Title: Blood Money, Revisited

Author: Nicole Clevenger

Rating: PG. Angel, Cordelia.

Summary: A purely self-indulgent "missing scene" story from the third season episode "Blood Money." H/C to the core, both physical and emotional. Like you expected any less.

Note: Angel doesn't get tortured nearly enough, if you ask me...


Blood Money, Revisited
by Nicole Clevenger

(c) February 2001

The fight had been too close to call the first time, and the second followed in its footsteps. His entire body felt pummeled, bruised, bleeding. The bag of money meant for the shelter lay on the floor between him and the unconscious demon. He needed to get up, to get the money back to the girl...

He had just managed to reach his feet - however unsteadily - when a noise from the direction of the lobby caught his attention. His demon face transformed his features without his consent, the predator taking over instinctively, still running high on the adrenaline from the fight. Someone
was approaching the large front doors of the old hotel. Somewhere in the back of his mind a rational voice reminded him that it might not be an enemy -- it could be someone who needed his help, someone coming to him for salvation.

They all wanted him to save them.

With more effort than was usually needed, he forced his face back to its human guise. He wouldn't be caught like that, not knowing who it was who was coming. The door opened, and he willed his eyes to focus, willed his body not to fold beneath him. He felt himself sway drunkenly, a surge of energy coming up from his demon as it strove to give him the strength to fight against this possible new threat.

"Look, I know you kicked us out of here and all, but - "

The voice seeped through the fog that was swirling around him. His body -- recognizing that there was no threat even as his mind still struggled to keep up -- was already reaching toward the bliss of unconsciousness. Again he tried to focus, but the figure in the doorway remained a stubborn blur.

"Cordelia?" he managed to force out through cracked and swollen lips.

And then darkness.

~~

When he came to, he still couldn't see properly. Animal panic flooded his throat, choking him, until he realized that one of his eyes had swollen shut. The other was simply having difficulty functioning on its own so unexpectedly in the darkened room. Having determined that there was no immediate threat, he closed his one good eye and lay still, using his well-honed senses to
determine where he was and what was happening.

He was lying on something soft - the couch in the main sitting room? The smell of old, worn leather reached him, even decayed as it was by time. His entire body ached, feeling -- quite appropriately -- as if it had just been beaten within inches of its undead life.

Someone was talking in the other room. He concentrated, pushing past the pain, trying to make out the words.

"Yep. Got rid of them. Can you believe it? How rude, seriously! I mean, just because a person leaves something behind for a few days - hectic, messy, demon-slaying, saving-the-world-on-your-own-because-your-boss-doesn't-want-to-do-his-job-anymore kind of days, I'd like to add - doesn't mean that you can just get rid of it like it's yours. There were some good things in there, Wesley. Like expensive *and* cute."

A pause.

"Well, knowing Mr. Monochrome, he probably gave it all to some bag lady. So now there's some spectacularly dressed homeless person wandering the streets of Greater LA, and I don't even have a job to replenish... Duh, I know you don't either. I was there too, remember? One stop firing shop."

Another beat of silence. Then, "Puh-leaze. Like anyone would take that stuff you wear... Unless there's some kind of Watcher Resale or something..."

Cordelia. What was she doing there?

A flash of her in the doorway of the hotel. And then...

Damn it. Now he had to get rid of her before she had Wesley over there as well. He couldn't... He didn't know if he could do it all again. See that look on their faces; knowing that they cared too much, that he had to make them go before they followed him somewhere they wouldn't be able to get back out of...

"I don't know. He looks pretty thrashed," he heard her say, echoing his concern.

He almost managed to stifle the groan that tried to slip out his slightest attempt to shift position. Left arm was definitely broken; beginning to heal, but at a considerably slower speed than his body was capable of. Couple of the ribs felt cracked or broken as well. Add the plethora of assorted cuts and bruises... He needed to feed, he knew, so that his body could repair itself.

But first he had to get rid of his house guest.

Getting to his feet was near torture, but he'd been tortured before and knew the drill. His injured arm was a poor brace for wounded ribs, but he used them both to try and keep each immobile. The pain clouded his thoughts, and he had to fight to get a handle on himself. Not allowing any time to indulge in his weakness, he forced his feet to move, one in front of the other, momentarily losing himself in the simple pattern.

Again he pulled his attention back. Cordelia would never leave if she thought he was badly injured. Focus. Push away the pain. Focus. Push away the pain. Focus. Push -

"Omigod, Angel! You scared me."

He looked up from his feet to find that he had already reached her without realizing. He mentally chastised himself even as he forced himself to stand up straight. Much to his dismay, he was unable to stop a soft gasp from escaping as fire ripped through his ribs and chest. Clamping his mouth tightly closed, he stared at her, practiced in his lack of expression, and hoped she hadn't noticed.

Mercifully, she didn't seem to -- or, if she had, she wasn't saying anything. "What are you doing here?" he asked, secretly pleased that he managed to keep the pain out of his voice.

"I came to get the clothes I left here. Which you've already gotten rid of. Jeez, Angel. Waste no time."

His gaze dropped to his shoes again, this time in a flush of unexpected embarassment. "Didn't think you were coming back."

"Obviously. If I didn't know all about your finances, I'd take a paid shopping spree as an apology. But since I was the one who kept track of our lack of cash..."

She trailed off, and he looked up, wondering why. She was looking at him oddly, her head at an angle. He stood stiffly under her gaze, trying not to fidgit or wince -- the way he'd often felt under the eyes of his mum when she'd check him over before Sunday services. He was tired, and he had to... something...

He blinked when Cordelia snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Hello? Angel? Where's the new crazy scary loner vampire?" She frowned. "Not that, uh... Okay, maybe "crazy" isn't the best choice, but..." He vaguely noticed her awkwardness. Cordelia was very rarely at a loss for words, especially around him. Things had changed so much in so short a time.

"You're totally zoning out on me here. Are you okay?"

No, not okay. Hurting, in so many more ways than just the physical. It was like he needed to breathe, but couldn't.

Then, like the snap-back of a rubber band, he remembered who he was supposed to be and what he was trying to do. "Fine," he tried, but it came out hardly more than a whisper. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Fine." Better.

"Uh-huh. Besides the fact that your face looks like you fought that guy." Her forehead crinkled. "You know, the boxer guy..."

His legs were beginning to feel a little weak. "Who?"

"That guy who bites people. You know."

"Bites...?" He was having trouble concentrating. He had to get rid of her before he collapsed in front of her again. And feed. He was so hungry...

She flipped a hand past his face -- a careless, dismissive guesture -- annd his eyes tracked it distractedly. "Not 'bites' in your sense of the word. Human bites." A dramatic sigh when she realized that he still wasn't paying attention. "Forget it. What happened to you?"

Boone. The demon would probably be unconscious for some time yet, but it was still another reason why he needed to get Cordelia out of the place. And the money. He had to take the money to Anne, for the shelter.

He turned, and his ribs screamed. Unprepared for the sudden sharp pain, he gasped, only barely stopping himself from crying out. His knees buckled slowly. Having little say in the matter, he slid down the wall behind him, ending in an almost-sitting position on the floor, bent over, reflexively protecting his injuries.

"Angel? God, you really are hurt." She knelt down beside him. He had his face turned away from her, his eyes tightly closed, but he could smell her. So close, leaning in closer, trying to tell him something... So warm her blood smelled. So fresh. Behind his eyelids he could see her pale neck, that one beautiful vein waiting for him, offering its rich bounty up to him...

The feeling of his features shifting brought him abruptly back to himself. He was breathing hard, each inhalation another stab of pain; he forced himself to continue, using it to clear his mind. At least she hadn't been able to see his lapse in control. This was why... He was too dangerous to them. He didn't belong among them, pretending to be like them. He was a monster, an evil. A
threat.

"Angel, you're bleeding all over the place. Let me --."

His hand shot out unerringly, grabbing her wrist and surprising them both. "Or not," she said slowly, not moving.

He opened his eyes, narrow slits against the pain. "I... It's okay. I just need..." He realized he still hand a hold on her, and dropped her wrist immediately. "You should go."

"Beginning to get that vibe." Despite her words, she remained where she was, rubbing her wrist. "You're hurt. Quit pretending to be so macho and help me get you back to bed. You're too heavy for me to carry you," she added. "I had to try the last time. Bad news."

He wanted to, wanted to let her help him so badly that it surprised him. He had grown too accustomed to having them around; to their friendship and everyday courtesies, to their concern for him and their willingness to watch his back. He'd grown soft, weak. He'd become unable to protect them, or anyone else.

"Angel? Stay with me here..."

He looked up at her, making an effort to look like he'd been listening to her the entire time. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up, however. He opened his mouth to tell her again to go, but she jumped to her feet before he could utter a syllable.

"Crap, I left Wesley on the phone," she explained, obviously just then remembering. Before he could stop her again, she was heading for the phone. "I'll have him come over."

"No, Cordelia..." The pleading in his voice made him want to retch. He couldn't seem to help himself. But the thought of both of them over here, worrying and complaining and getting in the way of his new direction, his new life... Maybe if he compromised with her. "Please..." That got her attention, her hand hovering over the abandoned phone. "You..." he forced out, trying to keep the swords from slurring together, "you, but no one else, okay?"

She looked at him for a long moment, and he found himself looking away. He hoped she couldn't see in his eyes what he had realized: He really did want her to stay.

~ You can't be her friend, Angel. ~ Darla's voice, always. She had reminded him of who -- of what he was. ~You don't belong with them... ~

So whispery-soft her voice could be. So delicate, yet always backed by the insistence that she be obeyed. Other times, her voice was demand itself. If one were to disobey that voice...

"No, really, he's fine. Totally already healing right up. Wesley, I can see him from here. Sheesh, you're such a hoverer sometimes... I said I would, didn't I? Of course I know. Duh... Uh-huh. Okay, bye."

Darla was talking to Wesley? That wasn't right. But was that her perfume? No, she couldn't be here; she'd hurt them...

He was on his feet without conscious thought, so fast that it took the pain a moment to catch up. Then it hit him, and he felt himself waver as grey began to cover his vision. Someone grabbed his arm, followed by a voice almost in his ear.

"Hey, slow down. You're far paler than usual. Definitely not a sign of good."

Cordelia, he identified, slowly coming back to the room. They were moving slowly and awkwardly toward the couch; he made an effort not to lean so heavily on her much smaller frame. He grit his teeth, barely able to force himself to make it the last few feet. Exhausted and drained, he fell heavily onto the leather, causing even more aggrevation to his battered body.

He let his head fall back against the couch, but refused Cordelia's suggestions that he lie down. He couldn't let himself relax, to lose hold on reality again. The girl got up and left the room without a word; he had to fight the impulse to call out to her like some little boy left alone in the
dark. Don't leave me...

~ Not one of them. The predator among the prey. And sooner or later, you'll let the predator out... ~

He couldn't remember any more what she had actually said to him, and what he had just told himself in her voice. But it didn't matter, really -- It was all true. And he knew it.

The smell of blood reached him. Not human, but warm. Coming closer... His face shifted, and he could do nothing to control it. He needed... He needed. His mind was whirling, his need consuming him. But there was something nagging there, just out of reach... Some reason why he couldn't lose control...

"If you were that starving, you should have just said something."

The voice was gentle, calm. Somehow he managed to open his working eye, to submerge the need just enough that he could focus. It was important that he focused. It was important that he get control, though he wasn't entirely sure why...

Cows. There were cows in front of him, little cartoon cows. A mug. And... Cordelia. He had to keep control for Cordelia. He could smell the blood, almost taste it.

It took every bit of willpower he'd ever possessed not to rip it out of her hand right then, maybe taking off her arm in the process. Taking a deep, painful breath, he used what felt like the last of his strength to transform his face back to its semblance of humanity. He grunted with the effort, but concentrated heavily, determined.

He was not an animal.

The instant he completed his victory, he let himself reach for the mug, hands shaking so badly that he couldn't hold it steady. Didn't matter; he didn't notice the red sloshing over the rim and onto his pants leg as he finished the contents of the cup in one greedy swallow.

Need temporarily sated, his hand and the cup dropped to his lap. He looked down at them both blankly, not having the energy left to do anything else. Besides, he didn't want to look in Cordelia's eyes, to read the revulsion and horror that he knew must be there. She had seen his face, seen his darkness, his craving...

He always tried not to drink in front of humans -- yet another way he pretended that he was one of them. Not a vampire or a man, but a creature trapped somewhere between.

"Feel any better? I'm such a blonde for not thinking of that right off."

Confused, he dragged his eyes up to her face. He could see lines of worry around her eyes, not quite hidden by the false charm of her practiced smile. But, amazingly, no fear. No disgust. But how...?

Did they truly accept him that much? Trust him? As if his soul made him less of a danger to them?

"Okay, Angel, you have to talk to me here. 'Cause I told Wesley that you were fine, and if you're not, then we need to fix that somehow." She stood up, taking the empty cup from his still-trembling hands. "Even Dennis makes more noise than you, half the time," she said, when he didn't respond. "You want more?"

He shook his head, lying to both of them. Except he'd never been able to lie to himself, not really.

Apparently, he couldn't lie to Cordelia either. She returned from the other room, mug again full with the steaming liquid. It didn't send him into the uncontrolable haze of need that it had moments before, but he could still feel it pulsing, straining, just below the surface. The yearning made him feel weak, and the weakness made him angry. "I said --"

"I heard," she said, handing him the warm cup. "But we both know that you need it. So drink, and then you can tell me what happened."

With a sigh he took the mug from her, holding it between his bruised hands. He made himself take a moment like that -- just holding it, feeling the warmth seeping into his skin -- before he took a drink. His hands were still shaking, but less now, and he was already beginning to feel stronger. Cordelia was right; he needed this.

When exactly had Cordelia Chase become the voice of reason in his life?

"A smile? That's it, I'm calling the papers."

He blinked, looking at her again. "Huh?"

"You smiled."

"I did not."

She wagged a finger at him. "Don't deny it. It might have been tiny, but there was definitely the hint of a smile there."

Had he smiled? Probably not. She was most likely just trying to get a reaction out of him. Cordelia tended to say whatever it was that popped into her head -- that candidicy was one of the things he missed the most about her not being around. He kept catching himself waiting for her comment on whatever was happening, and then being vaguely... lost when it didn't come.

No. He didn't need her around. Didn't need any of them. He was alone, as he was meant to be.

But then why did it hurt so much to wake up to the silence every night?

He forcifully pushed that thought away. He had things to do.

He finished the blood, pointedly setting the empty mug on the table beside her. Happy now? he asked her with his eyes.

Of course she wasn't. He should have expected. "More?"

"No. It's time for you to go."

Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "Don't they teach gratitude in hell?" At his frown, she mumbled, "Suppose not." She took a breath, like she was preparing herself for something. "Look, Angel... This isn't good." Her guesture took in the whole room, and beyond. "You playing Brooding Boy all alone in this big empty hotel. Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't seem to be doing
too well."

When he said nothing, merely glared at her, she hurried on. "Maybe you think you don't need us. But I think you're wrong. Big time. And, well... I think we need you."

The last words hit him like Boone's built-in brass knuckles. His stomach clenched, and he had to fight to keep the impassive expression on his face. He missed them so much that it was a physical pain, gnawing at him like something inside fighting to get out. But he couldn't do it, couldn't put them in danger any longer. This was something he had to do on his own.

This wouldn't be the first time he lost something he cared about. But he planned for it to be the last.

"Go," was all he said to her.

He couldn't miss the hurt that flickered across her face before she quickly hid it beneath her actress' mask. She got to her feet a little too fast for the movement to be nonchalant. "Okay. I'm going. But, Angel, if you need anything..."

He didn't say anything. Neither did she. There was nothing else to say, really.

Cordelia turned and left him there, alone in the darkness.


end.
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