Author: Kat Lee
Challenge/Prompt: 1_million_words Weekend Challenge: Sketch
Warning(s): Cannon Character Death, Christian Thoughts
Word Count: 929
Date Written: 16 January 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
She can see every intricate detail of each drawing as she walks into the room, only she doesn’t really walk into it. She doesn’t walk anywhere any more. She only remembers it, as she does all her life. That’s all she does any more: is remember. That’s all she can do until the rest of her family get here. Doyle’s here, but he’s as boring in death as he was in life. Her pony is here, as well, and there are times when she enjoys riding him through the clouds. Today isn’t one of those days, though. The clouds look as gloomy from above as they do from below. There just isn’t rain pouring out of them up here. Regardless, it isn’t the type of weather in which anyone rides, or goes anywhere when they have a choice.
Even if Angel is stalking down yet another nest. He’s always moving, always doing something, always trying to stay one step ahead of the memories that haunt him. She wonders if she’s in those memories or if she’s only in the good ones. She frowns, a tear tracing down her cheek, because she already knows the truth. She’s in both. Jasmine ruined her. She destroyed her heart, body, and almost her soul. Angel still doesn’t understand why she did the things she did, that those things were not actions of her own choosing, and she knows those memories, especially the ones where she chose Connor -- her son, of all people! -- over him will always be in the images that haunt him.
There isn’t a single moment that goes by that she doesn’t wish things were different. She longs to still be alive, to still be with him, but more so by far, she wishes she could take back the past. Not the good things, of course. Not the moments when they raised Connor together or when she could see the love he felt for her in the depths of his rich, dark eyes but never dared voice. Those were the happiest, most treasured times of her life.
But there are so many things she would take back if she could. His love for Buffy, her affair with Xander, her fling with Wesley, her choice of Groosalugg over him not because she ever loved Groo but because it was easier, safer, to choose him instead of the only man she ever really did love. Most of all, she’d take back that night when she made the worst decision of her life. She’d never open that door on that bridge. Hell, knowing what she knows now, she’d never be on that bridge to begin with! She never would have gone with Jasmine, never would have believed that she, of all people, was being called to be a Higher Being, never would have kissed away her life and any chance she’d ever had of true happiness in one single, stupid moment of self sacrifice . . .
But what is done is done. She can no more change the past than she can dye her hair color up here. It’s brown no matter how many times she thinks of dying it blonde. That’s the way God made her, and it’s the way it stays up here in Heaven. Besides, she never really wanted to be blonde. She never once believed that old adage that blondes have more fun. She’d only ever tried the lighter color because she’d wanted Angel to act on his feelings for her. She’d wanted him to admit he loved her, and up until her, he’d only ever loved blondes like Buffy and Darla. Even Kate, who had held his attention for a while, had been blonde.
Still, she knows the truth. She knew it before he did even and long before either of them was willing to admit it aloud or act on it. He loves her. He has for years, and when he finally gets up, she’ll be able to tell him that she’s loved him for years too. She’s not entirely sure when she finished falling for him. She’d had feelings for him since the moment she first set eyes on his salty goodness in Sunnydale, but those had only been sexual pinings based entirely on physical attraction. What she feels for him goes far beyond physical and far beyond anything else she ever felt for anyone else: She loves him. She truly, dearly, completely loves him.
She had had doubts that he could ever love her, but those had all been erased the moment she’d walked into that room in that alternate universe. He had sketched her image on the walls and on the papers strewn across the floor. He hadn’t been supposed to know her, to remember her, but he had been unable to forget the image of his soul mate. She smiles, knowing they are soul mates, and the clouds seem almost to lift with her mood. Maybe she will go riding Keanu today after all.
“Pinin’ away fer ‘im again, are ye?” Doyle calls, but Cordy shakes her head.
“No,” she answers, and her voice sings like a breeze through the lifting clouds. “I’m just waiting,” she says. That’s all she can do for now -- wait and remember -- but one day, her wait will be over at long last. One day, he’ll be here, and this time, he’ll be in her arms. This time, there will be no reason for them not to admit their love, and when they do, they’ll have an eternity to act on that love. She smiles, laughs musically and joyously, and waits.