Title: Modern Medicine
Rating: PG
First Posted: August 8, 2000
Notes: 1) Indulge me with this piece. My darling man is in hospital tonight waiting for an angioplasty. So I am sitting here, attempting to soothe my shredded nerves with some A/C cuddles. Wonderfully healing, are A/C cuddles, but somehow I think the piece is gloomy. Unknown fears and the lonely cold spaces left behind by absent partners. < /End of indulgence request >
2) Part of the Orla thread (see Our Lad Liam.)
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Feedback: Cherished. admin@florrie-fic.com
The elevator hum preceded the clanging of the grate.
“Good morning, Angel!” Cordelia called cheerfully from her desk.
“Cordelia.”
Cordelia looked up quickly at the monotone greeting. Angel stood at the entrance to his office, arms folded tightly across his chest, head down.
“Is it cold out today?” Angel glanced up towards Cordelia dressed in a light gauzy top, held up and together with thin strings of material. Silly question.
“Cold? No it’s eighty something.... Angel? Are you okay?” Cordelia pushed back her chair.
“I’m cold.”
Cordelia looked perplexed.
“I’m cold-er,” he clarified.
Cordelia walked up to Angel and touched her fingers to his cool brow. “You don’t feel too cold. Room temperature. That’s what you should be - right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you feel sick?”
“I don’t get sick, Cordelia,” he said impatiently and turned back into his office.
“Don’t snap, I’m trying to help here - okay?”
Angel nodded apologetically.
“No headache, sore throat, stiff joints? No known spells cast or poison ingested?” Cordelia persisted in her pursuit of a diagnosis.
“No. I’m just - cold. I tried to warm up in bed and I put on more clothes. Hasn’t helped.”
“Well... if you aren’t ill - is being cold a bad thing for a vampire?”
“I don’t like it Cordelia. It’s a .... I feel... I don’t like it.” Cordelia wasn’t too worried about Angel’s chill factor - after all, a dead person was supposed to be cold - but at the look of depressed defeat on Angel’s face, her heart sank.
“Okay, let’s put some more effort into getting you warm!” she encouraged and motioned towards the elevator. “Come on - back to bed.”
Cordelia rumbled through Angel’s wardrobe and emerged with a pair of fleecy grey track pants and a matching top. Not good style she thought, but warmth was the important issue.
“Now, hop into the shower - a nice warm one and then put these on,” she instructed.
“Do you think....”
“I’m winging it here, Angel. Considering we don’t know what is wrong with you - if there is a problem - anything is worth a try. Off you go.” Cordelia pushed the clothes into his arms and gave him a gentle shove towards the bathroom door.
In the ten minutes he was away, Cordelia ransacked various trunks to find more blankets, spreading them over those already on Angel’s bed. When he came out of the bathroom, hair tousled and damp, track pants hanging baggily from his hips, Cordelia was sitting, waiting, on the bed. She took one look at his wet hair and darted into the still steamy bathroom.
“Sit on the bed,” she directed, fresh towel in hand, “Got to get your hair dry.”
“Isn’t it dry enough?”
“No. Sit.” Cordelia advanced with the towel and dragged it ruthlessly over his skull, rubbing away the damp. “There,” she said, standing back to admire the erect locks, “Much better. Okay, hop under the blankets.”
“Cordelia,” said Angel, gingerly fingering his hair, “I tried bed earlier and I didn’t get any warmer.”
“Fine, so we try again. There are more blankets, you’re warm from the shower and have some comfy clothes on. Now, in.”
Angel slid his legs under the turned back covers. Cordelia reached over to pull the blankets up over Angel’s shoulders and tuck them snugly under his chin. He was cocooned, his pale face showing against the pillows.
“You can’t expect to warm up straight away - please be patient.” Cordelia slipped off her sandals and settled herself at the foot of the bed, legs curled up under her, prepared to make certain Angel felt better, whether he wanted to or not.
“Would you like me to heat you a drink? Milk? Coffee? Blood?”
“No, thank you. Cordelia, I feel colder than I did before I had the shower.”
“You are sure no-one has been around with a spell? Has anyone been down here?” Not that a ‘feel-cold’ spell made much sense, thought Cordelia.
“No, no-one.”
“And nothing in the way of demon slime or other - yichy stuff?”
“No.”
Cordelia sighed.
“Cordelia, I know you want to help but there just isn’t anything unusual - I’ve been over and over all the people I saw and the places I went to - there’s nothing I can remember.”
“Well humour me - what did you do last night?”
“I covered the docks and back down by the old railyards, along the river for a mile or so and then home about, oh, three o’clock. No demons, no vampires, no known witches.”
“And?” she prodded.
“Had some blood, sat...”
“The blood! What if...”
“No, it’s the last of the batch you bought me two days ago. It smelt....tasted, normal.”
“Okay. Then?”
“Nothing. I sat and read for a while...and thought.”
“What about?”
“Well...things.”
Cordelia raised a brow, questioning. “More information, please.”
“What have my memories...or, or reflections to do with being frozen stiff?”
“No idea. But I am sure you and Wesley would be badgering me with useless questions if I were in your shoes!”
“Okay. People.”
“The dead ones?”
“Not all of them.”
“Oh. Buffy?”
“And others. Darla, Drusilla,” and the other dead one, he thought, the one whose name he hadn’t uttered aloud in two hundred and fifty years. His teeth started to clatter.
“Well I think you are depressed,” she declared, “And for someone as naturally broody as you are, that’s impressive. All this mulling over all your old girlfriends, and Buffy, on top of your usual array of dead people - no wonder you’ve gone all Iceman!”
“I’ve been depressed before. I don’t remember freezing being a s-s-symptom.”
The noise from Angel’s teeth was more insistent.
“This is silly. Move over.” Cordelia slid off the bed.
“P-p-pardon?”
“Never mind, I’ll go around the other side.” Cordelia pulled back the blankets covering the unwilling patient and slithered in next to Angel’s shivering body.
“I learnt this in Health...or did I see it on “E.R.”? Whatever. Actually,” she said, dragging the covers back up, “ it might have been that cute skiing instructor at Aspen.”
“Wh-what did you learn?” asked Angel, reluctantly curious.
“Hypo something or other and frost-bite. You warm a person gently with your own body heat. I think we are supposed to take all our clothes off, but we’ll pass on that ... you look freaked enough already.” Cordelia lifted Angel’s arm and dropped it onto the pillow behind her before snuggling in closer.
Angel lay quietly, taking a few minutes to recover from the no-clothes image.
“Can you feel my body heat?” she asked.
“Um...yes. What now?”
‘Great!” she said and lifted her head from his shoulder to flash an encouraging smile at him. “Now we talk about warm stuff.”
“How about we talk about you?”
“I’m hardly a hot subject,” said Cordelia, but with her head back on Angel’s shoulder she didn’t see the corner of his mouth twitch. “Anyway, how many times have I bored you with the cute Keanu stories?”
“I like it.”
“Being bored?”
“No, I like listening to you. Not boring at all.”
“You mean I could waffle on about the historical impact of Cardin and St Laurent - or the benefits of exfoliating - and you wouldn’t be lying there trying not to yawn?”
“I don’t say I would be able to answer ten questions on the subject - but, I wouldn’t be bored.”
“Heck, if I could just work out a way to overcome the curse and sun-sensitivity issues, then get you mass produced... wow, I bet there would be thousands of women interested in a man like you!” Cordelia pushed herself up in her enthusiasm and leant on Angel’s chest.
“Huh?”
“Of course they would! You are reasonably low maintenance, you don’t want fancy food cooked - in fact you can cook, you always look scrummy, dress well, good-looking, loyal, handy for getting rid of pesky demons and cockroaches, handsome - did I say that already? - tall, nice body, you’re tidy around the house, you won’t develop middle age spread - gee, you won’t even get middle-aged and I can think of several aspects of love-making that...”
“Yeah, actually, Cordelia....I’m starting to feel a bit warmer. Thousands?”
“No, maybe not. You are more of a one woman man aren’t you?” She smiled down at his bemused expression. “Feeling a bit better? Try and sleep, don’t want to rush your recovery. I know I could do with a nap.”
“Why? You didn’t sleep well last night?”
“Nightmares.”
“Tell me.”
“No! They are another story. Go to sleep - or if you don’t want to sleep, just lie there and let me have some shut eye.”
“Okay, but I want to hear about these nightmares. Are they...”
“Later. Sleep.”
Cordelia snuggled into the long cool body, nestled her head into the side of his firm chest, rested her arm over his abdomen, and was asleep in minutes.
Angel pushed a wisp of long dark hair from his face and listened to the rhythmical slow breathing.
Sleep. Right. An armful of Cordelia Chase in his bed, cuddling up alongside, touching. Sleep. Sure. Nightmares and fears. How did a fear long buried jump out over two hundred and fifty dead years? She hadn’t been part of his memories since he had followed Darla into the alley-way behind “The King's Head.” A fleeting glimpse, her eyes crowding his head as he had sunk to his knees and pressed his mouth to Darla’s breast. A blank face that he could no-longer recall, but a fear that gripped and ground at his insides as though it were yesterday. How? What had he been contemplating beforehand? Darla, Drusilla, Buffy and suddenly Orla was there, the spectre of an unknown fear. Why was he talking to himself of fear? Hadn’t he been depressed? Since when did the image of a young woman inspire fear? Enough Angel, you’ll be slipping back into the ice if you keep this going.
Angel lifted his free shoulder to ease his muscles. Cordelia shifted slightly and murmured some comfort in her sleep, the hand on his abdomen patted a sleepy ‘it’s all right.’ He turned his head to look down at the sleeping face and wondered who she dreamt of comforting. Her movement now directed tiny flurries of warm breath onto the side of his neck, the warmth trickling down his skin. Nice.
Too nice. Divert the thoughts. He really should see about mending the damaged blade on the Chaldean sword. Wesley could (mmmmm) if Wesley could locate a smith with the required skills. Swiping at the (beautifully warm) Fosor demon and instead collecting the (tickle-trickly) granite pillar had taken a huge (oh so good) chunk out of the forged steel.
Angel groaned.
He contemplated pushing Cordelia’s face away from his neck. Too easy. He had to be able to withstand much more than warm, so warm, sweet breath on...
Baseball. What did he know about baseball. Diamonds and hot dogs. Not nearly enough to bore or distract himself from the indulgence sleeping in the crook of his arm.
Cordelia shifted again and nuzzled her face into the soft grey fabric covering his chest. The heat was gone from Angel’s neck. Cordelia’s hand moved over his stomach, a slow sleepy wander. Angel quickly captured the hand with his own. Swords, pumpkins, Wesley, dentists, Wesley - hold there, very dampening. Angel tried to imagine Wesley’s reaction if he were to see the two of them now.
“Cordelia!” he said softly, gently shaking the hand still clasped under his own.
“Mmmm?”
“Cordelia, wake up.”
“What? She raised her head and peered out at him through sleep skewed eyes. “Angel? What are you doing in my bed?”
“This is my bed.”
“Oh... good.” Cordelia relaxed back onto Angel’s shoulder, her hand under her chin.
“Cordelia?”
“Mmmm?”
“What are you doing?”
“Going back to sleep. Why did you wake me up?”
“Cordelia, I’m better.”
“I know, much better than.... Oh right, okay. I forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“I thought for a minute....no, I forgot you were sick. Not that you were sick, you were depressed. Yes. You feel good? No inner icicles?” Cordelia sat up and made an effort to push back her hair.
“All gone.” Angel rolled over to the side of the bed and swung his feet to the floor. Cordelia followed, smoothing at her rumpled denim skirt.
“So which part of the therapy worked do you think? Bed, hot shower, cuddles or talking?”
“A mix. A good mix. Nice.”
Cordelia yawned, stretched and stepped into her sandals. “How long was I asleep?”
“About half an hour.”
“Is that all? Felt like ages. I’ll see you upstairs. My hair feels a mess!”
Reluctantly he watched her leave the room. At the open doorway she stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
“It was kind of nice. I like cuddles, I miss being...” the wistful longing faded, replaced by a perkier smile. “If you ever need cuddles again, I’m the one!” and she was on her way.
“Yes,” he said to her retreating back, “you are.”
