Coming Back To Life Is Hard: French Parks And Telephones
by inlovewithangel
It was strange to walk alongside him, after so many years of being so far apart. His presence was warm and welcoming, as it always had been, and I felt comforted in the fact that it was to him that I had confessed my horrible secret. We were trying to keep the conversation light, but that meant not saying a whole lot more than we were saying.

Finally, after a long time of commenting upon the beauty of the city and how well we both looked, I cleared my throat, and motioned with my head to a park bench. Xander knew that I was suggesting digging into deeper issues now, and so he gave a short nod and followed me.

“In the last few years,” I began, “after I left…what happened in Sunnydale?” I had been dying to know for a long time. My life was full in LA, but I always felt like I had somehow turned my back on my past. I had grown up there, my family, many of my friends remained and yet I walked away from that small town, and did not look back. Before, I claimed that it was because I did not need to, what was there? Now, I was able to admit that it was for fear of seeing my old life, seeing who I used to be, seeing all the pain I caused and felt—I, at once, hated the girl I had been, and envied her. Hated her for the pain she doled out to others to mask her own, and envied her for the simplicity of her existence. And now I wanted to know. What happened?

It was not a difficult question, not the most painful I could’ve asked, or so I thought. But Xander’s features melted into a mask of exhaustion and anger and sadness, and I immediately tried to search my brain for a more appropriate question.

“A lot, Cordy. A lot happened.” Xander sighed and looked out over the park. It was nearing summer, and a warm breeze floated across our faces and I watched, entranced, as it ruffled Xander’s black hair like a mother patting the head of a loved son. He glanced back at me quickly. “How many times did you visit? Once, twice?” he asked me. Was that anger I heard in his voice?

I looked down at the ground, ashamed. “Once,” I admitted.

As soon as I felt Xander’s eyes leave me, I glanced back up, now staring at his profile. “Things got bad, pretty quick. I don’t know why…or how, but things seemed different than in high school. Everything was more difficult. Every decision, every demon, a little more trying. People were dying. Joyce, Buffy, Tara... And we were trying to grow up in the midst of all this. We were trying to figure out how to live, how to be adults.” He glanced at me sheepishly. “I don’t think we’ve quite figured out how to be adults yet. I mean…it wasn’t easy.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, turning his eyes up to the blue sky. “And what about you? In LA?”

I sighed, fixing my gaze on the ground. “Well, I went there to become an actress.” I paused. The notion seemed absolutely preposterous now. Nothing was more trivial and unimportant to me as performing, now. “It got clear pretty quick that I wasn’t going to be an actress. Angel needed me.” I felt Xander bristle beside me at the mention of the vampire’s name. “I had these visions…these visions that were tearing up my head—my body, my life. God, there was nothing like that pain. And then…well, Angel went through some really bad times, almost turned over to the dark side and slept with a really questionable and skanky person.”

Xander was shaking his head, his eyes squeezed shut.

“What?” I asked.

“Just sounds really, really familiar.”

I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Could Buffy have…? I shrugged it away. There would be much more time for questions and details later. “He came back…but wasn’t the same. And he’s never been hopeful, really. It wore down on me. I adopted some of his outlooks. It was horrible—I mean, a twenty one year old without hope?” I shook my head, sighing.

Xander was staring at me, pity in his eyes. “We always had hope,” he told me. “I mean, even when there was nothing to be hopeful about…one of us—someone—was bound to be hoping about something. It was…nice. I mean, at some points it was annoying, but, in the end…it was nice.”

Jealousy overwhelmed me, as well as questions as to why he decided to rub my bleak life in my face. “Why are you—” I began, trying to ask just that, but he cut me off.

“You should’ve come to visit us more.”

I was taken aback at his statement. I crossed my arms and legs in front of me defensively, but unfortunately the gesture didn’t make his words sting any less. “Like you would’ve wanted to see me,” I scoffed at him.

Xander’s head whipped around. “Don’t do that, Cordelia. You were our friend.”

“Gee, Xander, I don’t remember you taking any trips down to LA.”

“Like I wanted to see Angel.”

I shrugged. “Whatever, Xander.” I raised my hands to massage my temples. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

Xander’s eyebrows raised, an amused smile quickly breaking his grave expression. “Wow, Chase. More unexpected words have never been spoken.”

My face broke into a grin as well. We laughed and laughed. We weren’t sure about what exactly, it was left vague. In any case, it didn’t really matter. We might have been laughing because otherwise we’d be sobbing, but for now, the simple action of cracking up was enough. It had probably been a long time since either of us had felt mirth strong enough to laugh.

A little while later we quieted, our breathing becoming slower, our hands finding the ability to lift and wipe away our tears. Xander slipped off his coat. “Cordy,” he said, the glint of humor still in his eye, “Want anything?”

His question startled me. Want anything? From who? From him? My mind raced, wondering if it was true, wondering if, in fact, yes, I did want something from Xander…

“Um, Cor,” Xander was saying, looking at me, “from the vendor. Do you want anything from the vendor?” He lifted his hand and pointed to a small vendor about twenty feet away, selling crêpes and drinks.

“Oh,” I said, another smile breaking out onto my face. “Water, please.”

Xander gave an amused nod and pushed himself off the park bench.

“Oh, Xander?” I stopped him after he’d taken a few steps. He turned around and looked at me expectantly. “Can you make sure it’s Evian?”

He grinned and nodded again. Turning around, he shook his head at my question. I shrugged. It seemed perfectly reasonable to me.

I sighed and sat back, staring out along the French park. I watched as a mother bent down to fix a light blue beret on her infant’s head. A man and a woman walked hand in hand, licking their ice cream cones and smiling at each other. I breathed out and then in, loving the way oxygen tasted.

Just then, I heard a ring, and glanced around. It came again, and this time I located the sound, coming from the right pocket of Xander’s coat. Without even thinking, I reached in and pulled it out.

“Xander’s phone,” I said, as I put it to my ear.

Silence.

I frowned. “Hello?” I repeated.

Just then, Xander turned around, and his face fell into an expression of shock as he ran towards me, two Evian bottles in hand.

“C-Cordelia?” came the voice on the other end.

I held the phone shakily away from my ear, letting Xander whisk it away from me. I dropped my face into my hands. What was I thinking? Two hours with Xander and suddenly I felt like one of the gang again? I had spent months hiding, months being careful about keeping my anonymity intact. And now I let it all go to shit because he made me feel comfortable.

“Hello?” Xander said into the phone, his eyes wide with worry for me.

“Was that— was that Cordelia?” she cried out, her voice thick with emotion. “Xander! Answer me!”

Xander turned towards me, a questioning look on his face. His gaze was somewhat apologetic and full of—pity, almost, as he held the phone to his ear. He stayed silent as Buffy Summers screamed at him, demanding to know if the girl who had picked up his phone was the one and only—dead—Cordelia Chase.


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