Chapter Eleven

The Greater Good. That's what I keep telling myself I'm doing this for. The greater good. Everyone of them is just so damn stoic, so heroic, so above everyone else.

There's Willow and Oz, placid faced and working like dogs, trying to find a freaking' spell to reverse the one that got cast on Angel. And there's that Doyle guy, who could be me, 'cept he's still got a spine to hold up his head.

I used to lay beside her, watching her sleep. She was never peaceful, nothing like I thought it would be. Instead of cuddling she'd turn away, sleep on her side, as if trying to bar me from her. I'd sit there and watch her, and it was like watching a painful movie, you know? Her features would flicker into all these different expressions, ones that I never saw anymore. There were smiles, real ones, that would result in that cute little nose twitch she did, and there would be laughter, sometimes, genuine laughter. She was dreaming.

I wondered what she was dreaming about, just watching her, and then my eyes would rove down to her body, sliding over the simple little black tank top and short shorts she'd wear to bed. The shirt would bunch up, and she would move over in her sleep, her hands sprawled out, and I would catch sight of her stomach.

That's when the pain would start, when my eyes would rove down and see those two scars, marring her perfect body.

The first one, was small, but looked so painful. It went through her, there was an identical star shaped one on the other side. It's from ten years ago, it's white, and bumpy.

The one next to it, is worse. It goes across part of her abdomen, like teeth marks, like something just grabbed her and took a huge bite out of her.

I wasn't there when that happened. I didn't cause it. Not like the other one.

I don't know why, but everytime I saw that scar, it made me want to cry, to take that pain away, and what killed me, was that I couldn't.

I thought I was what she needed, that if she just stayed with me, that she would understand that we were perfect for each other, we always had been.

One night I leaned over, and kissed the scar, trying in desperation to brush the pain away from her, and she smiled, that beautiful smile, my Cordy never waking up.

She merely smiled, moaned a grateful moan, and whispered, "Angel."

I knew who she was dreaming about then, I knew it wasn't me.

I sat on the edge of my huge, expensive bed, eyeing my whole room that night, as she was still asleep, dreaming about that bastard. My eyes went to my silk pajamas, to the closet that held my Armani suits, the gold watch next to the bed on the teakwood dresser. The leather Fendi briefcase.

Then my eyes went to Cordelia, who was dressed in a pair of cotton shorts and shirt that seemed years old. It was torn, it was ragged, and she looked like a queen in it.

I had bought her a silk nightgown, she never wore it, unless I asked her too.

It made me realize right then that I didn't know this woman at all. Oh, I love her, I love her so much it kills me to watch the blatant truth that even me, in my damn denial can't ignore, she loves Angel.

But I don't know her. I never did, to think that maybe she would have been impressed with all this. She might have,years ago, but that wasn't the real Cordelia Chase.

She had loved me when I was poor, when I was just Xander Harris, and she was forever trying to tell me that, when I bought her all these things.

She knew who I was, and she hadn't changed me. I had changed myself. I was rich, successful, a hell of a business man, and miserable.

Somewhere along the line, I had lost who I was. I wasn't Xander anymore. Maybe Xander had deserved her, but this guy, the guy in the suit and tie, he doesn't.

Maybe that's why I'm doing this, helping a guy I've always hated, a guy who killed Jenny, who almost killed Cordelia and Buffy and for some reason held their hearts. I'm trying to find Xander, cause then maybe I'll deserve this person I never knew.

Hell, maybe I'll deserve to be myself again.

"How are you?"

Willow sighed. "I'm tired, Oz. I'm so tired." He nodded, gathering her into his arms and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Well, we seem to have a new nanny." Willow gave a smile at the sight Oz was refering to.

"The kids really like him." She agreed, as Xander swung Priscilla around the room.

"It's getting late." She remarked.

"They'll be alright. Buffy's a fighter."

"Yeah, but is Cordy?"

"I don't know. Didn't expect this, did you?"

"No." She sighed, leaning back against him. "I just hope it works, Oz. It's the only chance he has."

"Where's Doyle?" Cordelia breathed, walking into the room. Willow gasped at the state of her friend. Cordelia was cut in numerous places, her catsuit was torn in the stomach, revealing a scar that looked years old. Cordelia had a hand to it, covering it, as Buffy walked in behind her.

"Did you get him?" Willow asked, rising out of Oz's arms to gaze at them both.

Doyle kneeled against the wall, watching Angel, who had now not even the strength to move. His gameface flickering on and off, he merely looked up at Doyle, and lay his head back down, almost as if he was a wounded dog.

"Hey man." Doyle, pulling out a cigarette and inhaling it. "I figured I just smoke a little one in here. That redhead will kill me if I infect the air out there for her little ones."

He hit the butt against the wall, watching the ashes fall, his gaze not wavering from Angel's form. "What happened to you guys, Angel?" He asked softly, leaning his head back and blowing his breath out. "You and her were so great together, you needed each other. Hell, I needed you."

He shook his head morosely. "Now look at us. We're a bunch of pissants, all of us. But we got Cordy back, didn't we? We got Cordy back, and man, this time you better not let her go. She can't go. We both need her too much."

He leaned down, careful to stay out of reach of his best friend. "You hear me, man? You need her."

Even though Angel didn't answer, Doyle nodded, satisfied as he stood up, his eyes wet for just one moment. "You know it. So get better already. Cause I need you guys too."

And with that, he took another drag of the cigarette and walked out of the room.

"He escaped." Cordelia said stiffly, coming forward, wiping her tired hands over her eyes. "Bastard."

"Through a smoke screen. Cor and I are lucky we got out of there alive."

"But… the blood?" Willow whispered, feeling her heart sink.

Buffy flashed a tired smile and produced a bottle filled with red liquid. "Look bloody enough for you?"

Cordelia gave Willow a beseeching glance. "Is that enough, Willow?"

Willow took it thoughtfully. "If we can get it down his throat with out him spilling a drop, it is."

"Cordelia better do it." At the suprised look, Buffy merely shrugged. "Don't make it more than it is. He's used to her scent. I just want to save him."

Willow nodded, giving the pouch of blood to Cordelia. "Are you sure you can do this?"

Cordelia nodded, taking a breath and following Willow.

He was hurting, and he wasn't quite sure he could stand it. Through his haze of tears and pain, he heard he name, calling him, and he felt himself leap in response. She came closer, and he latched on to her, so thankful, so thankful that she was back.

Something was different. He smelled blood. His nostrils flared, and he buried his face in her neck, trying to determine if it was her pulsing heat. His lips moved to her face, tasting the drops that had congregated there, and his weakness he could not stop the urge to try and lick it off.

Cordelia moved back, and Angel growled, his demon visage wracked with pain, longing visible within his face.

She swallowed down a sob, and nodded to Willow, who picked up the paper and began chanting.

She came forward slowly, wiping away at her blood, and smearing it on the bottle. Angel's gameface flickered as he watched her, his stance a crouch.

"Angel." She whispered softly. "Gently, Angel." As if she was almost hypnotizing him with her eyes, every move slow and deliberate. "Gently." He came forward slowly, on all fours, sniffing at the blood. Kneeling down, she didn't take her eyes off of him as she beckoned with her hand.

His movements were like that of of panther, sleek, as he stopped within an inch of her face, pausing once to lick at her tears.

She closed her eyes, forcing back a sob before running a hand through his hair, tilting his head back, and in sync with Willow's chanting, sliding the red liquid down his throat.

He took the bottle from her, and Cordelia got up, using the opportunity he had in absorbing the blood like an animal to walk out of the room. She sighed, feeling her knees almost buckle. God she was so tired.

She wanted to much to crawl into a hole and sleep forever, get rid of all this anguish, all this hurt, take it away from everyone.

Looking up, she caught Xander's eyes. Staring at him, she hoped for a smile of support, some sort of sign that he at least understood.

Xander just looked away. Cordelia closed her eyes. It was too much of her, she knew, to ask support from him now. He knew the truth, just as she did. She loved Angel, more than him. No amount of time would change that now.

God, she was so tired.

Sinking down onto the couch, she turned a beseeching glance on Willow. "Now what?"

"Now we wait." Willow murmured, her eyes following Prissy as she rode Xander the horsy around the room. Every once in a while, he would turn, giving them looks to see what was happening. "The blood of the caster gives him strength. It's up to him now."

"And if Angelus wins?' Oz asked, his hands kneading into her tired shoulders.

"He won't." Xander said shortly, getting up, and swinging Priscilla around. "He's a strong asshole. Angel will win."

"I just hope we saved him." Cordelia murmured, bringing her legs up to the couch and burying her head in her hands.

"Drinking his blood did not save him." The group looked up to see a man with a graying beard standing in the open doorway, a stern look on his old, distinguished face. "All it did was postpone the inevitable. Angel will die."