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Now we're talking about a difficult thing
So we're okay,
We're fine.
Baby, I'm here to stop your crying,
Chase all the ghosts from your head;
I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed,
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart.
We'll look at them together then we'll take 'em apart,
Adding up the total of a love that's true
Multiply life by the power of two.
~Indigo Girls "Power of Two"
Cordelia glanced across her desk at Wesley, who was leafing through the paper again, no doubt hoping to find something he could "defeat in glorious battle." After a year, Cordelia had expected the hyperactively self-important former watcher to settle down and realize that fighting evil was a job, not a recreational activity. But no matter how many near-death experiences the man had, he acted as if the whole thing was a joyous game.
Sighing, Cordelia turned her attention to the silent phone, willing it to ring. Business had improved, but not enough. With a failing acting career to further, Cordelia wanted something to fall back on that didn't hold the possibility of folding at any moment.
"Any calls?"
"What do you think?" Cordelia gave Angel a look that would have caused any normal man to wither. Angel merely nodded, acknowledging the receipt of information, and went into his office.
"I'm sure something will come along," Wesley offered with spirit.
Cordelia used her glare on him and he drew back, quietly sinking into the chair. "I thought you were a rogue demon hunter. They can't all be in L.A., can they? What about the Hellmouth? Doesn't Buffy need help too?"
She watched him shift uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, I think the two of you need me far more than Buffy. She has scads of help."
"Wesley, we don't need you." Cordelia modulated her voice carefully. Her intention was not to hurt Wesley but to make him see that he had no place in Los Angeles, especially not with her and Angel. "We had help. We had Doyle. He's been gone for a long time now and . . . and we need to move on. But with you here, everything's just weird. You're Sunnydale, you're the past. It's hard to let go of the past when it's sitting across the desk from me every minute."
Wesley attempted to hide the pain in his voice, "And Angel? He feels this way too?"
"He's never said so," Cordelia conceded, "but I know he does. Doyle was one of very few people Angel really considered a friend. When he died, I think Angel never really got the time to grieve before you showed up trying to replace him."
"I didn't mean to replace him. I just . . . I just wanted to help. I didn't even know . . ."
"I'm not saying that's what you were trying to do. In fact, I know it wasn't. I'm just saying that that's what you did. And it feels all wrong. It felt wrong then, it felt wrong three months ago and it feels wrong now. It's been a year. You need to find a life of your own."
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he was able to reply, "What brought this on?"
"I'm tired, Wesley. I'm tired of pretending that everything in my life is okay. So I'm doing something about the things I can. It gives me a feeling of control that I lost a long, long time ago."
"Very well, then." Wesley stood, obviously upset at Cordelia's coldness, and folded the paper in one hand. "I won't trouble you any longer."
"I'm sorry, Wesley. Write sometime."
"Yes. Of course." Stiffly, he walked toward the door, and after a final glance back at the blank face of the beautiful young woman behind the desk, walked out of Angel Investigations.
Angel's head appeared from inside his office. "Where did Wesley go?"
"I don't know. Away," Cordelia replied shortly, pretending to type something on the computer.
"That thing's unplugged."
"Oh. Right." She rose and plugged the cord back into its socket purposefully. "I knew that."
Her face betrayed nothing. Angel knew that to be a bad sign. "Uh, Cordelia, do you . . . Is there anything you'd . . . If you ever need to talk about . . . I'm here."
"Great."
"You need to talk."
Cordelia's head snapped up, and she looked angry for the briefest of moments. Then the venom left her eyes and form and her entire frame sagged as she fell into her chair. "It's too much. Or not enough. I mean, I came here expecting fame and fortune . . . or at least some mild critical success, you know?" When Angel nodded sympathetically, she continued, "But I've got nothing! Well, you. But I had you in Sunnydale. The only things that I've really gained here, I lost."
"Your apartment."
She considered. "Yes. I have my apartment."
"That's not what you want, though."
"Exactly. I want something better, Angel. Nothing . . . works anymore! Okay, so I find a nice guy and . . . you know. And I end up pregnant with demon babies. Great. I found another nice guy, I started dating him, I found him dancing with some skanky ho when he told me he was visiting him mom. Great. So I swear off guys and all it does is remind me . . . Ugh!" Cordelia finished.
"What does it remind you?" Angel eased into the chair formerly occupied by Wesley.
A fine sheen of tears gleamed in Cordelia's eyes. "It reminds me of what I could have had. Every time I'm with a guy now, I compare him to Doyle. I know that's stupid. I mean, what did Doyle really have to offer? Half-demon borderline alcoholic with no fashion sense who never had any money. Yep, there's my dream guy. But he really cared about me, Angel. There aren't all that many people who ever really cared about me. And that kiss right before . . . that was
"I'm too young and beautiful to be so tired and burned out! I'm like some bitter little old lady. Angel, I hate little old ladies!" She slammed her fists into the desk, hissing when she realized how much force had been behind the gesture. "Damn!"
Angel quickly moved around the desk, pulling Cordelia's chair around so that she faced him. "You need to stop dwelling on the past. I've learned the hard way that the past isn't something you can change. It's part of you, yes, but you can't let it control your life. Living in the past isn't living at all."
Perfectly-manicured hands flew into the air in a gesture of helplessness. "That's the problem! I don't decide where I live anymore. My nasty little mind does it all for me. I don't want to think about the past or worry about it. I sure as Hell don't want to live in it." She bit her lip, looking suddenly not like a tired woman but a lost girl. "How do I stop?"
"Cordelia, if I knew that . . ." Angel left the thought unfinished, gaze far away and long ago. "You have to find your own way. Nobody can tell you how to let go."
Cordelia glared up at him, knowing he was right but wanting a quick fix. "Great. Just great."
~~~~~
At home, Cordelia found herself perusing her bookshelf. The small collection of volumes came mostly from friends, gifts from people who never knew her well. As her fingertips danced across the spines, Cordelia saw a title half-forgotten. It was a book of spells and rituals Willow had sent on her last birthday. Cordelia had surmised, and rightly so, that the witch still felt lingering guilt about her role in ending Xander and Cordelia's strangely passionate relationship.
She opened the book to the first page. "A little witchy lesson might help. There are letting go spells and stuff." Settling onto the couch and trying to focus, Cordelia began reading. "Chapter One: So You Want to be a Witch? The first thing . . . Ugh! I'm already bored. Nevermind. I'll make it up as I go along."
Cordelia quickly rounded up all the candles in the house, lighting each solemnly and placing them in a rough circle in the center of the living room. She then positioned herself at the circle's center and stood silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Okay, um, powers and Goddess and . . . whoever else is listening. My life sucks." Arms crossed protectively across her chest, Cordelia continued, "It's . . . something is missing in my life. Love. I've been in love. I think I loved Xander. Maybe not . . . I must not have. I think I'd know if I had. So love's always been missing. I don't mean, like, family love. I have that. Angel's like my dad or my big brother or . . . some weird cousin you keep locked in the basement.
"I've got family. God, why is it all so hard?!" Cordelia wiped her eyes angrily with the back of her hands and stared up at the ceiling, hoping for an answer from beyond. "Oh, sure, ignore me. You might as well too." She sat in the center of the circle with a soft thump! and buried her head in arms, which were crossed over her knees. "This is stupid."
A feather-light touch on Cordelia's shoulder roused her from her bout of self-pity. "Dennis? What?" She looked around the room. He had only touched her a couple of times before, and then only to warn her of danger. Cordelia suspected that such manifestations were draining and took a lot of concentration on his part.
She felt a slight shift in the air surrounding here, a change more spiritual than physical and frowned. "What's going on?" A pad placed on her coffee table jerkily opened and the nearby pen hovered above it. A few sketchy strokes later, Cordelia mustered the courage to leave her circle of candles and look at the pad.
DOYLE, broad pen marks covering most of the small sheet proclaimed. Cordelia drew her breath in sharply and retreated back into her circle. "Doyle? You-you know where he is, or . . ." The word on the pad now boasted a bold underline. "Oh my God! Doyle! OhmyGod! How long have you been here? Why? How? Where the Hell have you been?"
Even more slowly, words began to appear on the next page of the pad, strange words that Cordelia recognized as Latin and then one more: READ. "Read them? Okay. Whatever you want." She hesitantly exited the circle and reached for the pad, then began reading the words as smoothly as she could. "There. Done. Now what . . ." A powerful blue glow from the center of the circle answered the question as it coalesced into the form of a man. Cordelia's brow furrowed. "Hey, you're not . . . Dennis! What the Hell are you doing here?" She balled a fist and stepped toward him threateningly. "This is not funny."
"Wait!" he pleaded, holding up his hands in surrender. "You needed something to give in return. You can't expect Doyle back for nothing. It would mess up the cosmic balance or something."
Skeptically, Cordelia backed off, lowering her fist. "So now what? Why did you lie to me?"
"I didn't. I never said I was Doyle. But I can help you get him back." Dennis smiled at her, suddenly looking like a shy little boy. "I wanna help."
Cordelia's shoulders sagged and she smiled back. "How can you help? Are you even real?"
"I am now, thanks to you." Continuing quickly, he began, "If you give the Powers That Be a life in exchange for the life you want back, they'll be more likely to listen to you. Give them me."
"You? But . . . Is that fair?" Cordelia asked, looking sad. "You just got alive again, and now you want me to kill you? You've never done anything to me! It wouldn't be right."
Dennis smiled a little more brightly. "Hey, I've been dead a long time. It's not so bad. It got a lot better after you showed up. I owe you. You and your friends freed me. I owe Doyle. Let me help you."
Cordelia nodded slowly. "Okay. Just tell me what to do."
The woman tilted her head and gazed at Cordelia with her electric blue eyes. "You wish his life? After so much time has passed? Your friend pleaded this already."
Her companion crossed in front of her, the same intense eyes boring holes in Cordelia. "What more do you have to offer than the vampire did?"
Raising her head confidently, she turned and called, "Hey, Dennis, c'mon in!" She grinned and looked back at the Oracles. "I can offer you Dennis, his life."
The woman frowned. "He should already be dead. His life . . . How does he live?"
"Not so all-knowing now, are ya?" Cordelia asked with a smirk. "So, deal? It's the only way you can fix him being all alive. And Doyle being dead," she added more softly. "Do you guys want to restore balance or what? This whole dang thing is screwy. Fix it."
The Oracles leaned in together for a moment, then bowed to Cordelia and Dennis. "It will be done," the woman intoned solemnly and not without a hint of resentment.
For the second time in an hour, Dennis began to glow, this time with a vibrant green light. He faded to the point of nothingness, then another form began to appear. Cordelia crossed her fingers and prayed silently. The light became too bright to look at and she turned away, shielding her eyes. A moan from the floor brought her out of the reflexively protective position. "Doyle!" She rushed over to the man, tears in her eyes. His clothes were every bit as ugly as she remembered and he looked even paler than usual. Cordelia had never seen anything so beautiful. "Doyle?"
He opened his eyes and looked up, blinking a few times before asking, "Delia?"
"It's me. And you're you!" The Oracles had disappeared or she would have kissed them both. She settled for grinning like an idiot at Doyle. "Are you okay? Do you feel alive?"
"Painfully so, yeah." Doyle sat up with Cordy's assistance. "Places hurt that I didn't know I had." He looked back at Cordelia, smiling a little. "So you got me back, huh?"
She shook her head. "It was mostly Dennis. I just helped a little." Tears sprang suddenly to her eyes as she stared at Doyle. "I can't believe you're here, right in front of me." Cordelia reached out a hand and touched his cheek, smiling at how warm and real he felt, a tear finally spilling down her cheek. "I missed you."
Doyle stood still, stunned by the depth of her feeling. He knew she cared, but he had never guessed how much. "I missed you too, Princess."
Cordelia smiled, then looked around them. "We should probably go find Angel," she pointed out reluctantly. "He'll want to see you too."
"In a minute. One thing first." Leaning forward, Doyle kissed Cordelia, his lips gentle, barely touching hers. Her arms were around his neck at once, pulling him tighter, deepening the kiss. When the embrace finally ended, Doyle smiled. "Now we can go see Angel."
Returning the smile, Cordelia nodded and held his hand tightly. "Together."