Title: Into That Good Night
Author: Chrystler
Disclaimer: The following characters are the property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Mutant Enemy Productions, 20th Century Fox, etc., etc. They are used without permission, intent of infringement or expectation of profit.
Summary: Cordelia is ready to go gently. Others aren't ready to let her.
Rating: PG-13, but deals with themes of mortality and towards the end sex will factor in to the equation. Doesn't it always?.
Spoilers: Up to 'Billy' and based upon spoilers and speculation for 'Birthday'.
Author's Notes: I'm ignoring the whole AJ arc until I know where its going and can decide whether or not it warrants inclusion in my personal canon view. :) So Darla hasn't shown up, but Cordelia knows about her and Angel. *__* Indicates italics.
Distribution: If anyone wants it, please ask.
Dedication: To Claudia for the encouragement.
Feedback: The good, the bad and the ugly to [email protected]

Chapter 1

Wesley closed the large tome with a heavy sigh that caught inside his chest. He didn't need to look at the young women in front of him to know she was frozen rigid. It didn't take vampiric senses to be able to feel the waves of tension emanating from her body. His body felt leaden. His heart, tight and weighty. His throat, dry and hollow. The former Watcher took off his glasses and rubbed at the already spotless lenses. A futile gesture to delay the inevitable. To stall the awful moment when he would have to look into those hazel eyes and see reflected there the terrible knowledge of their owner's fate.

Cordelia remained stock still, hardly breathing despite her racing mind and churning stomach. So it was true. That which she'd always known yet always hoped to be proved wrong. That which she'd denied - to herself for as long as physically possible and to the others for even longer - was now that which could not be pushed away. Could not be ignored or neglected, any less than it had ever been able to be forgotten.

Her eyes watched the pale figure of her friend slowly place his glasses back on his nose, her mind hardly acknowledging his presence.

"Cordelia," his voice was uncharacteristically husky. The un-Wesley-ness of the tone brought her out of her numb reverie. Her eyes locked with his steely blue ones, filled with such pain, such tenderness, such love. The swell of emotion registered with a start in the dim recess of her brain that wasn't still anaesthetized by the book's findings. All this, for her? Her mouth twitched into a small surprised smile almost unconsciously.

"It's okay, Wesley. I knew. I guess I already knew," her voice came out in bursts, but it was much steadier and clearer than she'd thought it would be. Be strong, Chase, she resolved internally, you have to be. For them. And it won't be for long.

"It's not okay, Cordelia. None of this is 'okay'," the words were spat out with a fervid ferocity. Wesley's burst of intensity took her a little by surprise. This was an Angel-level emotional release; white rage and stubborn steel.

She reached out, placing a steadying hand on his arm. He whipped his head away but let her fingers remain on his forearm gently moulding his flesh beneath their tips. When she spoke, however, her voice possessed a hard edge.

"Hey! So, no. It's not 'okay', but what can we do, Wes? This isn't a big bad demon you guys can go kill with your pointy swords and kick-ass axes! And now we know there isn't a pretty little answer, all tied up with string, just waiting to be found in one of your big old books!"

Here she grabbed a large volume from the desk and let it drop, the pages exuding clouds of dust as it hit the counter with a bang. Wesley flinched slightly.

"Look at me. *Look* at me, Wes!" Cordelia realized her voice teetered on the shrill. She took a breath, fighting to keep back the simultaneous urges to cry and smash things into tiny pieces. When Wesley turned back to face her the tears were in his eyes.

"I'm dying, Wes. The visions are going to kill me. This puny little human body can't handle them and all the Champions, and former Rogue Demon Hunters, and Renegade Street Vamp Fighters, and Physics Genii in the world can't change that."

She spoke with a even finality that caused each word to whip across Wesley's chest with greater force than desperate emotion would have done. His face drained an even whiter shade of pale than before, but he managed to mutter in a tone almost suggestive of defiance, "You don't know that."

Cordelia held his gaze for a beat and bit her lip.

"Yes. Yes. I do." She lied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Englishman was still noticeably shaky, but his emphasis had shifted from his own horror and shock to an overwhelming concern for the young seer whose life hanged in the balance. He managed to pour the tea without spilling too much scalding liquid over the table, automatically added sugar and milk to Cordelia's cup and just a splash of the latter to his own. Picking up the tray, he wove his way around the reception desk towards the circular sofa in the center of the lobby on which the brunette girl was curled, hugging her knees to her chest.

She took the cup he offered, glancing up her thanks, and was once again taken back by the worry and tender sadness etched over the former Watcher's handsome regular features. He sank down next to her.

"How long have you known?" he asked softly, not catching her eye.

She considered her answer. "Articulately? Since Pylea. Instinctively? A lot longer. Maybe as long as I've had them."

She gestured at her head, indicating the migraine-inducing visions.

"I didn't want to acknowledge it, I suppose, until the pain became so bad and I couldn't keep *not* realizing it any longer."

Wesley studied her face. She looked tired, drawn. The eyes that for so long had alternately sparkled light and flashed fire, equally to his amusement and annoyance, were dull and sunken. But that wasn't the worst thing he could see in her face. The most painful thing to behold was the calm. A blanket of resignation muffled her beautiful features. Cordelia, who had never backed down from a fight, wasn't even going to front up for this one.

Wesley felt as though his skin had been grazed on the inside, the wounds raw and oozing. He trembled involuntarily, and instantly hated himself for being so weak when her saw her expression morph into a look of concern. *She* was dying and she was worried about *him*.

With effort, he pulled himself together.

"What happened in Pylea?" he questioned, the researcher in him taking over as the friend quailed.

Damn you, Wesley, she thought, is there no detail you'll let drop?

"Nothing really," Cordelia replied out loud, sipping her tea attentively to avoid looking into his face, "I guess, you could say I had... what was that thing that Angel had just before he came back to us?"

"An epiphany?" offered Wesley.

"Yep. That's it. One o' those." she tried for a flash of a grin and it almost came off. Before Wesley could point out that something must have sparked her moment of realization, she blurted out, "You can't tell him."

"What?"

"Angel. You've got to promise me you won't tell him."

"Cordelia, I..."

"Please, Wesley, I'll never ask you for another thing. 'Cause well, I'll be dead and all soon enough. But even so, you have to promise me, Wes. He can't know. Not until it happens."

Wesley stared at her in confusion. What could possibly be gained from not telling Angel? On the contrary, maybe they *could* find a way to prevent the visions taking the seer's life.

"What can't Angel know until it happens?"

The two friends on the couch swung round hurriedly in the direction of the voice issuing the terse enquiry.

"Oh great!" breathed Cordelia through gritted teeth.

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She hadn't expected any of this to be easy but she also hadn't expected things to go so far awry from her plan. Damn him to hell for that vampiric, noiseless-sneaking-up ability. But then, thought Cordelia, being a vampire, the damning to hell thing was pretty much a given.

She slumped back on the couch and closed her eyes. Now there was going to be the scene. The one she'd wanted so much to avoid, when all her little secrets came spilling out in one ugly, messy heap. All of them. Even the ones she'd vowed he'd never know. She'd only wanted to spare him more guilt and anguish, and herself the loss of all and any dignity she may have remaining. After the pain worsened and she'd been forced to realize the unvarnished truth, that Groo had been right and humans weren't supposed to bear the force of TPTB's inter-cranial messaging service, she had cried and screamed and punched walls and eventually, over time, become resigned to her suspected fate. He *never* would. She knew him well enough to know that. Knew him almost too well. She felt the shift of weight as Wesley stood up beside her, and let her head slip into her hands, all too aware of what was bound to follow.

The vampire repeated his query, urgency joining the suspicion in his tone as he glanced from Wesley's tense form to Cordelia's huddled one.

"What can't I know?"

Wesley inhaled slowly in anticipation of speech. Cordelia squeezed her eyes tighter shut.

"Angel, I think you might want to sit down."

"I really don't think I do, Wes. I think I want to know what the hell's going on," his eyes flashed, impatience driven by a sudden wave of fear.

Wesley glanced apprehensively at the speaker's imposing figure, noting the tension resonating in his every muscle. This was too big to be kept hidden, no matter what Cordelia might mistakenly feel was for the best. Angel now knew she wanted to keep secrets from him, which meant there was no way he'd be content to let the matter drop. He would have to know everything. The greatest thing Wesley could do for the ill-fated seer now was to bear the burden of breaking the news to one rather highly-strung, unpredictable vampire himself.

He leaned down and spoke softly into Cordelia's ear, "Go."

She quickly brought up her head from her hands, bewildered, "What?"

"Go. I'll fill Angel in on the situation. I have a feeling things are likely to get broken and that's not what you need right now, so go."

She looked up at him amazed, grateful, touched. Wesley was perhaps the greatest friend any girl could have.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, rising from the couch and hurrying to grab her coat from behind the desk.

She passed within a foot of Angel, stood in the lobby arms folded across his chest, seconds away from implosion, but never once glanced in his direction.

She was strides away from the door when the voice she could hardly bear to hear spoke again.

"Hold it right there!" Angel commanded icily, "You're not going anywhere until someone tells me what this is about."

She shot Wesley a pleading look. She couldn't. She just couldn't. She'd rather drop dead on the spot than have to remain there watching Angel shatter into little pieces in front of her eyes. Then worse, spectate helplessly as he leaped into his inevitable knee-jerk denial. Hear him demanding that it simply wasn't going to happen. That she would live. That they would find a way to save her. Him finding a way was what she dreaded most of all.

Her co-conspirator responded to her silent request with chivalrous strength. Tapping into those hidden reserves of steel that had taken such a battering of late, Wesley drew himself up and contradicted the vampire with even firmer orders of his own.

"Cordelia, leave. Angel, go into the office and pour us both a drink. I think we'll both be grateful for something to dull the pain when you smash your fist through my desk."

Cordelia smiled inwardly. Dry. Businesslike. That was more like the Wesley she knew and loved. The one who would stand tall for her until the end. She headed to the door and pushed at it, almost out into the sunlit street when she risked stealing a glance in Angel's direction. His dark eyes were fixed upon her, his handsome face creased into a frown of worry and confusion. Cordelia's heart caught in her throat, suspending her body for a second before she rediscovered her legs and ran. Ran from the hotel. Ran from him. Out into the light where he couldn't follow. Soon she'd be going somewhere else he wouldn't be able to follow.

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt the damp patch on her shirt where the drops of saltwater had landed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wearily, Wesley reached down to rescue a chair from its resting place on the floor. Just one of the many casualties the Hyperion fixtures and fittings had sustained in the onslaught of Hurricane Angel. He dragged it to the desk, avoiding the priceless ancient tomes slung carelessly over the floor, noting superficially the 14th-century volume sticking incongruously through the broken glass of the computer screen. Shards of monitor had joined the pieces of ceramic mug and crystal vase in creating a mosaic of destruction against the art-deco tiles of the hotel floor.

Angel was nothing if not thorough, he mused sadly, as he picked up one of the books to restart a search he already knew to be futile and sank down on to the seat.

"Owwww! Bloody hell!"

His exclamation melded with the now familiar sound of splintering wood echoing in the empty lobby. A painful jolt of hard floor meeting soft buttock coursed through his already aching body. It turned out the chair's injuries had been more serious than had first appeared. The man who had faced adversity over and over again in the form of demons, vampires, lawyers, zombie cops and hell-dimensions, sat among the strewn debris of the Hyperion Hotel and, for the first time in along time, allowed his head to yield to his heart.

The tear-choked howls carried on the still air out into the remorselessly indifferent late afternoon California sun.