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Title: Tiny Mistakes
Author: Morgan R. (Lshallot@juno.com)
URL: http://www.geocities.com/crimsonclad/fanfic.htm,
http://www.escribe.com/movies/bbf/search.html?query=lshallot&mt=&th=&c=30
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Cordelia gets fed up with Angel's behavior.
Spoilers: The Trial
Feedback: I would love it, listen to it, keep it forever. 
Disclaimer: WB et al own everything and everyone
Note: I am so tired of Angel blowing everyone off. No 
excuses. 
NEW AUTHOR'S NOTE: I posted this before Reunion. 
Starting to think I went soft on him, because man, I want to 
hit him...

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"Okay, as tiny mistakes go, that's *not* one." -- Cordelia, 
"To Shanshu in LA" 

**** 

Angel heard Cordelia's footsteps on the stairs, and the 
corners of his mouth turned even farther down. He wasn't 
in the mood for a lecture, for sympathy, even for a vision. 
He wanted to stare in to the darkness and find some sort of 
numbness he could cling to with his tired hands. 

Her footsteps had stopped, but he could smell her perfume, 
and he realized she was still standing outside. She was 
probably trying to figure out how to approach him. She 
could knock softly, timidly, or rap on the wood firmly, 
opting for the strength she found in irritation. 

Angel growled. 

It was more out of anticipation than anger, but he heard a 
sharp intake of breath outside his door. Though she didn't 
sound surprised, exactly- 

It was then that he realized her breathing had been uneven 
ever since her first approach. 

He was on the verge of stalking over to yank the door open 
and surprise her into a reaction. 

She beat him to it. 

He jumped at the slamming, shattering impact of some 
unidentified object smashing into his door. Her footsteps 
retreating downstairs were the only sound to follow, and 
some part of him felt almost betrayed that she hadn't said a 
word. 

He walked over to the door with a hesitancy that he 
disliked, opening it only to look at the remains of the 
broken thing on the floor. 

There was broken glass everywhere, and in the middle of 
the weeping fragments lay the back of a picture frame. He 
bent down to flip it over and swore at what it had been 
holding before its demise. 

The yellow sheet of legal notepaper still held year old 
wrinkles that no iron could completely erase. The pencil 
sketch stared up at him accusingly from the dark carpeting. 

Downstairs, he heard the hotel's front door slam. 

**** 

"Cordelia, wait!" Wesley's voice rang out over the front 
courtyard. 

Through his open window, Angel could hear their voices 
clearly, and he hurried over to see them, sheltering himself 
behind one of the dark curtains. She was halfway to her car, 
her bag slung over her shoulder. 

"Wesley, just forget it." 

"You can't just leave." 

"Whatever. I'm taking the afternoon off." 

"Yes, but when will you be back?" 

"Tomorrow morning, Wesley. I *work* here, remember?" 

The stress laid upon the word was not lost on either of the 
men who were listening. 

Angel watched as Wesley walked closer, his hand 
outstretched. "Please, don't do this." 

"It's done, Wesley." Her voice was cold, though Wesley 
was not he one who had inspired it. 

"You loved that picture. You wept with joy when we found 
out it hadn't been destroyed in the fire. You wrapped it in 
four layers of bubble wrap when we moved-" 

"That was when it meant something, Wesley. When all of 
this meant something. But he threw all of it away, and it's 
only decent of me to return the gesture." 

(So much broken glass, slivers embedded in the carpet...) 

"Cordelia, Angel's just-" 

"Do you remember what I said when I framed that 
drawing? "This, I frame for saving my life, and as a 
reminder that something of Doyle's is here in our office." 
Well, guess what, Wesley? Nothing of Doyle is still with 
us. There's no laughter and no goodwill and no love. Doyle 
is dead, and everything wonderful he ever gave to us is 
dead because Angel doesn't want it anymore. He doesn't 
want our concern and he doesn't want us, so I'm not going 
to cling to something that only makes the memories hurt 
more. 

The day I drew it, Angel looked at me and saw me. Not an 
inconvenience. I drew that picture in his apartment, on his 
couch. I ironed it out on his kitchen table as he made me 
breakfast. Now, we aren't even allowed on his floor, let 
alone in his room. So he can destroy himself and worry 
about someone who never knew how to be anything other 
than selfish, but I reserve the right to not care anymore." 

Angel watched in silence. Wesley would change her mind, 
make her come back- 

"Fair enough." 

She nodded, grateful for his unwavering support. "Tell 
Virginia I said hi when you see her tonight- I don't think I'll 
make it." 

"Well, if you change your mind, she was really hoping to 
see you. Think about it." 

She nodded. "I will. Have fun and don't worry, okay?" 

She kissed his cheek and left, and her back was straight 
because she was right. 

**** 

When Angel woke up the next morning, the glass was 
gone, but he smelled Wesley, and he knew that Cordelia 
was no longer interested in anything on the second floor. 

He walked downstairs, hearing her laughter, trying to 
convince himself that he wasn't nervous. That she had 
already regretted everything from the day before. 

"Gunn! Stop it! That tickles!" she squealed. Wesley's 
laughter underscored their merriment, and for a moment, 
everything was fine- 

Until they saw him. 

"Thanks, milady. I'd better get back to my boys." 

"You should really get an internet hookup at your place, 
Gunn. Then you could do demon searches without my 
help." 

"But then I'd never see you. Okay, I'm out- I'll call you 
guys later." 

Gunn was not as good an actor as Cordelia. There was 
resentment in his eyes, and he wasn't ready to pretend that 
nothing was wrong. 

But for her sake, he would say nothing. 

As the door closed behind him, Angel turned back to 
Cordelia's coolly professional face. She held out a slip of 
paper. 

"Address." 

The first line of the paper said "Darla and Dru's place," and 
he didn't even look at the address before raising his 
shocked eyes to her face. 

"Vision. Apparently the PTBs are still paying attention." 

She turned away, and nothing was fine, so he had to try 
something. 

"Cordelia-" 

He ignored the warning in her eyes and he plunged in 
headfirst for the second time that week. 

(This was no swimming pool-) 

It went better the first time. 

She didn't look at him as she cut him off. 

"Eleanora Fisher desperately wants me to play a new 
recurring character on the show 'Every Mountain.' I told her 
I couldn't quit my other job, but if you try to finish that 
sentence, she won't have to find someone else." 

The phone rang, and she answered it with a voice so 
cheerful that he was almost certain he had imagined 
everything. 

"Angel Investigations! Oh, hi, David! Thank you so much 
for your recommendation on that loan. You were a 
godsend. I might have to drop by your place later this year, 
wearing something slinky like, oh, say, our tax forms and a 
calculator." 

He walked upstairs to wait for darkness as she laughed in a 
voice that would never again be for him. 

**** 

He pretended to leave at dusk, sweeping downstairs with a 
grim determination. But he stayed hidden behind the door 
to the basement, the address in his pocket, waiting and 
listening, hoping. 

"I don't really think your new campaign is going to have 
constructive results, Cordelia." 

She snorted. "Yeah, because caring about him and being 
ignored did wonders. Besides, it didn't look like he minded. 
He's been begging us to leave him alone for months, so he 
can't be annoyed not that I'm doing exactly what he wanted. 
With Cordelia Chase, you get what you ask for." 

Wesley sighed, but he was past reprimanding and into 
commiseration. 

"You know," Cordelia continued, her voice sounding a bit 
wistful, "when I was a little girl, my mother always told me 
that if I ever stopped being a bitch, people would lose all 
respect for me. And she was right, the whole time." 

There was a moment of shocked silence. 

"Your mother told you that?" Wesley asked in a voice that 
ached. 

"Oh, yeah. Most consistently true piece of advice I've ever 
gotten. It happened with Xander, it happened with Angel. 
I'm waiting for you to treat me like crap, Wesley." Her 
voice was heartbreakingly light, and she wasn't joking at 
all. 

Angel peered into the room just in time to see Wesley hug 
her, his face soft. 

"I'll tell you what. Why don't I convince Virginia to get out 
of this museum opening tonight. You can call Gunn, even 
David if you like. We can order dinner in and just have fun 
over at your place. Play cards with Dennis, if he promises 
not to cheat." 

Her smile was another sun forbidden to their spying 
employer. 

As they walked out the front door together, he remembered 
driving a stake into Darla's back. He remembered hating 
her with a startling clarity, because he had tasted life and 
laughter and even love with a bright young girl and Darla 
had dragged him back down. She had broken his 
connection with something undeservedly wonderful 
because of her selfish belief that she owned him. 

Perhaps it was time to stop proving her right. 


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