them, cautiously assessing her as casually as one
approaches a landmine. There were no tears. Her breathing was even. But her
entire body quaked with barely repressed control.
“Take me home,” she
said icily. “Now.”
***
Head down, huddled into herself. Slow, even
breaths. No talking. She didn’t notice the quiet pantomime that Gunn was playing
with Wesley. She raised her head instinctively when they reached her home, and
she slid out of the car the moment it stopped moving, leaving the cross-bow on
the seat, an unwanted memento of the evening. They watched her until she was
securely inside, then Angel nodded to Wesley as he unbuckled his seatbelt and
stealthily followed her inside.
***
Down the hallway, first
door-slam into her apartment. He crept closer, listening, waiting for…there it
was, second door-slam, into the bedroom. He inched his way to the door and
whispered “Dennis?”
The door swung open quietly, and he stepped inside.
He could see her bag, where she had dropped it, near the couch. Assorted
clothing, some of it familiar, scattered among the cushions. An opened suitcase,
various possessions carelessly spilling out. Shampoo. A fashion magazine. Lip
gloss, labeled “cherry explosion.” Nail polish, labeled “jungle jade.” And on
the table, remains of a pizza box.
The air around him bristled with
concern. “She’ll be all right, Dennis,” he said quietly. She’ll be all
right…”
A noise: a smacking sound, like something hitting the wall. A
shoe, probably. Great, she was cracking. Dennis gently swung the bedroom door
open.
***
Poor thing, she hadn’t even made it to the bed. She had
shrugged the jacket off, and the shoes---both of them---had only survived her
dead-on aim because Dennis has rescued them mid-air. In a gauzy tank top and
now-bare feet, she looked tiny. She hadn’t made it to the wall, even. Halfway to
the bed, she simply collapsed, body curled into itself, rocking gently and
sobbing pitifully. It was Harmony. It was Angel. It was too much.
He took
a step toward her, and felt a gently fluttering breeze surround him: give her a
moment. Well, Dennis knew her best, he supposed. He nodded slightly, remaining
hidden in the doorframe, and the breeze dissipated.
She took a few
halting breaths, the tears coming faster now. Bravely, she tried to calm
herself. He doubted she knew he was here yet, but even for herself, she had to
maintain control. It was the same facade she always had, perhaps a bit less
biting, but perhaps a bit less self-assured. He couldn’t see her face when she
was all scrunched up like that, but he could imagine its contortions as her mind
fought it out. It’s ok, Cordelia, she’d tell herself. You never really liked
Harmony anyway. You never really liked any of them…
For a second, she
would feel the control slipping into her grasp again, then the thought would
complete itself: you never really liked them…and they never really liked you. On
the surface, maybe. But really…no. And inexorably, toward the final question:
who HAS really liked you? Who has…really…meant that much? Who has…really…given
your life the first significant meaning it ever had? She shook, down to her
toes, down to her soul as her body cried out the answer: Angel. And look how
that turned out.
He took another step foreword, and this time, Dennis
didn’t try to stop him. He wasn’t sure if her earlier request, “not a word,”
still stood. But it was best to play it safe. He crouched down beside her, drew
her into himself and hugged her gingerly. She resisted, but halfheartedly---much
too far gone to even try pretending. He rocked her gently, matching the rhythm
of her sobs at first, then slowing her down as gingerly as possible. At some
point, he felt a blanket flutter towards him. Much later, a bottle of water
landed softly at his feet. Slowly, he inched himself over to the wall, still
gently cradling her fetal limbs.
***
Eternity. The sobs were
silent now, the heaving slowed to a rhythmic, almost comfortable rock. Visions.
Angel. Harmony, the last straw. He had an epiphany, but he couldn’t expect the
rest of them to reciprocate on demand and have their own, now could he?
Gradually, it dawned on her that there was at least one other person who could
understand how she was feeling, and he was holding her silently, holding her
patiently…she willed herself to get a grip, or at least, enough of one to thank
him. Slow, deep breaths. God, her head was throbbing. Visions…but it wasn't just
that. Harmony had…thrown her. In the metaphorical sense, but in the physical
sense too. God, that hurt.
Slow, deep breaths. She raised a trembling
hand to her forehead, and instantly felt a much stronger one lower it, then
raise his own to gently massage her temples. There, that felt better. He kept
his fingers on her, gently rolling one hand through her hair, into her skull.
The other hand raised a bottle of water to her lips, and she forced herself to
swallow a mouthful. Much better. She knew how yuck the world could be, how
dangerous, how unhappy. So she had learned long ago that the only happiness to
be found was in the moments. Go through a lucky spell, and you’d get a long,
uninterrupted stream of moments, running together like flickering embers, hot
and glowing. Go through a bad spell, even one as bad as the one she was sobbing
for right now---well, go through a bad spell and the only way to stay sane is to
treasure those moments. Right now, she was having one: the blissful comfort of
strong arms around her, and the cathartic kneading of his fingers as he soothed
her aching head. There, she was having a moment. Slow, deep
breaths…
Gradually, she calmed, and when he finally grew as tired as she
was and lowered his hands, she finally met his eyes.
“It isn’t fair,” she
whispered.
“I know,” he said.
“Does
anyone…”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
She nodded,
melting into his arms, eyes closing.
“That’s enough then,” she said
quietly. “That’s got to be enough.”
the end