Title: Aftermath
Rating: PG
First Posted: June 12, 2001
Notes: Post "Epiphany" and pre "Belonging".
"Aftermath" is a direct follow-on from the events in "Praeludere", the Cordelia/Giles segment of this series. We are now back in the land of C/A!
"Aftermath" will be taking on a part-journal, part-talking to yourself and part-dialogue style. It works for me, I hope it works for you!
Dedication: This chapter is specially for Wren, who bravely endured all the Cordelia/Giles that I threw at her in "Praeludere". Thanks also to the regulars at the fantastic "Stranger Things" for all the fabulous feedback on "Praeludere". You're tremendous!
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
Part 2
I’m going to write it all down. Everything. Oh, not the little unimportant ‘today I bought a new pair of shoes’ (hell, I wish!) or ‘last night we mangled a Esach demon’, but the stuff I think and feel and why I think and feel and what happens to me. Sounds egotistical, huh. Anyway if someone asks me 'why?' in fifteen or twenty years time, I can tell them. What are the odds it will be me asking myself all the questions? Angel said he would, too but I don’t know if he was just saying ‘yes’ to keep me happy. I don’t want to nag him so I won’t ask again until tomorrow.
A week or so after the ‘you did what with Giles?’ incident we went on that outer-limits trip to Pylea and well, life was crazy for a few days - before, during and after. Like a bad, fuzzy dream. Mostly bad. Groo was - hell, what was I thinking? I kissed him? Forget it, that’s insignificant compared to my life now.
I didn’t realise until well after we got back. There were all the horrendous Buffy issues and settling Fred in and to be honest I simply lost count. I remember being totally relieved that nothing happened when we were in Pylea, ‘cause I just know that the Stayfree franchise doesn’t extend to other dimensions. Yet. I had this god-awful visual of feminine hygiene out there. That phrase ‘wearing the rags’ kind of rang true for Pylean ‘cows’ - ugh!
So take a breath, Cord. You are nattering on again. Breathe and focus. I need the time to think but when I do have time I want to avoid it... not the actual actual reality, but I want to avoid rationalising it all. That is too hard. Wanna talk about decorating the nursery? I’m there. Wanna talk about responsibilities and visions and telling Giles and terminations and weighing my life against our life and I shut down. Or I crawl into bed and have the teeniest cry. Not a real bawling cry. A small weep. Doesn’t count as crying. Not really. ‘Cause Cordelia Chase doesn’t cry!
Yeah, yeah, I told myself this would be honest. So, I cried. No-one saw.
I told Angel. I didn’t even think first, the words just blurted out as soon as I discovered I was pregnant.
I freaked.
Lost it.
Panicked.
I used one of those home-test kits in the downstairs bathroom at the Hotel. Three of them. In case one was faulty. But they all came up ‘positive’, ‘pregnant’...having a baby. That means there is a living child inside me right now and I still don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I can do. Angel said I can do anything if I really want to. Sweet, supportive, but not true. He think’s I’m tough. He has no clue. I’ve never had a baby before. Geesh, I couldn’t even look after my Goldfish in eighth grade. Gee, eighth grade... no visions, no Angel, no Giles.
I’m rambling. Take another breath. I have to be strong, I have to think clearly, I have to survive.
I started to tell you what Angel said. I’ll try and remember how it went...
"Angel, help me!"
"I'm here, Cordy. Hey, hey, what's wrong?"
“Angel, you have to tell me what to do!”
“About what, Cordelia?”
“I’m dreaming, right? This is a post-portal or post-vision, hallucino-jeanie something, huh?”
“Cordelia, sit down... you’re awake, you haven’t had a vision... have you?”
“Please? Wake me up, now. I’m dreaming, no I’m nightmaring that I’m pregnant. It’s not true.”
“Cord... say that again, slowly.”
“Wake me up? I’m pregnant?”
“Jesus.”
“You have to tell me I’m asleep.”
“Cordelia... you've gotta snap out of this... you are awake and I can’t say it isn’t true, because... I’m sorry, Cordy, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”
“What am I going to do?”
“You... you’ll be fine. You are Cordelia Chase. You can do the toughest stuff... I know you can. You do it every day.”
“Giles said there would be no consequences because you know, I’d been telling him about Wilson and demon-babies and the crap in my life and he said no consequences... we both agreed... no consequences... but being pregnant is a consequence isn’t it Angel so he lied to me didn’t he and I must have lied to him, somewhere because we both said no strings and he said no consequences, no consequences... but that’s all wrong because I have a consequence growing in my tummy... and I don’t know what to do...”
“Shh, shhh, you’ll be fine... we’ll be fine... whatever you want to do Cordelia, I’ll be there for you...”
But I lied. I guess it must be a guy thing or a souled-vampire thing because I just wanted her to be okay. So I told her the things I thought she needed to hear. You’ll be fine. I’ll be there for you. Whatever you want to do.
What do I know?
I don’t need this. Not now. There’s just too much going wrong and I don’t know what to do. How can I help her when I can’t find my own way? Why couldn’t she tell me in a few months? Shit, Angel, yeah do your usual, run and hide when the crap hits the fan. This one is not going to go away. Not unless Cordelia actually goes through with some of the alternatives she ended up muttering into my shirt. And the problems arising from those decisions will fade away over night? Yeah, right. We’ll be living with the aftermath of her fucking fucking Giles for a long long time, whatever else she does. But I told her I’d be there. How the hell can I promise that? I’m not honest with myself, I’m not honest with Cordelia, I could go off the rails at any minute, decide I can’t go on without another fucking epiphany...
And now she wants me to keep a fucking journal. Can I swear in this fucking thing? Everything is fucked, so why not this? Can I write fuck, fuck, fuck on all the freaking pages, can I fill it with total and utter fucking fuck??????
So this is my journal, Cordelia. My contribution to the life of your unborn, maybe never to be born, child.
Fuck.
I’ll have to tear this page out and start again. Writing obscenities on a clean white sheet of paper felt liberating and powerful, for all of twenty seconds. After twenty seconds I looked at the page and I cried. Crying felt liberating, but not powerful, for almost thirty seconds. Crying hurt. Crying wasn’t going to sort out this mess.
I want to help her. I want to bleed for her. Only, there isn’t too much left of me that isn’t bruised, shattered or broken already, but whatever’s left, yeah, it’ll break and bleed, for her.
I’m a selfish bitch.
I’ve been told often enough but now I know for sure. Uber-bitch, not of Sunnydale... uber-bitch of L.A.
I had hopes there might be some layers of me that had escaped full on bitch contamination - god. I nearly wrote impregnation. But there's no hope, not now.
Angel came over this evening, late. I was in bed. Me and my teddy bear had been having one of those not-really-crying weeps.
I thought I was a mess. He must have been crying before he got here. His eyes were blood-shot and puffy.
Geesh, I just couldn’t wait to put crap on him, could I? We had all the going-round-the-bend-Darla-crazy and the one man army against Wolfram and Hart and then he came back to us and we were starting to rebuild ourselves and each other and then I slept with Giles and we hadn’t really dealt with those issues before we were dragged into the hell-hole of Pylea and he had all the inner demon stuff and I had my own demons and we came back to find Willow and then he had to deal with all the heart-breaking Buffy stuff and he isn’t over that before I lay my new problems on him. Couldn’t wait, huh?
Bitch.
Angel didn’t tell me he was in an emotional junk-yard, not at first. He thought he could convince me he had knocked on my door at 11.30 to make sure I was okay. I had to bully him to make him sit down and give me the story. He said there was too much going on in his head and he had to get some of it out.
He had to talk. Would I listen?
He began to tell me about her.
About Darla.
Sleeping with Darla.
