Title: The Alone Together Trilogy
Author: Cobalite
Email: cobalite@yahoo.com
Authors Notes: There Were Roses is copy righted by Tommy Sands, and I got the lyrics from Foxes’ Covert Archive. This story is the first part of the Alone Together trilogy.

Alone Together: Horrid Dreams


Angel patrolled every night, since Cordelia had yet to have a vision. He’d like to think the Powers were giving her time to recover rather than the more sinister thought that the death of the Oracles severed his links to the powers.

He had been staying with Wesley since the explosion, but his fastidiousness had driven even the stuffy British man to the brink in under a week. Angel had eventually gotten the hint, and asked Cordelia to crash on her couch. She got a strained look on her face, but said yes. It was almost as if she was hiding something, but who was he to talk about secrets.

He crept in the door just after two a.m. trying not to wake her. Surprisingly, there was a note on the coffee table in handwriting Angel didn’t recognize.

Go to her.

"Go to who?" Angel didn’t expect an answer, but he got one. A pen underlined the line.

Go to her.

"Dennis?"

Who else? She needs you.

"Cordy? Why would she need me?" To Angel, it sounded absurd.

You are the only one who understands.

"Being cryptic is my game, Dennis. This isn’t getting us anywhere."

Humans aren’t meant to know the horrors their fellow man commit. You are the only one who knows, who can help her.

"She still seeing it?"

Her own private hell. Go to her. GO TO HER!

Seeing there was no way Dennis was going to let him be, Angel headed towards Cordelia’s room. As he got closer, he could here soft sobbing. He almost knocked, but thought better of it. Angel slowly pushed the door open. "Cordy?"

She stopped crying, and looked up at him. "Did I wake you up?"

He came and sat by her bed. "I just got in. Dennis said you were still up."

"Yeah." Cordelia gave him a weak smile. "Haven’t been sleeping too well lately."

"You wanna tell me about them?" Angel’s voice was softer than normal, carrying compassion.

"About what?" Cordelia tries to hide her face in the dark, but she knows it’s useless.

"Your dreams. It might help if you talk about them." Angel wouldn’t meet her eyes.

"I don’t think you would understand." Cordelia receive his patented ‘Who are you kidding?’ look, "Alright, so maybe you’re the one person who can. They’re awful, okay? I don’t want to talk about them."

"You’re going to have to. They aren’t going to go away, Cordy. Never completely." Angel switched places from the chair to the side of the bed. "It’s been two years, and I still get the nightmares at least once a month."

Cordelia pulled herself into sitting position. "But it was real for you. Hell is real, you didn’t just see this stuff in your head. I know, I’ve seen the scars I bet you didn’t even let Buffy look at."

"What happened to you is no less real than what happened to me. He showed you all the misery on earth. You’re a nineteen year old girl who didn’t watch the news because it hurt too much to care. No one deserves to see what you saw." Angel hesitantly put his hand on her shoulder.

Cordelia shut her eyes. Something occurred to her. "You’ve done this before. The nightmare alert thingy."

Angel gave a small half smile. "I had a little sister. We lived in English Occupied Galaway. Between the age of six and ten I think she slept through the night twice. My father never saw fit to get up in the night to go to her."

"How did you get her to go back to sleep?" Cordelia knew she needed sleep, but she wasn’t getting any without help.

He looked embarrased. "I used to sing. Before I became a drunken lay about, I mean."

Cordelia looked intrigued. "Do you still know any of the songs?"

Angel wracked his brains. "Yeah, but I haven’t sang them in over two hundred years, Cordy. I’m probably gonna sound like a frog."

Cordelia dismisses the comment. "It’s something you never lose. Sing me something?"

The reluctant Angel knew already which song he was going to sing. As the notes drifted from across the ages, Cordelia heard for the first time his Irish accent.


My song for you this evening, it's not to make you sad
Nor for adding to the sorrows of this troubled northern lad,
But lately I've been thinking and it just won't leave my mind
I'll tell you of two friends one time who were both good friends of mine.
Allan Bell from Banagh, he lived just across the fields,
A great man for the music and the dancing and the reels.
O'Malley came from South Armagh to court young Alice fair,
And we'd often meet on the Ryan Road and the laughter filled the air.
There were roses, roses
There were roses
And the tears of the people
Ran together
Though Allan, he was Protestant, and Sean was Catholic born,
It never made a difference for the friends, it was strong.
And sometimes in the evening when we heard the sound of drums
We said, "It won't divide us. We always will be one."
For the ground our fathers plowed in, the soil, it is the same,
And the places where we say our prayers have just got different names.
We talked about the friends who died, and we hoped there'd be no more.
It's little then we realized the tragedy in store.
It was on a Sunday morning when the awful news came round.
Another killing has been done just outside Newry Town.
We knew that Allan danced up there, we knew he liked the band.
When we heard that he was dead we just could not understand.
We gathered at the graveside on that cold and rainy day,
And the minster he closed his eyes and prayed for no revenge.
All all of us who knew him from along the Ryan Road,
We bowed our heads and said a prayer for the resting of his soul.


Cordelia was beginning to drift off, and he stopped. Her eyelids closed, and assuming she was asleep, Angel rose to leave. "What was her name?"

"Kathy." It was ironic that it was to another dark haired girl with nightmares he again sang that song for.

"Did you kill her?" Cordelia was blunt and to the point.

"No." Angel closed his mind against the memories. "I left her alive, to see what she would do when she found our parents dead. Angelus always planned on going back for her, but he was distracted."

Cordelia sleepily matched up the time frame. "Spike and Drusilla."

"Goodnight, Angel." Cordelia closed her eyes, safe in the knowledge she would no longer suffer the nightmares alone.

"Goodnight, little sister."

Angel started to leave again, but she stopped him. "Angel, finish the song?"

Angel inhaled a breath he didn’t need, and continued.


Now fear, it filled the countryside. There was fear in every home
When a car of death came prowling round the lonely Ryan Road.
A Catholic would be killed tonight to even up the score.
"Oh, Christ! It's young O'Malley that they've taken from the door."
"Allan was my friend," he cried. He begged them with his fear,
But centuries of hatred have ears that cannot hear.
An eye for an eye was all that filled their minds
And another eye for another eye till everyone is blind.
So my song for you this evening, it's not to make you sad
Nor for adding to the sorrows of our troubled northern land,
But lately I've been thinking and it just won't leave my mind.
I'll tell you of two friends one time who were both good friends of mine.
I don't know where the moral is or where this song should end,
But I wondered just how many wars are fought between good friends.
And those who give the orders are not the ones to die.
It's Bell and O'Malley and the likes of you and I.
There were roses, roses
There were roses



Angel closed the door, and headed to the couch.


The End


Authors Notes: Not really sad, but not exactly a happy ending either. The second part of this trilogy takes place on Cordelia’s 21st birthday, which is stated in ‘Prodigal’ as being May 22. Email me at cobalite@yahoo.com.

Authors Notes: When ideas get into my head, they won't go away. Ideas often came to me in the middle of the night, and the resemblance between the girl who played Angel's younger sister and Cordelia struck a cord. That night, the image of Angel soothing Cordelia back to sleep would go away. So I wrote Horrid Dreams. I decided to make it a continued story, and designed a web page. Then, I forgot about both the finished story and the web page until I was purging my writing files. This story occurs May 22, the date stated in Prodigal as Cordelia's birthday. Assuming she was nineteen this May, this story occurs in 2002, on her twenty first birthday.