Fiction CCakaMV02- Knowing The Crazy

Title: Cordelia Chase, aka Mrs. Vaughn

Chapter Title: Knowing The Crazy

Author: Restive Nature

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Angel the Series. They belong to Whedon/ Greenwalt. I do not own the rights to Alias. They belong to J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot and Viacom. No infringement is intended and this fiction is for private enjoyment only.

Rating: up to PG-15 (subject to change at the author's whim)

Genre: Crossover, Angel The Series/ Alias

Type: Challenge Response

Pairing: Cordelia/ Michael Vaughn

Summary: Challenge Response. When Cordelia receives an ordinary run of the mill vision of a lonely man in the midst of a Vampire attack, she has no idea just how involved the Powers will lead her to be.

Spoilers/ Time line: For AtS, later in season two, after the rift has started to mend between the Fang Gang. For Alias, this is in the time jump between Seasons 2 and 3. Everyone believes Sydney to still be dead.

Feedback: Always welcome!

Distribution: Ask first please.

A/N: This is a response to the TtH challenge number 455. Please see chapter one for the challenge itself.

Cordelia Chase aka Mrs. Vaughn

Chapter Two

Knowing The Crazy

Vaughn followed the woman, Cordelia down a hallway that was just as richly appointed and then neglected like the room he'd slept in. It was definitely a hotel that he was in, but not one that he recognized.

“So what is this place?” Vaughn asked as politely as he could, following her lead as she strode the short distance to a set of stairs.

“The Hyperion,” Cordelia answered easily, glancing over her shoulder at him. “It was abandoned a few decades ago. My boss found it and loved it and he moved our business over here. The lease is actually pretty cheap since as a hotel, it doesn't have the best... reputation.”

There was a hesitation in her voice that told him that there was much more to the story. But then Vaughn realized, that that was usually the truth of the matter. But there was an interesting tidbit that caught his attention. “So what kind of business, other than a hotel, do you operate from said hotel?”

“Private detective agency,” she answered succinctly.

“Ah,” he nodded, the movement shaky and gentle, but there nonetheless. He was quiet then as he followed her down the steps that curved into the downstairs lobby. There were glass doors to his right that let in more of LA's famed sunshine and he squinted a little again at the harsh glare. But instead of leading him out, Cordelia turned away from them and after blinking a few times, could see the large lobby with its vaulted ceiling. There was furniture placed around the room, with some potted plants that looked like they could use a little more attention than they probably received. Perhaps no one here had a green thumb and they didn't bother too much aside from watering.

He heard noise and movement but could see no one about. Even with glancing at the front desk. It was piled with file folders, open books and a telephone, with another desk beyond it that housed a computer. There was a door that, given the dimensions of the lobby, Vaughn assumed was an office. It was closed, but that seemed not to bother Cordelia. He noted that there was a coffee pot, nearly full, the orange light indicating that it was operating, next to a pink box that he recognized from the popular donut shop chain. It was stacked on top of a mini fridge.

“Wes?” Cordelia called out, and then, “Angel?”

Immediately there was noise and movement again as Vaughn and Cordelia reached the desk and then a man, slight of frame, dark haired, with glasses, popped up from where he must have been crouched behind the desk. He adjusted the frames on his face and brought his other hand up, a mess of papers contained within.

“Hello Cordelia,” the man offered in cultured British tones and Vaughn winced. He could hear the nuances in the accent and recognized that while Lauren Reed was indeed British, there was a smattering of American influenced accent from her dual nationality upbringing. This gentleman was more British to the core and must not have been in America too awful long. Perhaps a few years at most. The man turned to Vaughn and smiled grimly. “I see our guest survived the night. How do you do? I'm Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.” He held out the hand that wasn't bogged down with papers. Vaughn took it politely, offering as steady a grip as he could muster in the moment.

“Michael Vaughn,” he offered guardedly. These people had apparently helped him, but he knew better than to just throw everything out in the open. But Wesley didn't seem to need or search for anymore.

“There's coffee if you'd like,” he offered, gesturing to the mini fridge, but Cordelia was already shaking her head. She grinned, tilting her head.

“We just saved him Wes,” she teased. “Let's not go risking his life so soon.”

“Oh yes,” Wes nodded, his grin wry, “one of your new blends you concocted?” The banter between them was not forced and through it, Vaughn could see an almost grudging sentimentality between them.

“Besides,” Cordy shrugged. “Michael's going to take me out to breakfast as a thank you for helping him out last night. Just need to see if we can borrow Angel's car.”

“Breakfast?” Wesley teased. “After all those donuts you managed to scarf down?”

“Don't look at me like that,” Cordelia protested huffily and Vaughn tried to hide a grin as she chastised the other man. “We were out of Splenda. I needed the sugar.”

“Of course,” Wesley concurred solemnly before turning and smirking at their visitor. The moment passed swiftly and Vaughn was surprised that the corner of his own lip was curving up slightly. Wesley swiftly straightened up the sheaf of papers in his hand before leaving them in a pile on another set of file folders.

“Well, unfortunately, Angel has yet to have made an appearance this morning,” Wes sighed as he lightly braced his hands on the counter. “After our return the previous evening, he had to go out again on the Atkinson case.” The words were for Cordelia and she nodded.

“Okay,” she shrugged one shoulder. “But he brought the car back. I saw it outside.”

“Yes,” Wesley agreed. “I believe he intended to have someone drive our guest wherever he needed to go.” He threw a sympathetic glance at Vaughn, which the man tried to ignore. He moved back slightly to pull open a drawer and removed a key ring, which the moment he held it aloft, Cordelia snatched it from his hand.

“Okay, see ya Wes,” she smiled widely and spun on her heel. There was a murmur from the Brit but when Vaughn, trailing after the woman, glanced back, his head was bowed, already immersed in the books that had been spread out before him.

Bracing himself for the moment quickly coming, Vaughn still couldn't help the wince as they stepped out into the sunlight. It was coming directly at him and he couldn't help hunching his shoulders as he stared at the ground, knowing where to go by watching Cordelia's feet ahead of him until his eyes were able to adjust to the change from dim and electric to bright and natural.

They moved through a garden like area, through a gate and at the street, Vaughn was able to look around and assess where he was. Though he didn't know the precise address of the Hyperion, he'd been through this area before, but usually driving through, not taking an overt interest in the older buildings that made up several blocks. They stopped at a black convertible and heard Cordy mutter something with a laugh. Something about how 'he never remembers to put the top up'. The fondness he heard in her voice made him wonder how close she was to her employer. And what exactly was it that she did in the man's employment. Was she a secretary, partner? A junior detective, maybe?

Cordelia gestured for Michael to climb in while she moved around to the driver's seat. He did so, finding the car, a classic, to be fairly well maintained and clean. The engine turned over immediately and Cordelia took a moment to fasten her seatbelt while Vaughn did the same. Before she pulled away from the curb though, she turned her head to him.

“Did you want to swing by the park and see if by any luck your car is still there?” she asked, though the wrinkling of her nose told him that she was probably thinking the same thing he was. Especially since the last memory he had, and it wasn't as hazy as it had been before, was of climbing out to relieve himself. Since he had left keys in the ignition, there was a damn good likelihood that the car was history at this point.

“It would be one in a million if it was,” Vaughn sighed. “I should probably more likely call the closest station and report it stolen.”

“Probably,” Cordelia nodded and then started checking the traffic. “We'll try anyway, since it's on the way to this great little place I know. They make croissants that just melt in your mouth.”

“I could go for a croissant, merci,” he chuckled, amazed that she might have the same weakness as he for the airy little treats. Of course, given the French ancestry in his family, that was not much of a surprise, but it wasn't something that he shared with people.

“You speak French?” Cordy sounded amused. Vaughn, one arm resting on the car door, relaxing in the warm breeze that rushed by them, held up his other hand. His thumb and forefinger a scant centimeter apart.

“Un petit morceau,” he teased back and was pleased when she chuckled.

“Yeah,” she groaned, though she didn't seem upset. “I took three years in high school and I'm going on my best guess that you meant a little bit. I remember petite. But that's more because of clothing sizes.”

“Yeah,” Michael nodded, noting that while not haute couture, her clothes did have the look of someone stylish that cared about fashion statement. But she wore the clothing well. “I'm okay with languages. But my family is French, so that seemed pretty natural. Hearing it for so long, you pick it up.” He was amazed at himself, having shared that, especially after the thought of how he never really did. But this woman, still so much a stranger, she seemed... safer.

“Oh, so that's how I came to speak bitch so well,” she mused and then threw him an arching glance. Vaughn raised one eyebrow. “Totally privileged background,” she explained easily enough, “until my father lost it all when I was in high school.” Vaughn watched the nuances on her face. It seemed as if enough time had passed that it didn't bother her as much as it might if it were still a recent development. But there was still something about it niggling at her. Deciding that her kindness could be returned by his, he changed the subject.

“So how far did you have to come to drag me back to the hotel?” he mused, trying to remember when he had ended up passing out. He was starting to remember. He had needed to find some facilities and had left the car. Probably figuring that he could use a tree if nothing else. And then, his brow furrowing, he remembered stumbling into a group of people. Were they homeless? His lips twisted as he vaguely recalled the strange scent that often permeated the homeless of Los Angeles. The smell of urine, decay and various other detriments. Beyond that, he wasn't sure.

“It was a ways,” Cordelia shrugged as she drove. “But Angel, big guy, if you don't remember...” she trailed off to give him a moment, but Vaughn shook his head. “We were working on a case and when we saw you in that group...”

“Those homeless people?” Vaughn supplied from his memory bank and Cordy threw him a strange look and then shrugged.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “They weren't too happy with you stumbling around what they considered their territory,” she explained. “One of them... stabbed you with a barbecue fork.”

“In the neck?” Vaughn winced, his hand moving up to cover the bandage still affixed to the side of his throat.

“Uh huh,” Cordelia assured him perkily. There was something about that that seemed a little off to Vaughn but he wasn't in a clear enough state of mind to ascertain what it was. Sydney would be all over that story. He winced, gasping with the pain of the thought that immediately followed that one. This was the first time he'd thought of Sydney since just after he'd woken. It felt wrong, a betrayal, that he'd gone... he didn't even know how long it had been. Suddenly he flinched at the cool hand on his wrist. “What is it?” Cordelia asked gently, her voice breaking through the painful haze somehow. Vaughn shook his head and her voice grew hard. “Don't do that.”

“Do what?” he gasped out.

“Lock it all up,” she pointed out shrewdly. “You do that, it's bound to come out at the worst time. You're in a car, driving with someone who knows the crazy already. Let it out before it eats you up.”

The knot in his middle eased. Not much, just infinitesimally as he recognized the validity of her words. Hadn't that been what was happening lately. He couldn't deal, bottled it up to present a facade to the world that he was alright, that he was coping and dealing as well as he could, so that they'd leave him alone in his misery?

“What would she have done?” Cordelia asked, her voice serious and Vaughn threw her a shocked look. Cordelia managed to roll her eyes, conveying her disbelief of his lack of understanding of her knowledge at this whole grieving process, without taking her eyes off the road for more than a second.

“It wasn't that,” he finally muttered, his face averted from hers. When she waited in silence, but for the normal sounds of life around them, he took several deep breaths and then spoke again. “I wasn't thinking about her and then suddenly... I...”

“Suddenly she was there again,” Cordelia affirmed with a short, jerky nod. “And you felt guilty because all those other things that had your attention weren't as important as she is.”

“Was,” Vaughn quietly corrected through a heavily tear clogged throat.

“Is,” Cordelia insisted. She reached one hand to pat his again. “Her body might be gone from this earth, but that doesn't mean she isn't still the world to you. That won't go away anytime soon.”

Vaughn stared down at the hand resting on his, until she moved it away to return it to the steering wheel as she needed it to complete a turn. He then forced himself to look over at her, where her serenely composed body sat, in the driver's seat. “You really know, don't you?” he asked, surprising himself.

“I do,” she agreed and then took a moment to throw him a reassuring smile. “I also know that unless we get some food in you, you're not gonna be any good to anyone today. You hungry?”

“You know,” Vaughn felt a small smile lift the corners of his mouth, just a tiny bit, “I think I am.”

*****

After they had driven by the park and as expected, not found his car, to which Vaughn wasn't that overly upset about, they headed off to the little place Cordy was starting to rave about. As they drove again, Vaughn wondered briefly if perhaps, after they had lost him, the CIA might have decided to go ahead and activate the tracking unit that was added to each of their agents vehicles. So either the company had his vehicle, and his phone, or it was in pieces scattered through who knew how many chop shops that still operated in the city. Knowing that either way, he was in for it when he returned to his apartment, Vaughn tried to put it out of his mind.

He asked a few more details about the previous night of Cordelia that she was happy to provide. She told him again that they had been working a case that had brought them into the area. They had seen Vaughn in trouble and after warning Cordelia to stay out of the way, her slightly neanderthal like boss Angel, tall, dark, broody with a trench coat fetish, was how she described him, had rushed in and rescued Vaughn.

He was pleased that he vaguely remembered the male that Cordy, as she invited him to call her, had described. The coat did make quite an impression after all. But his mind was blank after that. Cordy told him that Angel had hoisted him up in a fireman's carry and returned him to the car. Since he'd had no identification on him and the wound didn't look too serious, they'd brought him back to the hotel and Cordy had patched him up. It wasn't that deep and they figured that the person that had attacked him must have scavenged the barbecue fork in the park. It made a decent weapon after all. Then they took him up to a room to sleep off his obviously drunken state. Also, so that had they any clients, they wouldn't have been turned off by a drunken bum squatting in their lobby.

Vaughn had winced at that description, but the cool, assessing look of Cordelia's challenged him to defy her. And he couldn't. So instead, he asked about the kind of cases that they worked on as they ate. She told him that it was mostly lost people that they tried to find. Less teenagers than one would imagine, though there was a fair share. Also a few divorce cases. She entertained him with one story of how recently, she had had to dress up as a hotel worker to surveil a woman that was cheating on her husband, claiming that she was being abducted by aliens whenever she met her lover. Cordy had not been pleased with how that had turned out. Having to run in heels was almost as high on her list of unpleasant things as the other hotel's convention goers treating her like she was the entertainment.

It had slipped out then, how Sydney had never liked having to run in heels either. He stopped himself from saying more, seeming surprised at how natural it seemed to come. Cordy had not let the moment hamper the conversation and noted dryly that she didn't imagine any women that did. Heels were great for driving in, shaping a woman's calf, but running, no way. Vaughn had smiled and remarked that some running must help though. Sydney was a runner, long distance and she had had great legs. Cordelia had chuckled at that and commented that she wasn't a runner, heels, distance or otherwise, but she'd had no complaints. Vaughn had smiled and continued to eat the fruit from his plate with relish.

She moved on to tell him then about another young man that was recently part of their team. One that had been a street tough with a gang that they had helped and now he returned the favor and Vaughn listened with interest. She had done that the entire conversation. Something that seemed like it could have been a show stopper, she simply accepted, commented on like it was completely natural and then moved on. As if Sydney's presence was still a real, living, breathing force. And she was right, it still was. Not because she lived, but because she was still in Michael's heart. She would always be.

By the time they arrived at his apartment complex, Michael knew that something within himself had shifted. It wasn't profound, and it wasn't life altering... yet. But it was a minuscule something that he recognized subliminally. And he also recognized that it was now up to him to decide where to go with that. He had thanked Cordelia profusely for her help, for her time. She had simply reached into the pocket of her pantsuit and handed him a card. He saw on it a strange little doodle and the business print declaring “Angel Investigations”. Her name underneath and a phone number. He turned it over and saw that she had written “home phone” on the back, followed by her digits. He was about to protest, but she forestalled him.

“The next time you feel like taking a drink,” she had warned him, all bouts of amusement, irritation or anything aside, “I want you to call me instead.”

He had smiled sadly, thinking, as he slipped the card into his pocket, that he probably would. At some point or another. But now, he had other business that he had to attend to, whether he wanted to or not.

And that was how he came to be at the side of his apartment, picking up his extra set of keys from the forced hidey hole in place for a situation like this. He made it into the building and then up to his apartment with little fuss, noting that Cordelia had left the area.

The moment he was into his apartment, he made a beeline for the telephone, looking at his surroundings as he did. He knew that someone had been in there, evident to any well trained operative. He checked his phone for bugs and found none but for the standard issued one from his employers. So, he assumed for the moment, unless he found out different, that they had found his car, searched his apartment, came away with nothing, but were probably still looking. He hadn't noted any agents on the street, but he hadn't been looking too hard. They might already know he was back. But he also knew that it was better for him, personally and professionally to be the one to call in.

He dialed the office line from memory. When the call connected, he offered quietly, “Boy Scout Day Code 687142.”

“Line secure,” was the affirmation he received. “How may I direct your call?”

“Director Kendall please,” he asked. There was a moment as the line changed over and the aggravated tones of his boss resounded in his ear.

“Vaughn?” Oh yeah. Kendall was peeved all right. “Where the hell are you?”

“At home sir,” he offered. “I was... attacked by a gang of homeless people last evening. Passed out. A local detective rescued me.” It was succinct and he was pretty sure that Kendall had a good idea of what Vaughn wasn't saying. “I assume you found my car?”

“We did,” Kendall confirmed. “Boys are going over it now, since you disappeared with very little trace.”

“I'm sorry sir,” Vaughn winced, realizing that he was sounding like a chastened little boy. He chewed at his lower lip for a moment, glancing out the window, thinking swiftly on how to regain some measure of, if not control, then respect. “I need to shower, change and then I'll be in.”

“All right,” Kendall sighed. “I'll arrange transportation for you.”

“Thank you,” Vaughn breathed out, but inhaled again and held it this time, before he mustered up the courage needed. “One more thing,” he offered quietly.

“Yes?”

“When I come in,” he began slowly, his eyes roaming the room. They landed on a picture of Sydney, one of the few he had and he could feel the choking sensation trying to claw it's way up his throat. But he resolutely pushed it down. He was doing this for her, he reminded himself. And then a little more wryly, and himself. “Would it be possible for me to see Doctor Barnett?” he asked so softly, he wasn't sure it translated over the phone. There was silence for a moment, so he wondered. Doctor Barnett of course, being the resident psychiatrist that the agents were assigned to. She dealt with so many forms of trauma with them. She had spoken with Vaughn before, but it had never been on his terms. Not until now.

“I think that would be wise,” Kendall decided, his tone rife with meaning and then Vaughn heard him clear his throat. “I'll make sure that she's available to you this morning.”

“Yes sir,” Vaughn breathed again, fully, relieved. “Thank you sir.”

“Just glad to have you back son,” the man sighed as well. The call disconnected and Vaughn let the phone drop. His neck ached, his head pounded, he felt as if he'd been pulled through a ringer backwards, several times, but yet, as he pulled Cordelia's card from his pocket and set it beside his phone, his spirit felt lighter, just a little, than it had in months.