My Fair Cordelia


TITLE: My Fair Cordelia
AUTHOR: Fyre
RATING: PG-16 (ish)
CLASSIFICATION: No one in particular
SUMMARY: Cordelia's got famous and got a stalker...and dang! I just spoiled the whole damn thing! *g*
SPOILERS: Some bits and pieces of season two, but I don't know which cos I haven't seen them yet.
DISTRIBUTION: If you want it - Want, ask nicely, get :)
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Boo-hoo. Shakespeary stuffs not mine either.
FEEDBACK: Following the tradition of the distribution - I want it - I ask nicely (Please can you send me some) - and I get it...hopefully.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Challenge 145 on YGTS? - it kinda was following a basic plan, then went completely skew-whiff, with the introduction of Shakespeare stuff (Hey, I'm an English student so...er...don't sue me!) - but I like it. Kinda. Oh yeah - **imply written words**
DEDICATION: To Ragna - for giving me one idea and then another hundred. Remind me to kill you for that :-)


One hand in the pocket of her favourite jeans, the other shielding her eyes from the bright street light, the brunette gnawed on her lip anxiously. Looking up and down the street in both directions, she saw no one, sighed.

Stepping through the familiar doors, she shut them behind her with a resounding thud, the limp figure sprawled on the chaise jerking his head up, then sinking back with a low groan, hand pressed to his brow.

"If it isn't the glamorous Chase McConnell gracing us with her radiant presence!"

Presenting the Englishman with a single-fingered salute, the former cheerleader sailed smoothly passed him, resuming her regular position at the computer, powering it up with a familiarity born from years of practise.

"Hey, girl." Her eyes rose to find a slime-spattered Gunn emerging from the cellars, a large axe propped against his shoulder. "What you doin' still hangin' in this dump?"

Typing in her password, Cordelia shrugged. "I have to do something between jobs." She lied, flashing her world famous smile at the assistant demon hunter. She hoped that he couldn't tell that she wasn't telling the truth.

In reality, the time she spent at the Hyperion with her old friends was the only time she really felt safe anymore. The hotel and the three men had become the sign of her sanctuary, somewhere that she could hide away from the world.

Wesley – still draped across the couch – raised his hand from his bloodshot eyes. "She can't stand to be without our company." He winked at her, then winced, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Or to stop mocking me for being cursed with these infernal visions."

"Told you they hurt." Not even looking away from the screen, the small smug grin on her face more than apparent, she reached into the desk, retrieved a bottle of painkillers and tossed them to the former Watcher.

"What hurt?"

Glancing briefly at the vampire, she grinned. "Wesley is being a baby about the visions again."

Angel chuckled. "The last one he had was almost four hours ago. He snuck away from the fight early because he had a headache."

"I wonder what else he uses that excuse for." Deadpanning, she looked horrified when the Rogue Demon hunter reversed the victory sign at her and – in his most mature fashion – stuck his tongue out. "Come on, Wesley, three hours of whining – even I wasn't that bad!"

"If I recall correctly," Rolling onto his side to look over at the trio, the man put in indignantly. "I spent two of the last three hours having my arse kicked by some exceptionally large and nasty demons." Lolling back, arm over his eyes again, he finished. "I would be obliged if you would bear that in mind."

"What?" Gunn arched a brow, then mimicked the older man with a wicked smirk. "That you 'got you're arse kicked' again? Wes, man, you gotta have that down to an art by now!"

"Shut up." Bleary blue eyes flickered with the half-threat of exhausted annoyance, raising an even wider grin from Gunn. "Just bloody well shut up."

Stifling a laugh, Cordelia shook her head. This was the kind of thing she missed when she was working, the friendly teasing, the fun. Cordelia Chase, fun-loving twenty five year old was so often overlooked because of professional, serious actress, Chase McConnell.

"You got mail!" Chimed the computer, drawing her attention back from her three friends, the small logo flashing in the middle of the screen.

Clicking on the image, it flared out into a full screen, a small, bleeding red heart at the top of the message winking. Leaning on her elbow, she started to read, the colour fleeing from her face, her knuckles whitening.

**My Fair Cordelia, You never responded to my letter, my messages. Just because I went away for a little while doesn't mean I have forgotten about you. You should have replied. I get so annoyed when people don't write back. I have written so many times, dear girl. It would only be polite. Didn't you heard what Stan did when no one replied to his letters? I would hate for you to feel so guilty, little one. But, on a merrier note, you looked radiant on set today. I never realised the tattoo on your rear was as big as it is. You ruined a perfect backside with that art, but I suppose I could get used to it. I wonder, has anyone else seen it? Seen the silhouette of the angel with devil horns. Truly, fair Cordelia, you have a devil's nature concealed within you. My love to you, dark lady. I will see you tomorrow. You know I would hate to disappoint you. I know you are dying to see me. Your Dear One.**

Shivering, the former cheerleader swallowed hard, scrolled down to the bottom of the message, gradually becoming aware she could taste her blood, her lip throbbing painfully as she reached her 'friend's' personal signature.

"Pray, innocent," She quoted, her voice trembling. "And beware the foul fiend."

Wesley's hand rose from his eyes, Angel's focus swivelling to the pale young woman sitting at the desk, Gunn's brow furrowing in apparent concern. Not only did she look pale, she looked like she was about to faint of be sick, or quite possibly both.

"What was that, Cordelia?" Sitting up slowly, Wesley peered around the computer screen at her, eyebrow raised, glasses in hand.

Feigning a smile, she waved them away. "Nothing." She said flippantly. None of the three men made any suggestion that they were going to move or leave her be. "Geez, annoying much? Its a quote, from a play, okay?"

"King Lear." Angel and Wesley looked at Gunn in surprise. "What? You think I don't know no Shakespeare?" He chuckled. "That's my favourite play."

Nodding, Angel turned his attention back to the brunette at the desk. She clearly was lying. He could hear her heart thundering as if she had been running, her breathing shallow and rapid, but not noticeable for the average human.

Then there was the fact she looked like she had seen a ghost or something similar.

He caught Wesley watching him, forced a smile and inclined his head towards the other rooms in silent suggestion. The Englishman nodded, got up, moved towards the door. "Come for a cup of tea, Charles." He suggested pointedly.

"But I don't..." The blue glare that was flashed at him halted him. "Oh...maybe a cup of tea would be good, Wes."

Staring fixedly at the screen, her palms spread on the surface of the desk, Cordelia flinched the instant Angel gently laid his hand on her slender shoulder. She had lost weight, far too much weight. Angel frowned.

"What's wrong, Cordy?"

She shook her head once, bowed her face. "Nothing."

"I know you're lying." Half-siting on the edge of the desk, he tilted his head, dark eyes filled with concern. "What happened?"

She looked away, exhaled. "You sent Wesley and Gunn away." She noted dully, her voice strained. "Real subtle."

"I just want to help, Cor." Slowly reaching out, he tentatively ran a hand over her head, soothingly. "Tell me what's wrong." He turned her face towards him, pushed her loose hair back from her face. "It'll just be between us."

She nodded again, slowly. "I've just been having a hard time at work." She spoke through clenched teeth, flexing her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on her fingers. "I've been stressing and this one person...just keeps on trying to upset me and hey! It worked!"

"What have they been doing?" He continued to stroke her hair gently, keeping his voice low as he spoke.

She shrugged, scrubbed at her eyes with her fist. "Nothing really." She replied, calm. "Just saying stuff...doing stuff. It's like they want me to let go of what I've finally got..." She paused, a shiver running through her. "They just bug me." She gave him a weak smile. "I was just so tired too. I've lost my inner bitch."

"Trust me, Cor," Reaching down and squeezing her hand, Angel smiled. "You'll never lose that inner bitch – you might misplace her for a while, but she's always there. Go and talk to Wesley and I'm sure she'll show face."

The young woman laughed softly, nodded, the tension seeming to fade from her features. "I think that would probably work." She agreed. Rising, she let the vampire envelope her in a hug, his sheer size and solidity reassuring. "You know," She remarked, resting her head against his shoulder. "I could probably have my agent charge you for this."

"You could." The vampire took a step back and vamped. "Then," He added, with a wicked glint in his eye. "I could eat him."

Cordelia's burst of laughter was cut short by a howl of dismay from the yard. Wesley's voice rang out, clearly annoyed. "Not a-bloody- gain!"

A pair of brown eyes met a pair of gold, then two voices stated in unison. "Vision."

***


Sipping a cup of coffee, Cordelia sleepily shuffled from the kitchen to the living room, her mail waiting in a neat pile on the table.

"Thanks, Dennis." She half-yawned, settling on the couch and pulling her feet up underneath her, depositing the thick pile of letters, bills and envelopes in her lap, balancing her coffee on the arm of the sofa.

She was only halfway through th pile when the phone rang and was quickly carried across the room on ghostly hands, presented to the half-asleep actress. "Y'ello?"

"Hey Cordy." She smiled at the familiar voice. Even despite being well into his third century, Angel always managed to sound like an awkward adolescent whenever he used the phone. "I just wanted to check that you were okay."

She laughed softly, continued to open the envelopes in rapid succession, small piles of bills, important stuff and junk being formed on the floor. "Of course I'm all right. I was just wound a little tight yesterday." Taking another sip of the coffee, she enquired. "What about you? How did Wesley's latest vision go?"

She could almost visualise the face the vampire pulled. "Sometimes, I wish that you were still my link." He confessed wryly. "At least you would describe things in words with less than twenty letters." They shared a laugh, briefly recalling some of her descriptions. "It went okay though. Lots of violence and bloodshed before bedtime."

"So didn't need to know that."

"You sure you don't want details?"

"I think its safe to say I'm one hundred percent posi...hold on..." The faded yellow envelope that had been placed at the bottom of the pile looked like it was going to fall apart at any moment, but it was the writing that sent a shiver of unease through the actress.

Written on the front of the envelope, in flowing, decorated writing, were the words 'My Fair Cordelia', in deep red ink. No address, no stamp, no sign that it had been delivered by the postal service.

"What is it?"

"Just a letter..." Slowly opening the ancient manuscript paper, she withdrew the letter within, a small object on a narrow chain falling into her lap. Pausing to pick it up, she recognised it almost imediately – a ring Doyle had given her. The ring that had gone missing from the set of her latest project several days before. "Oh God..."

"Cordy?"

Unfolding the sheet of paper, she let the phone slip from her hand, her eyes skimming over the words, words she had been receiving ever since her first movie had made it big, words she had been fearing, words that had been hand-delivered to her apartment by the very writer who had been tormenting her for a year and a half.

Words.

Just words.

**My Fair Cordelia**

Always the same introduction.

**I saw you, yesteday, my dark lady.**

Not again. Not again. Not again.

**Saw you with the fallen angel, dear girl. Saw him holding you, wanting you. I wonder when he will take you and fuck your sweet, pretty pussy.**

Oh God! They hadn't been this bad since the beginning. They had stopped being like this when she had ignored them, when she had tossed them away, gotten rid of them, but now, it looked like he was back and as bad as ever.

**Imagine it my dark lady. Imagine him taking you hard and fast, so much you bleed and scream and hate him. Imagine him tasting you, tasting you like I want to taste you, licking and eating and feasting.**

Put down the letter, Cordy, it'll just make you worse. It'll just make you worse.

The paper fluttered to the floor, her shaking hands rising to twist into her hair. Her stomach twisted, the feeling of gut-wrenching fear returning. Pulling her knees up against her chest, she could feel tears of frustration brimming in her eyes, tried to blink them back.

She had had a reprise, almost six months of nothing, but now...her friend was back.

Rocking back and forward, she didn't even acknowledge the knock at the door, Phantom Dennis letting Angel and Wesley in to see the brunette girl curled in the corner of the couch trying to make herself look as small as possible.

"Cordy? Cordy, what is it?"

Her eyes huge in her pale face, she looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. "He's back." She whispered, her voice cracking, her body trembling. "He's watching me...always watching me..."

"Who is, Cordy?"

Her eyes flicked from Wesley to Angel, then back to her hands that were whitely gripping at her knees. "Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind." Her voice was low, frantic. "Thou losest here, a better where to find."

"Cordy?" Shaking her by the shoulders, she struggled feebly, whimpered. "Come on, Cordy where's that psychotic bitch that we all know you hide in there?" Looking to the Watcher for help, he started in surprise, when Wesley slapped the hysterical girl soundly across the face.

And to his credit, it worked.

"Ouch!"

"Serves you right for slapping me." She turned to Angel, nodded towards a sheet of paper on the floor. "They stole my ring from my dressing room at the TV station, they saw the tattoo I have, they saw you hugging me...I just want them to leave me alone, Angel..."

Catching the letter between his fingers, he skimmed through the words, his face rippling into its familiar demonic form, eyes blazing.

"I think we're all thinking the same thing..." He growled, looking from brown to blue. He gave Cordelia's hand a reassuring squeeze, drawing a small smile from her. "Aren't we?"

"Yes," Wesley agreed vehemently, massaging his bruised ankle. "Where on earth did you get a tattoo, Cordelia?"

Both vampire and ex-seer gave the Englishman a condescending look. "We were thinking along the lines of catching the guy and kicking his ass. In the nicest way possible. We're gonna get him for this, Cordy." Angel paused, frowned. "And where did you get a tattoo, Cordelia?"

The twenty-five year old repeated the look she had given Wesley. "It's not like I'm going to tell you." She rose and brushed down her scruffy pyjamas and looked over at the clock, eyes widening in shock. "Oh shit!"

"Actually, its a clock, Cordy."

"Ha ha." Racing for her bedroom, she paused at the door. "Take the letter and anything else. I've got to be at work. I'm doing a student drama class this afternoon!"

The door slammed behind her, a shriek of annoyance sounding through the wood. "Sounds like our old Cordy is back with a vengeance." Angel remarked dryly, folding the letter and sliding it into his pocket.

Wesley nodded. "Those poor students."

***


"Now, anymore questions for Miss McConnell?"

After an hour and a half of questioning, Cordelia was more than relieved when no more hands rose. Sipping some water from her bottle, she sat down behind the table and flexed her aching feet up and down.

The gaggle of students swarmed around her, some seeking autographs, others looking for photographs with the actress.

"Miss McConnell!" A voice cried among the others, a hand poking through the gaps between the mass of student. "I have to give you this!" A small package wrapped in brown paper was tossed into her lap, the hand disappearing.

Frowning, Cordelia laid the parcel aside, signing and posing for pictures for several minutes, then waved the group away. Turning over the parcel, she undid the string that bound it up, unfolding the paper to reveal an ancient-looking hardback book.

Thick leather bound the edges, the corners lined with tarnished silver, the title of the book embossed in raised gilt lettering. 'King Lear'.

The scent of age rose from the book as she slowly opened it, the first page scrawled with elaborate, artistic writing, marring the ancient yellowing paper.

**And worse I may be yet. The worst is not so long as we can say, 'This is the worst'.**

She traced the words with her fingertips, stifling the urge to cry out, to throw the book down and burn it. There was only one person she knew of that would use quotes from a Shakespearean play to put the fear of God into her.

Or at least, there was only one person who could use said quotes and actually have them work and terrify her, Cordelia.

Fumbling in her pocket, she got to her feet, still holding the book and drew her cellphone out, her fingers moving swiftly as she dialled, raising it to her ear. "Pick up the damn phone, Angel…pick up the phone…"

"Angel Investi…"

"Wesley, get Angel."

There was a distinct pause. "Yes…" She could hear shouting vaguely on the other end of the line, and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. She didn't need this. Not again. Not now. "He'll be right here, Cordelia."

Laying the book on the table, her nails drumming a frantic beat on the surface of the wood, she shifted her weight from foot to foot uneasily. Around her, the crowd of students was dissipating, the camera crews packing up their equiptment.

"Cordy?"

"Angel, he was here again."

"Where are you?"

"The T.V. studio on 7th."

There was a pause, something said to someone at the other end. "Stay there. We'll come and get you. There's plenty of room at the hotel and I'm sure your agent will let you have a few days off. You're going to stay with us for a while, okay?"

Cordelia sagged against the wall, exhaling a sigh of relief. "That would be great." She admitted, cursing the fact she had been driven out of her home and was going into hiding, but it made her feel better knowing she would have her friends there. "See you soon."

Closing the phone, she sank down on the floor against the wall, resting her forearms on her knees, eyes focused on something beyond the studio. The room was deserted, but for a few people still walking around, occasionally glancing in the acress' direction.

What if it was one of them? What if they were going to attack her as soon as everyone else had gone? It could be anyone, anyone she had or hadn't met or seen, anyone she had passed in the street or insulted in High School.

It could be anyone.

"Miss McConnell?" Biting down a shriek at the touch on her shoulder, her head snapped up, eyes staring wildly at the young man standing over her. "There…there was a call for you at the front desk, ma'am."

"Oh…" Getting to her feet, she snagged the book off the desk, followed him out into the main reception, where a call was waiting. Picking up the receiver, she laid the book down beside the phone. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end made her skin crawl. Genderless and rough, the tone is carried was patronising and terrifying at the same time. "Ah, fairest Cordelia, thou art most rich being poor, most choice, forsaken, and most loved, despised, thee and thy virtues here I seize upon."

"Who…who is this?" Looking around, she swallowed hard, gripping the phone tightly between both hands.

"I think you know, dear heart." There was a low laugh. "Don't look so scared, my dear one. People might think that you're going crazy. And stop looking for me. You know you'll never find me unless I let you."

"Leave me alone…please…"

"Oh, sweet Cordelia, don't get so worked up, darling." Reproving, the voice spoke again. "Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears do scald like molten lead. Never forget that."

Confused, afraid and angry, Cordelia ground her teeth together. "Quit with the cryptic." She snapped, digging her nails into the surface of the desk, wincing as they splintered and snapped. "I don't care who you are. I don't care what you want. You're really starting to piss me off."

There was another dry chuckle. "Spunky. I like it." The voice paused briefly. "Tell me, my dear, if the Prince of Darkness is a gentleman, what does that make his dark lady? Enjoy the book, dear heart, I expect you to know it well when I come to you."

Slamming the phone down, Cordelia took a step back, shivering, eyes flicking this way and that, searching for whoever her assailant was. As if having damn Shakespeare plays quoted at her wasn't bad enough, a threatening Shakespeare buff was a million times worse.

Sinking into a chair beside the desk, she sighed, fighting down the urge to cry or scream or do anything that might show her tormentor that she was weakening.

"Cordy?"

The girl was on her feet in a heartbeat, throwing her arms around Angel, in spite of all her best efforts to remain calm and unaffected by the crazy person who had called. "They called me." She whispered, her voice cracking. "They said they were going to come to me."

Glancing around, Angel protectively held her closer. "We won't let that happen." He promised, with a reassuring smile. "You're staying with us until this is all over and that's that. We won't take no for an answer."

Grabbing the book and her purse off the desk she nodded, let herself be steered out of the door, stopping short when she saw what Angel had planned to use for transport and promptly doubled over in hysterical laughter.

And she was certain that no vampire would ever fear the Scourge of Europe again, once they learned that Angelus choice of vehicle was nothing more than a shiny little scooter.

***


"The weight of this sad time we must obey; speak what we feel, not what we ought to say." She read the final lines softly to herself. "The oldest have borne most; we that are young shall never see so much nor live so long."

"Are you reading that bloody play again?" Downing another scalding cup of tea, Wesley glared at her, the vein in his forehead pulsing. Dealing with the after-effects of the vision was never the former Watcher's strong point.

Raising her eyes, her face pale and drawn, as it had been for the previous six weeks, since she moved into the hotel, she arched an eyebrow. "What does it look like, Eistein?"

A bitching Wesley was one thing, but a bitchy Wesley bitching at an even bitchier Cordelia was something that no one – be he man, souled demon or crazed psychopath – wanted to have to witness without a protective shield.

"Calm down, you two." If looks could have killed, Angel would have been reduced to a big pile of dust, but – fortunately for the vampire – pissed humans without weapons were, to him at least, pretty harmless.

"She keeps on quoting that sodding play." Wesley griped, his regulation ice pack pressed to his head. "Every day for the last month and a half. Can't you shut her up?"

Angel had to smile. "Count yourself lucky that it's a decent play, at least, Wesley." He reminded the Englishman. He glanced over at the actress, his concerned mirrored in his features, as she got to her feet, holding the ancient copy of the play to her chest and made her way towards the stairs.

"If you're fed up with me, I won't bother you anymore." She said pointedly, disappearing into the shadows of the upper levels.

Casting a glance at his assistant, Angel stifled a growl of frustration. "That was really helpful, Wesley." He remarked dryly. " She's going through hell here and you can't stop bitching for even one minute?"

Leaving the Watcher propped against the back of the couch, his face a mask of pain, the vampire crept stealthily through the dark halls and up the stairs to the room where Cordelia had been sleeping. Her door hung ajar and he peered in.

"For there was never yet a fair woman," Her shaking voice reached him and he pushed the door slowly open to see her standing in front of the mirror, staring emptily at her reflection. "But she mouths in a glass."

Standing behind her, silent as she continued to quote from the book, Angel felt a twist of fear. She had become obsessed. Not with the stalker, but with the role of the helpless and vulnerable young Cordelia, quotes pinned around the frame of the mirror.

"When she was dear to us, we did hold her so, but now her price has fallen." Stretching one hand out, she touched one of the notelets, her fingers trembling.

"Cordy?"

She flinched, looked down. "I don't want them to get me, Angel."

"They won't."

She glanced at her reflection, chuckled bitterly. "They know I'm here." She said, returning her gaze to her hands. "They've been writing…calling…whenever you and Wesley or Gunn are gone, they call me, speak to me…"

"What?!?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I didn't want to get in the way."

"Cordy, you should have told us." Laying his hands on her shoulder, her pulled her hair back from her face. "That's why you're here with us, remember, so we can protect you from whatever this bastard is."

She opened her mouth to reply, only for a very male scream of pain from downstairs to interupt her. "Wesley." She said, so quietly Angel almost didn't hear her. Waving the vampire away, she returned her gaze to the mirror. "Go on. He'll need you."

The vampire was gone and before long, she was alone in the hotel once more.

Alone but for one person.

Still staring impassively at the reflection in the mirror, she felt rather than heard or saw the arrival of her companion. "Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favoured." She recited softly. "When others are more wicked."

"Fear me not, my fair Cordelia." The slender girl stiffened slightly at the voice. It sounded so different, so unexpected. "Man's nature cannot carry th' affliction nor the fear."

Slowly turning, Cordelia raised her eyes slowly. "Why are you doing this?" She glanced briefly at the weapon gripped in her tormentor's visible hand. "Is it because of Angel? You want him to go evil again?"

"No, dear girl." The dangerous mouth arced upwards in a smile. "You should know by now that I only want you. See thyself, devil! Proper deformity shows not in the fiend so horrid as in woman. You and I, if we can come to an arrangement…"

"Kill me."

"Cordelia?"

"She's gone forever. I know when one is dead and when one lives; she's dead as earth." Her dark eyes defiantly met pale ones. "I might have saved her; now she's gone forever." Her hand moved to the front of her shirt, ripping it and baring her from the neck down. "Finish it." She whispered.

"As you wish."

There was a pain at her throat and she distantly heard the thump of the blade her assailant had carried falling to the ground. The sensation of dizziness as her blood poured from her was horrible, yet amazing, her body weakly sagging to the floor.

Retrieving the switchblade, the slight figure knelt beside the barely conscious figure of the former seer, one small hand brushing aside dark tangles of hair. Raising the blade to a covered chest, the gleaming metal cut in, blood welling to the surface.

Cradled in surprisingly tender arms, Cordelia gasped, her attention drawn from the blade by the gush of blood that had splattered onto her chin and mouth. Licking at it, she whimpered, feeling thirty, so thirsty.

"That's right, fair Cordelia." The soothing voice murmured in her ear, as the brunette girl's near-drained body latched onto the deep cut across the vampiress' soft breast. "Drink up and then rest, my darling girl." Lowering her head to brush a kiss across her new childe-to-be's forehead, Darla smiled. "And you'll wake to a whole new world."



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