DISCLAIMER: Oh, please. If I was Joss, things would be *vastly* improved on AtS. And believe me when I say that I'm not tooting my own horn - at this point, I'm pretty sure Britney Spears could come up with better written characters, realistic dialogue, and more interesting plots. No, I'm not bitter at *all*...
RATING: R
DISTRIBUTION: My site, Land of Denial, if you're archiving my stuff, this is blanket permission, and if anyone else wants it, just drop me a line.
FEEDBACK: C'mon, it's what I *live* for, people! Brighten my day! Make me less pissed off at Greenfuckhack! Lie to me and tell me he'll come to his senses soon!
EMAIL: DingoesGroupie@hotmail.com
DEDICATION: Serena - honey, I feel every ounce of your pain, *believe* me. I'm as much of a bitter wench as you these days. *g* Laura - you maintain the denial better than anyone I know! Can *I* move to a country with backwards programming?
TIMELINE: Blah, whatever. Semi future, even though this is no future *I* want to see. Or that the vast majority of the fans want to see. But haven't you heard? Joss doesn't care about his fans anymore. He makes the show for the WB now.
SPOILERS: If you watch the shows, you can read it. Whatever. *insert grumbling noises*
PAIRING: Cordelia/Angel. God help me. With BIG mentions of Buffy/Angel *waves pompoms*.
SYNOPSIS: Angsty Cordy POV, as she muses on her relationship with Angel. If she knows it's over, then why hasn't she let go?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Lyrics (and title) are from the song 'Here is Gone,' by the Goo Goo Dolls off their new CD, Gutter Flowers. It comes with the Molly stamp of approval - run, don't walk to get it!
AUTHOR'S NOTES, YET AGAIN: Look, I'm not making any apologies for the ships I support. Or don't support, as the case may be. All you C/A fans are entitled to your own opinion, but by the same token, I'm entitled to mine. To make a long rant short, don't flame this story just because you don't agree with what it's saying. That's mean spirited, and you're only undermining yourself and your ship when you critique the pairings instead of the writing. If you can't be mature enough to read without flaming, do us both a favor and don't read. Thank you.

You and I got something
But it's all and then it's nothing to me
And I got my defenses
When it comes to your intentions for me
And we wake up in the breakdown
Of the things we never thought we could be

He's got that distant look in his eyes again today. I hate that look. *Hate*. God, I hate it more than almost anything, and I've seen it too often lately for my liking. But when he gets like this, there's nothing I can do but leave him alone. I've tried to talk to him before, and it never does any good. In fact, it makes me feel worse. Whenever I try to get him to open up and he tells me he's okay, all it does is prove one more time just how easily he can lie to me. Prove that I must be desperate to let myself believe it.

We used to be able to talk about anything, it didn't matter what. Back before we became lovers. Before we let things get this screwed up. We never talk about anything important anymore. In fact, we barely talk at all, not the way we used to. I can't tell him half the things I'm thinking, and it's killing me. All these little half truths and subtle betrayals between us.

I wonder if it kills him, too. I wonder if he cares. Wonder if he notices.

It's better to just go over leftover paperwork that I *know* somebody else has already taken care of and let him finish brooding. Wait for the haunted, aching expression to fade and for the false smile to slip in place once more.

He'll wrap his arms around my waist and kiss the top of my head. He'll be flirty and smiley, and I'll flirt and smile right back and pretend that nothing's wrong when it's so goddamn obvious that nothing's right.

My face hurts from smiling sometimes. Not the good kind of ache. The plastic, fake smile superimposed onto the lips of supermodels in the layouts of magazines that once upon a time, I used to read religiously.

You know what the sick thing is? When he drifts away and those memories steal him from me yet again, I try to convince myself that it's Connor he's thinking about. I try to convince myself that he's seeing visions of that portal opening up, Holtz leaping into it with his son in his arms. That he's thinking about everything he wishes he'd done differently.

Or I pretend that he's thinking of Wesley. Thinking about Wes the way I do, every day. (Why doesn't he ever write or call? If he's worried about Angel's reaction, he could just talk to *me* - I wouldn't say anything. I worry about him. I miss him. So much.)

But I pretend Angel's wishing he could speak to Wes again, yell at him or throttle him or cry with him or kick back and just hang out with him, the way they used to before everything went to Hell along with Connor. I wonder if he misses him, or if he still just wants him dead. Wants to put his hands around Wesley's neck and choke the life from him. Wants to rip his throat out with sharp fangs and drink down his thick blood. Wants to put every single one of Angelus' vast torture forms to use.

It's sick, and I know that. It's sick that I'd prefer my boyfriend to be tormented and to grieve over his long dead son, or indulge in fantasies of murdering his long gone best friend.

I want him to do anything but think of *her*. Because I know that she's what he's thinking about, even when he doesn't say anything at all.

Buffy.

She has him wrapped around her little finger, and she isn't even *here*. He sleeps with me, he whispers sweet nothings to me, he says he loves *me*. But it's a lie. It's always been a lie. She's the one who holds his heart, and we both know it, and we both pretend that we don't. We never even speak her name. We pretty much pretend she doesn't exist. Pretend she never *did* exist, because that's the only way we know how to deal with it.

Pathetic. We deal by not dealing.

I hate her almost as much as I hate the look in his eyes when he thinks of her. She was there before I was, and they shared the kind of love that I can never even try to compete with. And it might not be fair to hate Buffy Summers this much when I barely know her anymore - not that I did to start with - but I can feel my bones physically *ache* with how much I wish I could just make her disappear, wipe her memory from his brain and have Angel finally belong to just me, only me, *mine*.

I've never hurt Angel the way she did. I've never made him miserable. I've been supportive and giving and loving and attentive until I think that my head's going to explode. But it never makes any. Fucking. Difference.

Because she was there first. His perfect golden Slayer, his heart, Buffy the Perfect, Buffy who can do no wrong,. The girl who sent him to *Hell*, the girl who threw her college beefcake in his face, who ripped out his heart and stomped all over it, gutted him like a fish, didn't ever meet Connor and never remembered the day they spent together when he turned human.

But still the only woman who's ever made him lose his soul. No matter how many times we've been together...God, he's *never* once worried about losing it. He still isn't.

It makes me want to scream. What did she give him that I can't?

I'm not the one who broke you
I'm not the one you should fear
What do you got to move you, darling?
I thought I lost you somewhere
But you were never really ever there at all

And I want to get free, talk to me
I can feel you falling
And I wanted to be all you need
Somehow here is gone

This whole relationship is such a fucking joke. If it was happening to someone on TV, I'd probably laugh at the stupidity of the characters, clinging to something that was never even there in the first place. If it was happening to one of my friends (not that I have so many. Just Fred these days, and she's happy with Gunn), I would have been sympathetic, then told her to dump the bastard *yesterday*.

But I don't let go.

I stay, out of some (misguided) sense of loyalty. Angel was my best friend for almost three years. He was there when nobody else was. He talked to me like I was more than just a naïve teenager, fresh from a small town and looking to a be a big star.

When was the last time I thought about acting? God. I don't even remember.

The point is, when I needed somebody, he was always there. After Connor, it was his turn to need someone. How could I *not* repay him, when it was so clear that he needed *anybody*? My heart was bleeding for him. He was utterly destroyed. And Fred and Lorne had planted those ideas in his head, that we belonged together...we redrew the line because we'd wanted to. We sort of wanted to. Relationship sprung from necessity.

So I sent Groo packing (sweet, sweet Groo, who loved me and who never really understood why I was leaving him, but stepped gallantly aside if it would make me happy) and told Angel yes. Tried not to look back. Tried to take all my doubts and questions and concerns and lock them up in the back of my head, just concentrate on him.

For awhile, it was good. Sweet, even. At first, I never doubted that he loved me. And the sex was amazing, no question about it. What we lacked in the passion department, he more than made up for in skill and stamina. After we started to work through the pain and sorrow of missing Connor, there was such tenderness there. Even if I wasn't in love with him then, I was sure that someday, someday soon I would. We were happy, and everyone was happy to see us together. The picture perfect, highly non dysfunctional relationship.

I'm not sure when things started to fall apart. The three month anniversary of Connor's death, and Wesley just up and leaving after Angel tried to smother him in the hospital, maybe. Suddenly, there was just no *feeling* there between us. It stopped making sense. He was distant. He started to cry out Buffy's name in his sleep, and I always just ignored it. Told myself he said "Cordelia," even though they sound nothing alike.

But we held on. We kept trying to work it out, and I kept telling myself that all he needed was just a little more time. Three years couldn't be erased in three months. If I was patient, if I held on, if I kept the sex frequent, if I *made* myself love him and I loved him enough for both of us...things started to get a little better again. Not a lot, but enough so we could stay together.

Then Buffy wrote him a letter, and everything changed again, for the worse. This stupid, ten page letter where she poured out her soul to him. He wept after reading it, hard and heavy and painful. I never made him feel anything that powerful. I still haven't.

He doesn't know that I know that. About him crying, I mean. I eavesdropped. He took the letter upstairs to read, claiming it was just a business thing.

I'd already seen the return address. I think that was the first time I realized he'd been lying to me all along. He wasn't over her. He never would be.

He closed the door, and I followed him upstairs. I'm not sure why. Just wanted to know, I guess. He should have heard my heartbeat outside the door. But he didn't, because he was too wrapped up in her and those words, and after a few minutes, I heard him begin to cry.

I'd never heard him do that before. Not even after Connor. Then it was only bitterness and rage and a deep seated, cold empty void that was too big for words or tears to fill. A void that I thought I was filling pretty nicely until Buffy's letter came. With ten stupid pages, she managed to get him to open up, manage to be the catalyst for him to finally spill out all his pain over Connor and his pain for her.

That was three weeks ago. And that was the day I knew it was over.

I have no solution
To the sound of this pollution in me
And I was not the answer
So forget you ever thought it was me

In all fairness to her, she didn't know we were together. Buffy's a lot of things, but deliberately cruel isn't one of them. As much as I dislike her, I honestly think she would have done the same thing Groo did, had she known. She would have been hurt as hell, but in the end, she would have stepped aside and told me to just make sure I took care of him. She wouldn't have unburdened her soul to him.

I understand now that that's what love really is. Being able to take that final look at The One, then take their hand and place it in that of their new One. Tell them all you really want is for them to be happy, then walk out of their life. Angel did it when he broke up with Buffy, back in senior year. Groo did it for me, six months ago.

And if I really loved Angel, I would herd him into the car and drive him straight to Buffy's doorstep so they could fix this. But I haven't.

I'm selfish. I don't want to be alone. I'm tired of being alone.

Although some days, when I wake up and Angel's already downstairs, going about the workday...I'll realize that I *am* alone. That he doesn't want to be there for those first moments of the day when we're supposed to wake up together. It stings. Still does. But you learn to live with it.

He doesn't want to be lonely, either. So we stay together, because breaking up is too much effort, and we both know that we could never go back to the way it used to be. No matter how much it hurts, I'm not willing to have him drop out of my life completely. I already lost Wesley. I couldn't stand losing Angel, too.

I read the letter a few days after it came. I know it was a terrible, wretched invasion of privacy, but at the time, I just didn't care. I was pissed. What right did she have to be moving in on *my* man? She lost all claim on him a long time ago. I was irrationally jealous and catty, so when he went out on a case, I snuck up to our room and hunted for it.

He keeps it in his pocket, another thing he thinks I don't know about. He carries the goddamned thing around with him all day. But it was in his coat that day, and he'd left it at home. Too hot to wear.

So I sat on the bed and read the entire thing. When I finished, I wished I hadn't.

There was so much there. So damn much. God, you could feel the raw emotion coming off the page, like she'd held the pen with her heart instead of her hand. She spoke about some twisted semblance of a relationship with Spike, how he'd gone crazy about a month after she'd ended it, ended it clearly and severed all ties they'd had. Cauterized the wound.

He'd managed to get his anti violence chip removed from his brain, and his first act of revenge had been to kill Dawn.

Buffy'd staked him the day she finally sat down to write.

She felt as though she'd killed her sister, she said. Spike had honestly cared about Dawn, but he'd torn her throat out because he loathed Buffy for hurting him. He'd killed someone he cared for just to send her a message. You hurt me, then I'll hurt you worse. If my heart bleeds, your little sister's body bleeds. Our relationship dies, so does she.

I still remember the words on that page. I must have read them about forty times in a row. It feels like they've been branded onto my skull.

'Angel, I know what we said. That we'd keep our distance, that it had to be over because it hurt us both too much. That we'd be gone from each others' lives completely, not even be there for the major stuff anymore. Things like my mom dying, even. But I can't do this. I killed my sister. This is all my fault. I'm alone, completely, and this is *my* fault. There had to be something I could have done, if I had just staked him when I had the chance, if I...I don't know. This is ripping me apart, and I honestly don't know if I'm going to make it. I don't know if I even want to make it anymore. All I know is that I need you right now, like I always have. I need you so much. Even if it's only for a day, I need you here to hold me and keep me from breaking completely. Please come. Please.'

It's been three weeks. Buffy's dying inside. And he hasn't gone to her because of me. He hasn't called, or written. He's let her think that he doesn't care anymore.

Because. Of. Me.

I'm not the one who broke you
I'm not the one you should fear
What do you got to move you, darling?
I thought I lost you somewhere
But you were never really ever there at all

I've suddenly turned into the bad guy for this. I'm the evil bitch who's determined to hold onto the man at all costs. Which wouldn't be so bad, except I know the reason I'm so desperate to hold onto Angel. And it's not because I love him.

It's because I hate to lose. Period. I'm Cordelia Chase, and Cordelia Chase doesn't lose anything. Ever.

I never wanted it to be like this. I never wanted to turn *into* this. But here we are. Here *I* am. This is what we've become.

He understand what she's going through, the guilt and the blame and the rage and the utter, gut wrenching misery. He knows because he went through it with Connor. And on the surface, it looks like he holds Wesley solely responsible...but he blames himself even more for losing Connor, something I can just tell.

It's yet another thing that we haven't ever talked about.

He's probably the only person who can help her through this. But he won't go, regardless. His stupid sense of honor. A stupid, misguided sense of honor.

Dawn dying...Jesus. We only had Connor in our lives for five months, and as much of an aching, visceral pain as losing him was...Buffy had Dawnie for fifteen *years*. She watched her grow up, she'd give her *life* for her. In fact, she did. This happening right off the death of her mom, not to mention her *own* death...she must be completely shattered.

I still can't quite grasp it. Dawn. Dead. I never saw her as a teenager, just a girl, really. I can't imagine her becoming a young woman. I guess now I won't ever...

The scrappy twelve year old I used to know, with braces and perpetually messy hair is gone forever. I wasn't close to Dawn, but I always liked her. She was sweet. And now she's *dead*. Not breathing or laughing or whining about not getting to tag along on a Scooby meeting. She's underneath six feet of dark earth, lying next to her mother. Flowers are probably scattered across her grave, and she can't pick them up to play with them.

And I'm supposed to pretend I don't know. So my own grief stays private. Do I have a right to grieve? I don't know. I sometimes wonder if it's Dawn I mourn for, or myself.

I remember seeing her my senior year, a few nights after Buffy and Angel broke up. I was just coming off my shift at April Fool's, and she was walking around town, kicking a soda can and looking utterly miserable.

For some reason, I went over to her. Asked her what had happened. She told me the whole story, or as much of it as she knew, and then she burst into tears. I was startled - I had never been good with crying kids. There was a *reason* I didn't choose baby-sitting to help pay for my prom dress, you know.

But I couldn't let her be so miserable all alone, so I took her to the Espresso Pump to talk. She cried the entire hour we were there, running through half the napkins in the metal dispenser to blow her nose. I couldn't understand why she was so upset until she finally got herself under control enough to speak.

She wiped her eyes and sniffled as she told me. "They're so in love, Cordy," she said, her voice wobbling. "It's just not fair. Buffy's wandering around like somebody ripped all her internal organs out, and...how can she just let him go? How can he HURT her like this? It's just...I never saw...I wanted someone to look at me the way he looks at her," she whispered, her voice tiny. "It was like, I look at them and I see that real love really *does* exist, and it's not just some fairy tale. But now it's just *over*. How can it just be over?"

And what I told her...God, it's making my stomach churn violently when I remember. Because I knew what I was saying was the truth. Prophetic words, maybe.

"Don't worry, Dawnie," I'd said. "They're *Buffy* and *Angel*. They might be breaking up for now, but they'll find their way back to each other in the end. You know they will. Heck, you'll probably be the maid of honor at their wedding."

She'll never get to do that, now. She'll never get to wear a long, gorgeous dress and carry a bunch of sweet smelling, perfectly arranged flowers. She'll never make a champagne toast, then dance until all hours of the night with handsome groomsmen - well, with Lorne and Gunn, at least. Maybe even with Wesley, if he and Angel can ever reconcile.

My eyes suddenly tear up. Am I going to cry? I haven't even *seen* Dawn in three years. Why do I suddenly miss the kid so much now? Why does it hurt? Why do I care so much?

And I don't need the fallout of all the past
That's here between us
And I'm not holding on
And all your lies weren't enough to keep me here

I can't do anything for Dawn. It's too late for me to help her. It's too late for anyone to help her.

And now that I'm sitting here, at my desk, with a file folder from late 1999 sitting in front of me...no, I can't do anything for Dawn.

But I can do what she would have wanted. If she could know how alone Buffy is, how much her death is killing her big sister...

I know what she'd do. She'd stand in front of me, plant her hands on her hips, and say "Would you just stop being such a bitch and tell Angel to get his pale butt to Sunnydale, already? I mean, *God*."

Either way, it's time for me to do this. If I can't do it for Buffy, if I'm too selfish to let Angel go to her for *her* sake, I can do it for myself. I deserve better than this half assed, sloppy seconds relationship. I don't want somebody whose heart was given away long before he ever looked twice at me.

No. Don't make it like this, don't do it the selfish way. I haven't always been a good person. I've been mean and callow and downright cruel. But I've tried to change - to some degree, I think I have. I have to at least believe that.

I can give Angel up the way I *have* to. I can take one last look, put his hand in hers, and look for someone else.

It's over. And if I want to be honest with myself, it was over long before Buffy's letter came. It was over before it started, but now, in this moment, *here*...it's gone. There's nothing even worth trying to salvage but our friendship. If we work hard, maybe we can rebuild that.

She needs him, and he loves her. It shouldn't have to be any more complicated than that. I won't *let* it be more complicated than that. Not anymore.

I stand up from my chair suddenly and walk over to Angel. He's standing by the window, looking out at the velvet black sky, his face so sad, so fucking *guilty*...He's thinking about her. Like he always is. He's regretting not being there. He loves her.

"Angel?"

He turns and tries to manage a smile. "I'm okay, Cordy. I'm just...I'm wondering if it's going to rain."

"Angel."

His brow furrows. "Something wrong?" he asks me carefully.

"We've got to go somewhere."

"Did you have a vision?"

"No. I didn't, but it's..."

"Then what's going on?" He looks at me, concern in his dark eyes, eyes that I wanted to pretend loved me, and it hurts. Hurtshurtshurts.

But it's not important. I take a deep breath and screw up my nerve. "I just think you've kept Buffy waiting long enough."

He stares at me in disbelief. But when I say her name, I see his eyes flare with life for an instant. Shine with brief hope. With sorrow. With love.

A moment of dead silence. Heartbeat. Beat. Beat. Beat.

I am not a bad person. I can lose gracefully. For once in my life, I can let somebody else have what I want. "Don't you?"

He nods slowly, almost like he's afraid. "I do," he says softly. "Cordelia, how did you..."

"Not important," I tell him. "Go. And when you come back...Angel, when you get back, you know I won't be here, right?"

Angel nods again. "I didn't want it to happen like this," he tells me, his voice thick with regret, and shame. "I never...I'm sorry. Cordy, I'm so, so sorry."

"I know," I reply. "Just go, Angel. Just go."

And when he finally turns and leaves, fairly flies from the door to his car to hurl straight to Sunnydale and pull Buffy right into his arms...I sit, heavy on the sofa.

Maybe I'd wanted him to protest. Maybe I'd wanted to hear a little more denial. But I didn't.

And at the same time as I'm hurting, I feel...relieved. Unburdened.

I'm alone. I'm here , Angel and I are over, and he's gone. Gone the way I always knew he'd go someday.

But that's the way it was supposed to happen. We were never meant to be eternal.

At least I can finally realize it. We're here, *I'm* here. And it's gone. And I want to get free, talk to me

I can feel you falling
I know it's out there
I know it's out there
I can feel you falling
I know it's out there
I know it's out there
Somehow, here is gone

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