Still not mine, Joss's.
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Part Nine
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Xander peered over the edge of the booth and for once counted his blessings: While Hypnos was trying to build some kind of human chain to reach up to them, he wasn't having much luck, because Cordelia's songs disrupted his control over the sleepwalkers long enough to make the sleepers' coordination take a nosedive. No sooner did they get a decent chain going than they froze for a few seconds and tumbled onto the seats. Sunnydale's residents were going to have an even nastier collection of bumps, bruises and broken bones than they did yesterday the way Hypnos was manhandling them, but there was nothing they could do about that.
And the stairway up to the booth was one of those cheapass metal jobbies that only allowed one or two people at a time to pound on the door, so while Angel couldn't move, the strain wasn't TOO great, even if the vampire was trying to puzzle something out in that big huge book o' sleep spells he'd lugged along.
Of course, there was the little difficulty of the sun rising in a few hours and pouring directly into the booth an hour or so afterwards . . .
But then, Xander reflected as he listened to Cordy's voice, by that time they would have already won or lost. She'd been singing for a couple of hours already, more or less straight, and her voice was showing signs of wear and tear already. Well, greater wear and tear, anyway.
He'd been more or less speaking true when he'd told Angel that his little anti-Cordy diatribe had been psychological manipulation, but there had been a grain or two of truth to it. Not the part about blaming Cordelia for what happened to her. Oh no, the pain he'd caused her and Oz was his and his alone. (It wasn't even Willow's fault, nope, nope, nope, it was his and his alone. Man, he had a lot of guilt to work off!)
But he was kinda ticked at her for dropping the ball this time and falling asleep.
Anyway, by comparison that wasn't really all that important. What WAS though, was that Cordy kept singing one song in particular -- and during one part of it all the sleepwalkers stopped. But then she broke off and went on to another, and they started moving around again.
He went back and quietly whispered to Angel, "You can't see what's going on out there, but I can. You hear that song she keeps singing and stopping?"
Angel said, "Yes, what about it?" a bit hesitantly. Xander explained what happened during the song in question -- the actions and paralysis of the sleepwalkers. "And you're wondering . . . ."
"I'm wondering how I can get her to sing the rest of the song!"
"Why not --" Angel was interrupted by a thump on the door -- "just try that reverse psychology you used earlier?"
"I'm not used to my plans working once, I certainly don't want to tempt fate by trying it again."
"Fine, then," Angel said irritably. "Take the book -- don't lose the page!" the vampire said suddenly, almost making Xander drop the thing -- "and look on the left side about halfway down." Xander looked at it. The heading read, "General incantation for removing charms of somnambulence." That he understood the phrase frightened him almost as much as what he suspected Angel was asking him to do."You want me to READ this?" he asked in a tone of disbelief. In answer Angel made a somewhat derisive gesture at the door, and Xander got the point immediately.
"I'm not even close to Giles' level of ability when it comes to doing research," Angel said. "I'm sure that somewhere in that book there's a spell of some sort that would be even better, but right now we're kind of pressed for time."
"I'm no good at this!" Xander protested again. "I do research, I fight . . . though I'm not really that good at either of them . . . but spellcasting is way out of my league." Then he started thinking. What DID he do for this group that was so special? How did he fit in?
Grimacing, Angel said, "Xander, you picked a hell of a poor time to have an identity crisis. Read the spell and cast it." After a second, he said, "When you're ready, tap Cordelia on the shoulder. I'll try to figure out why she can't finish the song in question. Read the spell through the microphone and let me know what happens."
Great, performing. Xander HATED performing. But obviously right now he didn't really have a choice. He took a deep breath and began reading over the spell.
* * *
Yes, she did Alanis; yes; she sang the Natalies, Merchant and Imbruglia; yes, she sang Billy Joel, yes she sang Stevie Nicks, yes, yes, yes.
She sang Heart: "If looks could kill, you'd be lying on the floor . . . you'd be begging me please, please, baby don't hurt me no more . . ."
It reached the low point when she started singing Weird Al, though . . .
"I'd rather dive naked into a swimming pool filled with double-edged razor blades, than spend one more minute with you . . ."
But she couldn't finish that one song . . . no matter how necessary it was! Why couldn't she say it?
As she was about to begin it again, she was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Her eyes blazing with fury at being interrupted, she spun to face Xander. He dared? But before she could recover, he said, "I need to read a spell and Angel wants to talk to you." Then he looked down at one of those big filthy spellbooks that Giles always kept around the library and said, "It shouldn't take more than two minutes. Go."
"You read a spell?" she demanded. "Whose brilliant idea was this? This is SO not what we need, everyone in love with you again."
"I guess I deserved that," he answered. "Now go. Talk."
She pulled out a stick of gum and began chewing -- ANYTHING to make her mouth less dry! -- and wearily, hesitantly walked back to talk to Angel. She really DIDN'T trust him, much -- it was like making nice with a rabid dog. Still, at least the vampire was a rabid dog on her side, this time.
"Why are you having trouble with that one song?" Angel asked.
"I know!" she said. "I KNOW I need to sing it. But I can't, I can't, I just can't . . ."
"Why?" he asked sharply.
"Because -- look. I need to sing these songs with emotion, and all of them have a lot I can sing straight out. But this one -- this one's almost perfect except for the last two lines."
"And they are?"
She took a deep breath. "I -- I -- I still don't blame you for leaving, baby, it's cold living with ghosts." And then: "But it WAS all his fault! I DO blame him for leaving me! I didn't cheat on him, I didn't make out with my best friend, I didn't drive a spike through my own stomach!"
"Did you tell him you loved him?"
That was SO not something she expected to hear . . . how the HELL did she find out? Who gave Buffy the interfering witch Summers the, the, the RIGHT to tell this vampire?
Behind her, Xander was reading something into the microphone. She wasn't really paying much attention.
"I'm assuming by your silence that you didn't tell him. So tell me this, Cordelia: Do you think things might have been different if you had told him?"
And suddenly it all came flooding back. When she'd been lying there in her hospital bed, and even afterwards, before she'd come back to who she really was -- or thought she had -- she'd been eaten alive by doubts. But she'd shoved them all aside once she got out of the hospital.
But as long as she refused to acknowledge that, even through the betrayal by Willow and Xander, even through the spike through the stomach, that there was some part of her that DID think she was to blame -- then she could never fully be herself --
and she was strong enough to handle this. She was strong enough to handle being called a bad singer. She was strong enough to put up with all of this.
She was strong enough to sing the third verse of "Every Little Bit --"
Because, goddammit, she was CORDELIA CHASE.
Cordelia whirled in place. Xander wasn't saying anything. "Are you done, bad spell boy?"
He proved his nontotal denseness by nodding and backing off in one smooth motion.
"Good. Because I have a song to sing." Cordelia moved towards the microphone, spat out the gum, breathed deeply, and began:
"It's funny how a morning turns a love to shame . . . disguised and disfigured and you thought I tasted like rain . . ."
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