Summary: Angel goes to Cordelia. Immediately after the last scene in YW.
Notes: Very short, spontaneously conceived ficlet, given the once over by my once and future beta, the awesomely patient and eternally cool damnskippytoo
He has to gather himself for a second (an eternity) before calling the hospital back.
He tells them not to move her to the morgue, to leave her where she is until he gets there.
He takes the Plymouth just because – because
And then he’s striding down the same darkened hallway as he did two days ago, and the sudden strike to his heart catches him off guard, like the final sweep of Death’s scythe.
She was alive. She was. He felt her heart beat, right against the flat of his palm where he’d pressed it to her chest.
But he’s pressing it against her chest now and there’s no movement anymore, only the stillness that can’t be mistaken for anything other than what it was.
His fingers curl just slightly and he wills her heart to move again.
But he’s not in control of this. This one small, mortal thing and he’s never had control of it. He signed away his team and allowed himself to enter into a deal with the devil for the chance to save his son and his girl and –
One out of two isn’t bad
It was never his decision.
Or Wolfram & Hart's, as it turns out.
He leans down close and kisses her with all the love in his heart.
“I'm sorry," he whispers uselessly. "I'm so sorry."
For hiring her, for needing her. For the visions she endured, and for being too distracted by Connor to realize she was being eaten alive, right in front of him.
For saving strangers and not saving her.
But mostly for loving her.