disclaimer in part 1

Swan Song
By Diane
-----
THE SEER


Cordelia pushed the door open to their motel room
cautiously, eyes darting to the left and right next to the
door frame, as many days of her life spent in Sunnydale had
taught her to do. Too many creepy crawlies had bested her
before the habit had become ingrained. But there was
nothing. Nothing but the sound of the cantankerous air
conditioner having another go at substituting for a jet
engine.

Wesley, head down and in a slouch, plowed right into her.

"Watch it, watcher-boy," she snapped.

Wesley turned pale, and immediately began to fidget,
flustered to no end. "Terribly sorry. I didn't notice that
you had stopped."

She shrugged, letting a small irritated pfft! escape her
lips. "Well, that much was obvious." Her growl of
annoyance soon turned into a rant. "I can't believe we all
have to share the same hotel room... This is sick. We
could have stayed at the mansion..."

Cordelia closed her mouth when she saw Wesley's staring eyes
narrow. "Cordelia," he growled, "Neither you, nor I, nor
Angel is exactly rolling in cash at the moment."

She felt her skin chill at the tone of his voice. He was
really angry... "Wesley, I'm sorry I said--"

"Look at Angel!" Wesley cut her off. "Did you even _see_
him at the funeral? How can you possibly expect him to stay
the night in... in _that_ house, knowing what all it has
meant to him..."

She backed off a step. "I said I was _sorry_ ok? I didn't
mean..."

Wesley was furious now, turning just under a shade of pure
scarlet. Seething, more like it. His teeth were gritted,
and she could almost see the proverbial smoke coming out of
his ears. She'd never seen him so aroused -- a frightening
sight when compared with his usual mild demeanor. "You're
utter tactlessness, I can take, just fine. Hit me with it
all you want. But when Angel comes walking through that
door," he cried, flinging his arm back in the general
direction of the entrance they had just come through, "if
you don't shut your bloody mouth, I'll close it for you.
Because he doesn't need this right now! And I will _NOT_
have him repeating previous mistakes, simply because you
couldn't keep your scathing comments to yourself!"

She had backed up as far as she could before the bed reached
out and swallowed her into its grasp. Her eyes were
suddenly burning. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. She would
not... BAM. There was the first tear. Her shoulders
started to tremble. Hitching, she rested her elbows onto
her knees and stared down at the blurring floor. "I'm
trying _so_ hard not to be sad, and it isn't working."

Wesley said nothing. She didn't dare look up.

"Every time I close my eyes, I just want to break down,
Wesley. I... I knew Buffy. I _knew_ Buffy. You don't
have any idea how hard it is to say _knew_ and not know...
I just... I've already lost Doyle. Who's next. You?
Gunn? Angel?"

And she started to cry. And cry, and cry... and cry. An
endless, blurring fountain of tears. She felt Wesley's hand
on her back, warm and soothing, rubbing up and down like her
mother had done, when she had actually cared. Before the
IRS.

"And I feel so guilty. Because I'm not really all that
crushed that _Buffy_ is dead, just that she's _dead_. She
wasn't really a good friend of mine, we never really talked
much... I just... Angel's falling apart and I feel like
there's something _wrong_ with me. Like I should be
thinking the world has ended, too... I can't just watch
him... I can't just..."

Without even realizing it, she was curled up in Wesley's
calming embrace. "I'm sorry, Cordelia. I've been out of
sorts as well. I shouldn't have snapped."

She shook her head. "Don't be..."

Mascara was running down her face, eyes puffy with red,
blotchy skin, hair flat and limp against her scalp. She
looked like death itself. And somehow, she couldn't bring
herself to care. "I don't want any of you to die..."

Was that her? She sounded funny. Lost...

"I'll have to delete that appointment from my day
planner..." Wesley joked softly in her ear.

She didn't know whether to laugh, or cry harder. "Angel's
not going to make it, is he?" she asked, the weight on her
shoulders suddenly too much to bear. Too much burden. She
wasn't even twenty-one yet. This was too much for her.

Angel was, quite simply, a wreck. Like a big Buick hitting
a Miata wreck, not the standard fender bender. And Angel
was only so strong. The universe could only throw so many
catastrophes at him before he finally broke. He couldn't
keep bouncing back.

Wesley squeezed her shoulders, and she felt wonderfully
assured, just by knowing that he was there. It seemed that
he was the only one left standing after this mess. "Not if
I have anything to do with it," he said.

"Sunrise is in seven hours. Do you honestly think that you
can stop him if he wants to go be with Buffy? He was going
crazy. At the funeral..." She sniffed, and burst into
tears all over again. "I don't want Angel to die... He's
the only best friend I have left..." Angel...
AngelAngelAngel... Her whole body was shaking with fear for
him. Fear, and hurt, and worry.

Wesley shook his head. "We'll go out in the car in a few
hours if he's not back yet. He won't die, Cordelia."

She nodded, sniffling.

"Cordelia, look at me. If the worst should come to pass,
the tranquilizer gun is in the trunk. He won't die."

She looked up, saw the determination in his eyes. And she
wanted to believe him. She really did, but the sinking
feeling in her gut was nagging her. Angel, if he were
determined, would find a way. He would find a way, and then
he would be gone.

But at least he would be happy...

"In Pylea," she whispered, "I told him I didn't love him.
Well, I believe my exact words were, 'Not you, dumbass...'"
A bitter, cold, frightening laugh escaped her lips.
Tactless. Just like Wesley had said.

Wesley's eyes softened. "He knows you love him."

"I don't think he does." She shook her head. "I should
have told him."

Enfolding her in his arms, Wesley sighed. "Cordelia, we all
deal with grief in a different way. You're just making
yourself worry too much."

"No. I've always thought that maybe if I had been more
supportive in the first place, maybe if he _knew_ he had
people to hang on to, he wouldn't have fallen. I don't
think he realizes we want to pull him back if he starts
sinking. He's so used to being alone... He used to tell
me, sometimes, what it was like, spending decades at a time
without talking to another soul. Just existing. It sounded
horrible... I don't want him to just exist. I want him to
_live_."

"You should tell him that, then," Wesley replied.

She started rubbing at a familiar ache in her temples,
squeezing her eyes shut, and for once, she was granted
clarity. "Wesley, I'm going to have a vision," she stated,
disturbingly calm. Serene. Unblinking.

He looked at her strangely.

And then her head pitched forward, the only thing stopping
her from careening to the floor was Wesley's grip. She
cried out, gritted her teeth, trying anything and everything
aside from clawing poor Wesley to death to get rid of that
terrible, blinding rain of spears upon her head.

< FLASH >

A red portal. Monsters. Help needed. NOW.

< FLASH >

She snapped her eyes open, the vision ending as quickly as
it had onset. Panting, she struggled for equilibrium,
swallowing repeatedly in an attempt to gain mastery over her
nausea. The visions had been getting increasingly more
painful as time went on, and this doozy was no exception.

But as soon as she was able, she was on her feet, shaking
her fists furiously at the ceiling. "GOD DAMN YOU BASTARDS!
CAN'T YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE FOR TWO FUCKING DAYS?!" She was
so furious, she was trembling. Sweaty and nauseous, and
furious.

FURIOUS.

Wesley laid a calming hand on her shoulder. "Cordelia..."
he began, his tone uncertain. As though he expected her to
lash out at him in a most painful way.

"Shut up, Wesley. Shut up!" she snapped, but her eyes
closed in shame. Becalmed. BecalmedBecalmedBecalmed...

"I'm sorry, I kinda flew off the handle there..."

"I hadn't noticed," he replied, a grim stare that almost had
her fooled, were it not for the dim twinkle in his eyes.

She returned to the bed and looked up at him hopefully. "An
Aspirin would be nice..." she whispered, rubbing her temples
as her ebbing fury gave way to a headache the size of
Canada, with maybe even Alaska tacked on... Oh Hell, add
the land bridge and Russia could join the party...

Before she could even blink, a glass of water was hovering
in front of her face, encircled by Wesley's thin fingers.
Two bi-colored capsules adorned his other hand. She grabbed
the pills, popped them in her mouth, swept up the glass in a
grand gesture, and upturned it. A well-practiced maneuver.

She noticed that, for once, Wesley wasn't nagging her to
tell him what she had seen. "Ok, Wesley, you can say it,"
she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as she waited for the
inevitable--

"What did you see?"

She sighed. Right on schedule. "There was this red portal
thingy with a bunch of green demons streaming through it.
They looked familiar."

"Physical description?"

"Um..." She struggled to remember the blinding imagery.
"They were green. Big. Funny hats. They had big red
pimply things in the middles of their foreheads."

"Did they sparkle?"

She raised her eyebrow. What an odd question... "The
demons? No..."

Wesley sighed that familiar sigh of 'why, oh why, did I get
stuck with this job...' "I meant the 'pimply things'," he
clarified.

"Oh," she said, suddenly feeling embarrassed that she hadn't
understood. Of all the times to actually start feeling
embarrassed about stuff... "Yeah. Real sparkly."

He nodded. "Mohra demons. Nasty. How many?"

"Um," she shook her head as if it would help her recall.
"Uh... Six? No. Eight. Or..." She sighed, giving up.
"A lot," was all she could narrow it down to.

"Where?"

"Would you believe it if I told you it was the department
store I bought these shoes at? Funny coincidence, eh..."
she mumbled.

"L.A., then..." Wesley appeared dismayed. And she felt
right along with him. There was no way that Angel was ready
to leave... Cordelia had expected to stay at least a week.

"Give this man a prize..."

Wesley walked over to the phone and dialed. She could hear
the dull tone of a ring on the other end, and she lay down
on the bed. Ahhhh. Soft. He peered up at the ceiling and
appeared to actually be interested in the chipping paint
before he was brought back to the phone. "Hello, Dawn, this
is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. May I speak with Mr. Giles?"

Pause.

"Oh. He stepped out?"

Pause.

"Well, you haven't, by any chance, seen Angel, have you?"

Pause.

"No. I'm certain that he's fine. We need to return to L.A.
Cordelia has had a vision..."

Pause.

"Oh, no, Dawn. You don't need to go looking--"

Pause.

"Well, if you feel like taking a stroll, by all means--"

Pause.

"Yes, we'll wait here. Please have Mr. Giles call us as
soon as he returns."

Pause.

"Thanks. And, Dawn? I'm sorry..."

Wesley looked down as he hung up the phone. "She's going to
go out looking for him -- I can't say I approve, but, if she
needs to keep herself busy..."

He sighed and collapsed onto his own bed, Cordelia watching
helplessly. "Angel's not going to make it, is he?" she
asked again, watching the grim look on his face with a
pained one of her own.

Wesley shook his head. "I really don't know."

All that replied was the humming of the air conditioner.

continue