By Elinora

Authors Note:

Angel and Cordelia
No pairing
Angel Season Three Hundred and Eighty-Nine

This was the result of a writing exercise which required that the story be completed in one hour.   I found it very hard to leave the story much the way I wrote it, but that was part of the exercise.   I did, however, change the placement of a few sentences and fix a few grammatical errors.   Otherwise, this is just the way I wrote it.  Part of the story, which never developed, was that Angel and Cordy had received a sort of twisted Shanshu as the result of Angel using the amulet.

Post Chosen - What might have happened...

At some point the walls started to crumble, yet the spirit of the place remains. And the spirits, too. Living and dead. They were happy here once.

When he's bored he stalks her in the hallways, scenting her breath and blood, drawn to her heat.

When he's feeling protective he follows behind her as if there was somehow still a threat to her.

Not much happening around here. Not since the crater that ate Sunnydale gulped a little further up the road, redesigning the architecture of the Southern Californian landscape before it spat up the dregs of hell onto the earth.

They are a lot closer to the ocean now, not that they appreciate it much. It doesn't glint the same way, there being no sun to set off its charms. Besides, he's hasn't been fond of the ocean since that long ago summer. He misses the palm trees. She misses the mall.

The hopeless and the helpless and the oppressed have long since ceased to be a issue, so business is a bit slow. She still waits by the phone, just in case. Maybe there's an agent out there somewhere, and she hasn't much competition for the California Girl roles.

Her hair has grown long and brown again, and if Prada still had an ambassador in the area she would be wearing strappy sandals instead of the plain bedroom slippers he found stuffed in the back of a forgotten closet. She'd be wearing sundresses, like she did when there was still a sun to warm her bare shoulders. She hasn't had a proper manicure in forever.

She still worries about such things, even though there isn't anyone to impress except Angel.

He thought things might brighten up on the day Cordelia woke from sixty years of sleep. And they did for a while, until he realized she hadn't changed any. She still gets the visions, but there isn't much he can do about them anymore. They are visions of the past now, not the future.

She still expects him to stalk out the door and save the feeble.

Sometimes he makes a big show of it. He gathers the too-shiny weapons and leaves for awhile. He walks over to the beach and looks at the damn ocean. Then he comes back and tells her everything is all right. This makes her happy for the few hours they have until her memories start to slip away again.

Most of the time he just ignores her. She follows him, then, pulling at his clothes and his arms and his hair and what remains of his sanity. She begs him to go and help, but he just hides from her until she forgets. It's quiet then, until the next vision.

He thought that he would stay with her until she died, then gracefully exit himself.   But that may be a long time coming.

She woke up looking no older than the day Jasmine stole her away. That was centuries ago, and she still looks the same.

He still keeps the amulet handy, because you never know when a new apocalypse will show up and need averting. He'd welcome it, really, because it is just so fucking boring being the Dark Defender of a dead city. Dead world. Maybe he wouldn't avert it at all. He might help it along this time.

Sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he'd given the damn thing to Buffy. Let her choose what neck to hang it around.

When they're bored, they go up on the decaying roof and gaze out over their realm.

It's their city now, no question.

Nobody else wants it.

fin