Another Day
All she'd wanted was the chance at a new life in LA
Spoilers: Hero, That Vision Thing, general through S3
Rating: PG
Characters: Cordy, Cordy/Doyle
Disclaimer: Ownership belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy
Notes: For Carrie, for the first annual bubbleficathon. I'm pretty sure this isn't what she was looking for, but I *did* include all the necessary elements: Cordy, Doyle, and a rubber ducky. Thanks to Yana and Chicklet for the beta.
With a sigh of relief, Cordelia sank into the fragrant bubble bath Phantom Dennis had drawn for her. Maybe the hot water would help ease some of the pain from her latest vision.
They were getting worse with each occurrence. Not the images themselves - those were still as gruesome and ambiguous as ever - but the intensity of them. This last one. it had felt like white-hot spikes being pounded into her brain. When it happened, she couldn't think, she couldn't speak - all she could do was lie there on the hard tile floor, curled into a tight ball, and wait for the pain to subside even just a tiny bit. She didn't know how much more she could take.
She knew her friends were all concerned about her, especially when she refused to talk to them, refused to let them help her. But how could she describe the blinding pain that lasted for hours and lingered for days? How could she tell them that the visions were manifesting themselves physically now? That more than once she had gone into the bathroom to find claw marks across her torso or deep bruises on her arms? That she was scared about what was happening to her? They had enough to worry about, what with taking care of tracking down the things she saw. They didn't need to worry that their visionary might be dealing with more than they suspected.
She added some more hot water to the tub and thought about her very first vision. It had been scary - and painful - but it hadn't been nearly as bad as her most recent one.
Damn Doyle, anyway! She hadn't asked for these visions; he'd foisted them upon her. All she'd wanted was the chance at a new life in LA. A small role in a blockbuster movie to jumpstart her acting career. Maybe a new Prada bag to replace the one she'd had to sell. But what had she gotten? A job as a receptionist in a supernatural PI's office and a 'Sixth Sense' vision thing.
She sighed and turned off the tap. It wasn't really Doyle's fault. How could he have known the effects the visions would have on her? He'd thought he was giving her the most valuable thing he possessed.
If he had even known he was passing them on at all. Doyle had been many things, but a planner was not one of them. The kiss had been a spur of the moment decision, made in that split second before he reached for the light --
She shuddered at the memory. Doyle couldn't have known what would happen to her. He'd probably just went on to. wherever demons went. thinking he'd finally gotten what he'd wanted most from her: a physical affirmation that she had feelings for him.
The rubber ducky on the edge of the tub caught her eye and she smiled sadly. Despite her memories of that fateful day, she did have a few happy memories of him.
~~~~~
"I have an audition with The Baby Bath Company."
She watched him swallow a chortle. "The Baby Bath Company?"
"Yes."
"The one with the rubber ducky in all their ads?"
"Yes," she answered tightly, desperately pleading with whatever unnamed gods or demons ruled up above that he wouldn't make the obvious connection.
"You're not. you wouldn't. you're not auditioning to be the DUCK, are you?" he asked, incredulous.
She wanted to deny it, to tell him she was auditioning to be the mom. She even opened her mouth, prepared to lie. But there was no way to avoid the truth if she did manage to land the job. He'd be sure to see the billboards with her in the bright yellow costume.
"Yes," she confirmed through clenched teeth, before adding with patently false optimism, "It's just. it's a stepping stone. The director assures me that he's interested in me for some other jobs he has lined up. I could be the next Neutrogena girl."
He started laughing - loud, raucous guffaws - then grabbed her wrist and pulled her from behind the desk to twirl her in an impromptu dance.
"Rubber ducky, you're the one. You make bath time lots of fun."
She joined in. The idea was just so ludicrous. She, Cordelia Chase - of the Sunnydale Chases, queen of her high school social set, most popular girl on the homecoming court - was auditioning to be a duck. A duck, for god's sake!
Suddenly the thought wasn't ridiculous, it was sad. She stopped mid-twirl and pinned him with her haughtiest look.
"Stop it."
"What? You don't like my singing? Perhaps you need something a wee bit more romantic. Me mum used to sing this little ditty - Aaarrrghhhh."
And one of his visions abruptly brought the conversation to an end.
~~~~~
It had been like that with them a lot, never finishing a conversation, never being truly honest with one another. And then. and then Doyle was gone and there weren't any more opportunities left.
She sighed and sank deeper into the bubbles, burying herself up to her nose in the warm froth. God, she was so tired. What if she slipped a little lower? What if she just immersed herself completely and stayed there? Warm. Safe. Vision-free.
No more hideous creatures to fight. No more taciturn vampires to worry about. No more anything. Just quiet. Solitude. Peace.
As she slid a little lower, until almost all of her head was submerged, the bathroom door banged open with an impressive noise. Again. And again.
"All right, I get it!" she groused, pushing herself up into a seated position. She held out a hand and a towel dropped into it. "I wasn't really going to, you know."
The only reply she got was the plug being pulled from the drain.
"Fine."
Why was she arguing with Phantom Dennis anyway? She wasn't *seriously* thinking about it. It was just. she was so tired.
She stood and wrapped the towel firmly around her body, then headed for the bedroom. She should go to bed. Tomorrow, Wes was planning to train with her in the makeshift gym they'd started in the hotel's basement and she needed all the rest she could get before that.
Not that she thought she'd get much sleep. Even in her dreams, the visions haunted her, showing her the gruesome images, causing her temples to throb, making her relive the slicing pain.
With a shiver of apprehension, she pulled a box from beneath her bed and opened its lid to reveal an impressive array of pharmaceuticals. What should it be tonight -- Seltrax for the pain? Or maybe Triazolam for sleep? Did it really matter?
She opted for the Triazolam, dry-swallowing the pills in a quick gulp. Yuck. But at least this way she would be able to get some rest. And if she was lucky, the strong drug would be enough to make it dreamless, too.
As she crawled into bed, she practiced her Scarlett O'Hara. "Tomorrow is another day," she muttered in her best Southern accent.
It didn't quite work; she lacked the passion of Vivien Leigh. She tried again, changing the emphasis, playing with her accent, willing the pills to take effect quickly. By the time she was on her twelfth recitation, she was having trouble concentrating.
Images of gowns fashioned from drapes blended seamlessly with visions of the latest Marc Jacobs' line. Yards and yards of silk and angora and cashmere. Not a demon in sight. Just brilliant swirling blues and shimmering pinks.
And then all the visions were gone and she slept.
~End~
Posted by Cassie on 03:47 PM