ext_1518 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
kraken-wakes.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2004-08-25 05:59 pm
kraken-wakes.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-08-25 05:59 pm
Another Life by inamorata (NC-17)
Fandom: Angel
Author website: Shine
Pairing: Angel/Cordelia
Rating: NC-17
Why this must be read:
This is a superb and confident AU. Los Angeles is at city at its most ugly and Angel and Cordelia are the dark shadows of their canon selves but still hauntingly believable.
Cordelia doesn't meet Angel at the party and consequently, her life (and Angel's) take a very different route. Oddly enough, and I can't quite put my finger on why, there's something beautiful about this story.
Go and read it now. Run, don't walk, but have a box tissues handy.
Cordelia makes herself get up. The first thing she sees when she turns around is Ray's body lying on the ground behind her. His head is pointed in one direction and his chest in the other. The look on his face is one of dumb, stupid surprise.
Her first thought is: Talk about dumb luck, he slipped and fell too --
Then she feels her skin prickle and go cold. No one ever tripped and twisted his neck around the wrong way on the way down.
Now she realizes she isn't alone.
The figure in the shadows is standing absolutely still, blending almost perfectly with the surrounding darkness.
In the distance, Cordelia can hear the noise of traffic on the Strip, horns beeping, distant voices, the sound of human lives being lived. It's never sounded so precious or desirable. If she bolts, she might just make it back to the street --
She tenses, gets ready to flee again.
"Don't -- don't run. Please."
The voice from the shadows is hesitant, and the last word feels artificially tacked on, as if the speaker is having trouble remembering the finer points of polite conversation. But that isn't what stops Cordelia from bolting.
It's the fact that she recognizes the voice.
"Come out of there," she says. When the shadow doesn't move, she injects a note of the old haughtiness into her tone. "Come out where I can see you or I'm leaving on the count of three. One, two --"
As her tongue begins to shape the word 'three', the figure comes forward, into the reflected glare of a neon sign.
He looks a little different than she remembers him -- which is crazy, because he's the last person she'd expect to change. But there is a difference, one she can't quite isolate.
Black shirt and pants, leather and hair gel -- these things are the same. Maybe he's lost weight, if vampires can do that. Maybe his eyes are a little more sunken, his cheeks a little more hollow. Maybe he's just tired.
"Angel. Hi." Cordelia is quietly amazed at her ability to keep her voice so steady, her tone so casual. And they said she couldn't act.
"Cordelia."
If he's as surprised to see her as she is to see him, there's no indication of it in his voice. Or, for that matter in his face, although it's more difficult to tell, there: he has one hand raised, as if to hide his yellow eyes, ridged forehead and fangs. Just this once, Cordelia's grateful for the Sunnydale upbringing that makes this sight less frightening than Sugar Ray with a knife.
Angel lowers his hand; slowly, his face smoothes and his eyes darken. Cordelia isn't sure, but she doesn't remember the change taking this much time or conscious effort. "Still a vampire, then?"
He nods.
This established, Cordelia moves on to the other important question on the Angel checklist.
"Are you evil?"
"I don't think so."
It's hardly the vigorous denial Cordelia would have liked to hear. She points at the body
on the ground. "You killed him."
"He was going to rape you and then murder you."
Angel says it with as much feeling as if he were telling her that the capital of France is Paris. But it's true, and that knowledge -- how close she came to being Jane Doe on an autopsy table -- slams into Cordelia like a physical blow. She feels something inside her turn to water; her insides are sloshing around and suddenly she can't stay on her feet. She sinks down and stretches out on a bed of empty fast food containers and cigarette butts, and shuts her eyes.
Another Life by inamorata
Author website: Shine
Pairing: Angel/Cordelia
Rating: NC-17
Why this must be read:
This is a superb and confident AU. Los Angeles is at city at its most ugly and Angel and Cordelia are the dark shadows of their canon selves but still hauntingly believable.
Cordelia doesn't meet Angel at the party and consequently, her life (and Angel's) take a very different route. Oddly enough, and I can't quite put my finger on why, there's something beautiful about this story.
Go and read it now. Run, don't walk, but have a box tissues handy.
Cordelia makes herself get up. The first thing she sees when she turns around is Ray's body lying on the ground behind her. His head is pointed in one direction and his chest in the other. The look on his face is one of dumb, stupid surprise.
Her first thought is: Talk about dumb luck, he slipped and fell too --
Then she feels her skin prickle and go cold. No one ever tripped and twisted his neck around the wrong way on the way down.
Now she realizes she isn't alone.
The figure in the shadows is standing absolutely still, blending almost perfectly with the surrounding darkness.
In the distance, Cordelia can hear the noise of traffic on the Strip, horns beeping, distant voices, the sound of human lives being lived. It's never sounded so precious or desirable. If she bolts, she might just make it back to the street --
She tenses, gets ready to flee again.
"Don't -- don't run. Please."
The voice from the shadows is hesitant, and the last word feels artificially tacked on, as if the speaker is having trouble remembering the finer points of polite conversation. But that isn't what stops Cordelia from bolting.
It's the fact that she recognizes the voice.
"Come out of there," she says. When the shadow doesn't move, she injects a note of the old haughtiness into her tone. "Come out where I can see you or I'm leaving on the count of three. One, two --"
As her tongue begins to shape the word 'three', the figure comes forward, into the reflected glare of a neon sign.
He looks a little different than she remembers him -- which is crazy, because he's the last person she'd expect to change. But there is a difference, one she can't quite isolate.
Black shirt and pants, leather and hair gel -- these things are the same. Maybe he's lost weight, if vampires can do that. Maybe his eyes are a little more sunken, his cheeks a little more hollow. Maybe he's just tired.
"Angel. Hi." Cordelia is quietly amazed at her ability to keep her voice so steady, her tone so casual. And they said she couldn't act.
"Cordelia."
If he's as surprised to see her as she is to see him, there's no indication of it in his voice. Or, for that matter in his face, although it's more difficult to tell, there: he has one hand raised, as if to hide his yellow eyes, ridged forehead and fangs. Just this once, Cordelia's grateful for the Sunnydale upbringing that makes this sight less frightening than Sugar Ray with a knife.
Angel lowers his hand; slowly, his face smoothes and his eyes darken. Cordelia isn't sure, but she doesn't remember the change taking this much time or conscious effort. "Still a vampire, then?"
He nods.
This established, Cordelia moves on to the other important question on the Angel checklist.
"Are you evil?"
"I don't think so."
It's hardly the vigorous denial Cordelia would have liked to hear. She points at the body
on the ground. "You killed him."
"He was going to rape you and then murder you."
Angel says it with as much feeling as if he were telling her that the capital of France is Paris. But it's true, and that knowledge -- how close she came to being Jane Doe on an autopsy table -- slams into Cordelia like a physical blow. She feels something inside her turn to water; her insides are sloshing around and suddenly she can't stay on her feet. She sinks down and stretches out on a bed of empty fast food containers and cigarette butts, and shuts her eyes.
Another Life by inamorata