Title: Deserving Rewards
By Nicollette Marquis McFadgen
Joss Whedon and other cool people own the characters.


"Cordelia?" I say, standing in the doorway of my office. "Can I see you for
a minute." I watch as she rolls her eyes as usual, but gets up and walks
towards me. "Thanks," I say quietly as she brushes past me.

"What's up?" she asks as she sits down in a chair, moving both her legs so
they rest over the arm of the chair.

I turn and close the door, glancing at Doyle through the glass. He's
sitting behind the desk, staring absently at the monitor of the computer.
He's not really seeing the screen, he's just looking at it. "You know," I
start, still looking out at Doyle. "You shouldn't be so callous with him."

"Huh? With who?"

"Doyle." Turning around, I move over to my desk then sit down on the edge,
looking down at the girl in the chair.

A large smile grows on her face as her brow creases. "What are you talking
about, Angel? Callous? Me?"

"Yes, you," I return seriously.

The smile fades, but the furrowed brow remains. "I'm not callous to him."

Raising my eyebrows, I say, "You think your comments about him are nice?"

She blows out a breath of air that almost sounds like an indignant laugh.
"We just play around, Angel. He knows I'm joking."

"Does he?"

Shaking her head, she straightens in the chair, her legs moving down so her
feet are planted firmly on the floor. "Look, Angel," she says, her tone
harsh. "I have no idea what you're getting at but I don't like it. Why
don't you mind. . ."

"My own business?" I ask and she just responds by raising her eyebrows.
"Because you and Doyle are my business. You and Doyle are more than my
business and some of the things you say hurt him, Cordelia."

"Whatever."

I shake my head then catch her eyes with mine. "I didn't bring you in here
to make you feel bad."

"I don't feel bad. I don't have anything to feel bad about." Her arms cross
over her chest and that simple act reminds me of how young she still is. I
don't know why she is the way she is. I may be nearly two hundred and fifty
years old, but I still can't figure out why women are the way they are. And
more importantly, why this woman, sitting here in front of me, is the way
she is. So guarded and unwilling to open herself to anyone.

"You don't see the hurt in his eyes after you tell him that the only way
he'd have a chance with you is to have cosmetic surgery and change his name
to Brad Pitt?"

"That was a joke," she says softly.

"Jokes can hurt. You know that." The angry look on her face fades as she
ducks her head and looks at her fingers picking at each other in her lap.
"He really likes you, Cordelia. And the only thing he wants is to know that
you like him too."

She gives that little indignant laugh breath again before looking up at me.
"Angel, he's like, what? Thirty?"

"He's not that old."

"Whatever, the point is, he's older than me, he's a drunk, he's a gambler
who lives his life running away from people or demons he owes and look at
the way he dresses? I don't think liking him is an option."

"See what you're doing?" I ask, feeling my brow crease as I look at her.
"What if everyone judged you like that?"

"Who says they don't?"

"Doyle doesn't. I don't."

"Whatever," she replies in that annoying, dismissing way.

"He calls you Princess, Cordelia. That's how he thinks of you."

She looks at me sharply and stands up. "What? Did he ask you to talk to me?
Is this just some kind of tag team effort to get Cordy to crack?"

"Cordelia," I say slowly as I stand up as well. "He didn't ask me to talk
to you about this. I just see the hurt when one of your offhanded comments
stings too long. He wants you so badly and he wants you to adore him like
he adores you."

Shaking her head, she turns, moving behind the chair and just paces back
and forth. "I don't know why."

At that statement, I'm confused. "What?"

"Why does he want me? I'm nothing special." That can't be Cordelia Chase
talking. "I'm just a nobody. An actress with no talent. You think that I
can't tell he's just humoring me when he says that I should've gotten the
part?"

"Why do you think he does that, Cordelia?" I ask softly.

"Duh. He likes me and doesn't want to hurt my feelings. He's like this
giant teddy bear with me. I know that."

"Then why are you so mean to him? Why the cutting comments?"

"Because I don't want him to like me." Sighing heavily, Cordelia runs her
hands through her loose hair. "The truth is, I like Doyle. A lot. He
reminds me a little of Xander." She pauses. "Which is also the problem."

And the truth comes out. "You think he's going to pull a Xander and cheat
with his best friend?" Wait a minute. My brow creases once again as I think
about that. "Which would probably end up being me?"

She smiles and laughs a little, but not for long. That sad, sober look once
again sweeps over her features. "Being hurt sucks, Angel, and my heart's
still hurting from the last break, you know?"

I nod, letting her know I understood. "But you can't close yourself off
forever. How do you expect to find happiness when you constantly try to
drive people away? And please don't say that you don't deserve to be happy
because you do."

I watch as she stops pacing and nods. She doesn't say anything, she just
stands there, looking down at the chair, nodding. "Cordelia?"

"I know," she whispers. "I know, I know. God," she sighs, "I know. I wish I
could just. . .not be so mean. It's not habit, Angel. I mean, even when I
was mean in high school, it wasn't habit. It took effort and thought. It's
just this, this thing I have. It makes me say things that aren't nice even
when I want to say nice things."

"A defense mechanism," I say.

"Yeah. And it's always there and I try to make it stop or go away."

"It takes time and effort."

"I don't mean to make him feel bad."

"I know," I whisper, then say louder, "Just try to watch what you say and
when you feel like pushing him away, just stop and think about it for a
minute. What good is it going to do? You deserve to be happy, Cordelia, and
he deserves the chance to try to make you happy."

Looking up at me, she gives me a smile. It's a genuine smile and it warms
my dead heart. "Thanks, Angel." She does this little thing, it's half-way a
shrug and half-way a nervous gesture, before she turns and opens the door.

Sitting back down on the edge of my desk, I watch and listen as Cordelia
walks over to where Doyle is still sitting and asks him to walk her home. I
can't help the smile that forms on my face. Yep, helping people does have
its rewards.

~**~

The End [1]