'...an empty hotel room, some candles, a few bottles of champagne and one glorious night ...'

I still can't get over it. How can she just blow this off? Doyle is right. This whole 'thing' HAS been killing us all. But hey, why should I be surprised? She's doing what she did throughout High School; dismissing things that she doesn't deem as important as hair, skin and nails. Only this time, it's me that she's dismissing. I never thought I'd end up as a Cordelia Chase statistic, like those football jocks she was always dating and discarding, but evidently it's been decided. I can't believe I was stupid enough to take what I overheard at Buffy's party even remotely seriously. For the past three months I've been worrying and driving myself insane trying to figure out our friendship and she's just cracking jokes about it. I don't really know why it bugs me so much. I mean, all things considered, it shouldn't be much of a shocker. Cordelia has always been somewhat callous and unkind.

I sigh and shove my newly-washed dish into the cupboard with a clatter so loud that it makes me cringe.

I'm not being fair to her and I know it. Cordy has really changed over these past few years. Granted, there are a few flashes of 'high school' Cordelia every so often, but now I know that her superficial act is just that. An act. It's just so frustrating to have Doyle bring up this latent tension between us and then have her act like nothing is happening. Not only that, but she has the audacity to think it's funny.

She certainly didn't seem to think it was funny a few months ago.

I sigh.

Maybe things have changed since then.

"The two of you are so damnably stubborn you deserve each other."

I tense up almost immediately. Didn't even hear him come into the kitchen. God, this whole thing with Cordelia is even making me lose my edge.

"Doyle, go home. It's late."

"Well aren't you going to go talk to her at least? She's practically dying of embarrassment."

A slow burn starts up in my chest and I try to squelch it with little success, "What are you talking about?"

I can feel him staring at me, his eyes boring holes into my back, but I won't turn around. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me so angry because I know he's smart enough to know why. And then he'll feel compelled to tell me why and I'm just not in the mood to hear it right now.

"Are you kiddin' me, man? What? You think she said what she did on purpose? My God, the girl turned as red as the hair on that pretty Willow's head. I've never seen Queen C so flustered in my life."

"Well, she was rude." I mutter darkly, thinking back to the moment. I was so shocked that I couldn't stand to look at her myself.

"Rude? She said what she did accidentall-,"

"Even if it was an accident, Doyle, I don't enjoy being laughed at."

My comment comes out so gruffly that I'm afraid Doyle can sense the hurt under it without needing to see the look in my eyes. I wait patiently for him to hit me with a scathing comeback but nothing comes.

After a long while, I turn to face the demon, expecting to find that he's gone, only he's still there. Staring at me with a look that can only be described as incredulous.

"You've gotta be kiddin'." He says after a long while, "Y-you've just gotta. Laughin' at you, man? The girl was SERIOUS! There wasn't a bit of laughter in her pretty eyes. Just horror that she said what she did out loud. And truth. Naked on her face as the day she was born and you'd know that if you'd take a chance to really look at her. She said she was joking because she was in shock. And I can't believe you were stupid enough to buy her excuse"

I'm at a loss for words and he misreads my lack of response as further stubbornness.

"I can't believe ya, man. Neither of ya." He throws up his hands as if in defeat and leaves the room muttering something under his breath that sounds vaguely like 'damn male ego.'

Sighing, I throw the dishrag I'm holding into the sink and straighten up.

Sounds like its time to face the music.

I approach her room, fully prepared to knock on her door and am surprised to find it wide open. Cordelia NEVER leaves her door open. Her room is her sanctuary and she usually tries to keep it as separate from the rest of the apartment as possible. Doyle once 'accidentally' walked in on her in the middle of changing and after being soundly beaten, he commented that he didn't mind because he now had weeks of material to 'make his own fun'. Ever since, it's been a wonder to find her door unlocked, let alone wide open. Like a gaping invitation.

I enter the doorway tentatively and find her stretched out on her bed, reading one of the mystery novels I'd lent her a few weeks ago. Her dark eyes don't even pause in their motion across the pages and I can tell that she didn't hear me come in. After years of living around humans it's hard to break oneself of the habit of walking like a stalker no matter where you are. Still, it's afforded me the opportunity to observe her quietly and without shame in the few moments before I announce my-

"Are you going to stand there forever or are you going to come in?"

-presence.

She doesn't even look up from her book while making the observation and I can't help but feel a little foolish for being caught. How she does it, I still don't know.

"We need to talk." Welcome to stating the obvious. The problems I have with verbal communication have been rearing their ugly heads now that I have friends who are perfectly willing to make fun of me.

Instead, she just quirks an eyebrow, passes up a fine opportunity for an insult, and puts the book down, "Yeah, we do."

I guess now would be a good time to mention the fact that Cordelia's looks have really started to grow on me. I know that sounds ridiculous because she's so obviously beautiful in a classical sort of way, but I've never been very interested in her kind of beauty. If you've seen one pretty girl, you've seen them all and believe me, I've seen several. Cordelia's beauty is the kind that is pleasant to look on at first, but can get very boring very fast. When someone's features are so fixed and so perfect, there's very little for the eye to catch on to. I'm also sorry to say that when I first met her, her personality didn't help my attention span much either.

Now though, I notice other things about her face. Endearing things. Like how her smile is just a little too wide sometimes, especially when she's honestly happy. It's so rare to see, but it's a flaw of hers I've grown to love. Or the way her eyebrows shoot up when she's in the process of lying or trying to talk her way out of something. Perhaps one of my favorites is the truly ugly thing she does with her nose whenever Doyle is trying to subtly point something out to her and she doesn't understand.

"Angel, sit down before I scream."

Her strained words shock me back to the present and I realize that I'm still hovering near the door.

"Sorry," I mumble before making my way into the room and perching next to her on the edge of the bed.

"So..." she begins.

"So...." I echo uselessly.

It's amazing how well she hides her feelings. Almost as well as I do, as a matter of fact. If it weren't for her words and the uneven, rapid thumping of her heartbeat in my head, I'd be certain that she was completely at ease.

"I think we need to discuss this....thing." She finally says, turning her head to look at me.

"What thing?" I ask, hoping that maybe she can define it.

"This THING that is keeping Doyle up at night." She responds in an exasperated voice.

I raise my own gaze to meet hers, "How long do you think this thing has been....affecting Doyle?"

"I'd guess ever since Buffy's birthday."

"Okay, right." So evidently, she hasn't forgotten. I expect to feel marginally better about this, but instead my general anxiety simply transfers itself into another place.

We lapse into silence.

After a few seconds of trying to figure out where I want this conversation to go, I try again, "Does Doyle have any ideas on what caused his...lack of sleep?"

Cordelia looks thoughtful, "Doyle thinks it stems from a lot of stuff he's been thinking about for the past few years that sort of came to a head that night."

Interesting. This whole conversation reminds me of one of the few words of wisdom Darla bestowed upon me: "Never underestimate a man's ability to underestimate a woman."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Unimportant stuff," she responds quickly.

"Doyle doesn't think it's unimportant." A nasal Irish voice lilts from the darkened hallway.

Cordy and I roll our eyes simultaneously. "Go home!" we both bark.

Sighing, she jumps up to close and lock her door.

Faintly, I think I can hear a few choice Gaelic curses before the elevator grate slams shut.

Still leaning against her door, Cordelia stares at me and crosses her arms over her chest, "Look, Angel, how do you feel about Buffy?"

I glance up at her, startled. The question isn't exactly unfounded, but I never thought she'd actually go there. For however close the three of us have been these past few years, Buffy is a subject no one ever broaches with me. I guess it's partly because everyone assumes I'll be hurt by the subject and partly because no one really knows what to say. Until now.

"I love her." I respond honestly.

A small muscle near Cordelia's temple twitches. Otherwise, her face remains neutral.

"Love her as in you're still in love with her, actively wanting to have her children, or love her as in you remember her as someone you were happy with once but never will be with again?"

It's a valid distinction but I pause before responding. Before we get into my private thoughts, I still have something I want from her. Something that can make or break the rest of this conversation. I want an explanation. "Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" She pulls herself away from the door. I recognize the look on her face. It's her patented battle stance and I can't help but smirk a little. It's sort of cute when she's overly defensive.

So here we have it, the trump question. "Why is this so important to you right now?"

"You're my best friend, Angel. I want to...know you." Her eyes are lowered, scrutinizing the floor, "We never talk about this and I want to understand what happened. She's a big part of your life and I feel like you're so closed off about it all the time that it might help to just get it out..." her voice trails off in such a way that it's obvious she's waiting for me to turn her down.

An indefinable disappointment settles over my heart and I guess logically, I should turn her down. I've made it a habit to keep my private life strictly private for a reason. It isn't nice to have to face your demons head on and it's even less nice to have someone else do it too. I'm afraid that if I DO open up that door again, and show Cordelia all that darkness that she'll see how monstrous I really am. Even with my soul.

Unfortunately, logic has never been my strong point.

Licking my lips, I respond, "I love Buffy in a way that she'll live on in my heart for as long as I'm here on this earth. It was like she became a part of me, Cordelia. An extension of who I am in a way that no one has ever been willing or able to be. When you live as long as I do, you forget things, Cordy. But Buffy was my sunlight. And I'll never forget that."

She bites her lip anxiously, "So eventually, you hope-,"

"That she's happy and has a good life." I finish smoothly, "I don't harbor any delusions about getting back together with her, if that's what you're so worried about."

At my gentle tease, she raises her head and I can faintly see some of the residual haughtiness of the Cordelia I know so well.

"I am NOT worried." She shoots back, "And I know that you're going to try and use that as an excuse to get out of telling me all of it."

"All of what?" I ask, genuinely confused as she comes back over to the bed and sits next to me.

"All about you and Buffy."

"But I thought I just...,"

"Spouted off some pretty nice poetry, but I'm not going to settle for 'she was my sunshine.' Angel, I know that there's more to all this and that Buffy wasn't just your lifeline in a world of darkness or something stupid like that. You're not all evil, okay?" she gives me a firm shove, "Get that through your thick skull! For everything Buffy gave you, you gave her just as much back."

I want to smile at her furious conviction but unfortunately, my endless guilt forbids it. "Cordelia..."

"Do you love me, Angel?"

Her question promptly causes whatever I was about to say to fly completely out of my head. That and the vulnerable delivery which is most definitely a new thing.

"I...," have a tendency to fumble at critical moments.

"Not in THAT way," She qualifies, with a roll of her dark eyes.

"Yes." I blurt out quickly, unsure if her qualification would have changed my answer. I realize, though, that the delicate nature of this conversation would turn such an admission into a possible disaster. Maybe some other time.

"So if you love me, then trust me. I want to hear about this. About you and her." She manages a small smile, "And anything else you want to talk about only not in graphic detail or around meal times, okay?"

Snorting slightly, I finally allow myself to smile. This is exactly what I've been missing these past few months. Cordelia. Pure, unadulterated caring and caustic Cordelia. Not the edgy, stone-faced version that's been adding to the strained silence of the office. It's at this strange moment that I appreciate her the most. Very few people manage to pull your emotions in two different directions at once without the intention of torture. Cordelia manages to do it not only with style and flair but to also make it almost therapeutic. Carefully, I nod in acknowledgement of her request. "Okay. It'd probably take all night, though."

Whatever 'thing' we set out to fix between us tonight, is most definitely still there but I feel like we've made some headway. No point in pushing my luck. Besides, she deserves some reciprocation every once in a while.

We sit in companionable silence for a few more moments before she hits me in the arm again.

"So talk, moron. It wasn't rhetorical!"

And so I do.

Because my best friend asked me to.

And, believe it or not, she's worth a few sleepless nights.
 

End