An Easy Mistake to Make

Home : Stories by Author : Stories by Aurora : An Easy Mistake to Make

Summary: Cordelia and babies don’t mix. Answer to the DeadConnor challenge issued at the IOX list.

AUTHOR: Aurora
EMAIL: girl292@hotmail.com
RATING: R, I guess.
PAIRING: Cordelia
SPOILERS: for Season 3 of ANGEL
DISCLAIMER: They so aren’t mine, don’t blame me for the baby. Joss and Mr. ‘I want to be Cordelia, she’s super!’ Greenwalt can have all the credit.
DISTRIBUTION: Lists, my site, XanderShapedFriend Archive. Anyone else: Want? Take. Have. Tell me where it’s going to live.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, I honestly mean no disrespect to anyone out there who has children
(or has lost a child) and I certainly have nothing against actual babies, just pretend ones whose very existence irks me beyond reason. That said, RIP Daddy’s Little Plot Contrivance.
DEDICATION: How could I not? This one is completely for SaturnGirl for the challenge of course, but mostly because she can build my Xander up and then tear him to pieces all in the same sentence and make it both terrible and beautiful and make me love her for it as well! Also, for Sharon, for the ‘Ways for Annoying Babies to Die Hideous Deaths’ list that inspired this fic. Hope y’all enjoy it!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia gritted her teeth to stifle yet another yawn as she started lap number seventeen-hundred-why-won’t-you-stop-crying-and-go-to-sleep-already around the lobby of the hotel, hoping against hope that the repetitive motion would induce sleep. It was clearly having the desired effect - - on *her*, the squealing mass of red-faced screaming baby currently flailing its little arms helplessly up at her was another story. She was exhausted and cranky and covered in baby vomit for the second time in an hour.

She had long since given up any chance of salvaging her outfit, tossing it to the side as she rummaged through Angel’s closet for a clean shirt to go with the spare pair of sweats she kept on hand for training. She’d settled on a black button up number with short sleeves. A nice one. Silk. Maybe the baby puke would slide right off of it, if not, she figured Angel owed her at least that much for the current state her new wool pants were in. She wasn’t even certain that Aldo, the dry cleaner that managed to get that Pshacknaw slime out of her favorite black skirt when no one else could, could make a dent in the uber-stain that was baby spit up. Either way, Angel was paying for it.

She just wished he was here now, all clothing related angst aside, he really should be the one enduring the all night baby cry-a-thon, seeing as the baby in question was his. But no, she just had to go and have that (mind-numbingly awful thank you very much) vision of the week that sent he, Wesley, and Gunn scurrying off to dispatch the whatever-it-was leaving just she, Fred, AND the hasn’t-stopped-crying-since-his-father-swished-out-the-lobby-doors-in-that-irritating-duster-four-hours-ago infant currently driving her more than batty. If she wasn’t already suffering from the usual post-vision migraine, Connor’s wailing would have provided more than enough incentive for her brain to hurl itself against the inside of her skull in an attempt to knock her unconscious and make it all stop.

She sighed and gave up on the pacing, trying in vain to avoid glancing at the clock that stubbornly refused to move forward and end her portion of the baby-watch, as she headed toward the kitchen. Only 45 minutes left until it was Fred’s turn to take the kidling.

“Maybe a bottle will calm you down, you have to be hungry seeing as everything you’ve eaten tonight is currently souring on your Daddy’s expensive shirt. Yes it is,” Cordelia offered in her most soothing tone. It didn’t help. She yawned, and Connor just turned the screaming up another notch.

She flipped on the kitchen light, squinting against the sudden shift to brightness, and struggled to keep from falling asleep on her feet the moment her eyes closed even a centimeter.

Connor just screamed.

“Alright, alright. I’m getting to it.”

Cordelia shuffled sleepily across the kitchen tile and grabbed a clean bottle from the drain board. Setting it on the counter next to a sterile nipple, she tried to balance the wriggling mass of angry baby in one arm as she reached for the can of formula in the cabinet. Connor fussed and pitched suddenly in her arms, causing her to turn her attention back to him as she quickly grabbed the formula from the shelf and repositioned the fussy infant. Two scoops of the white powder, six ounces of sterile water, and an intense bout of bottle shaking later found Cordy leaning against the counter to keep from falling over as Connor sucked greedily on the bottle.

A minute or so into the feeding he renewed his fussing with a vengeance and Cordy gave up on getting even a moment’s peace until it was Fred’s turn to coddle the miraculous wonder. She set the bottle on the cabinet and hauled Connor up onto her shoulder to burp him, which turned out to be the exact wrong thing to do at that moment. One pat to the back and the kid erupted like Mt. St. Helen’s, projectile vomiting all down her back, and she was relatively certain he hit the wall behind her, but she refused to turn around and have that image forever seared into her tired mind. She tried to calm him while leaning over the sink to keep the rest of the puke from taking up residence in her hair, and he just kept shaking and vomiting. She wasn’t even sure where all the spit up was coming from since he had hardly made a dent in the formula, and God knows her clothing upstairs bore witness to the fate of all previous bottles.

After what seemed like five minutes too long, Connor (finally) settled down. No more spitting up and (most importantly) no more crying. Cordy quickly wiped the remaining formula from his face, with a quick attempt at sponging off her neck, and headed to the lobby to (carefully) place Connor in his bassinet. Exhausted but relieved, she collapsed gratefully onto the foyer couch, too tired to even attempt to make it to one of the spare bedrooms before she passed out cold.

The next thing she knew she was being shaken awake from dreams of her very own Noxzema ad (“It works miracles on oil-clogged pores.”) only to be confronted with a frantic, and hysterically babbling Fred.

“Fred,” Cordy yawned, “Be quiet or you’ll wake Connor up and I am so not going to be here to help you if he does. I’ve already done my time in the ‘dangers of single motherhood’ after school special, it’s your turn.”

Cordelia closed her eyes and tried to return to her dream, visions of Brad Pitt stopping her on the street to tell her how much her performance as the Noxzema girl had moved him, and not to mention how great his skin was now that he’d started using her product, were soon erased in the wake of Fred’s little girl voice screeching over her witty response to Mr. Pitt.

“Um, Cordelia, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, because I can’t.”

Cordy heaved out the sigh of the seriously put upon and reluctantly sat up, fighting off the dizziness of the head rush that hit her from moving too fast.

“For Godsakes Fred, WHAT are you babbling on about?”

She watched as Fred shifted anxiously from one foot to the other under her irritated gaze and felt that familiar rush of satisfaction course through her veins at seeing someone actually acting afraid of Queen C for the first time in too long. But apparently, whatever it was, it was important enough to risk her wrath as Fred plunged bravely onwards.

“It’s Connor, he won’t wake up and he’s blue and I tried CPR already but he doesn’t have a pulse and he’s not moving and he’s cold. The paramedics are on the way but, I- - I think he’s dead,” Fred stammered out in one breath and nervously looked from Cordelia to the bassinet and back again.

It took Cordy a few moments to decipher the string of Fred babble and when her tired mind finally managed to wrap itself around the meaning of the words she suddenly wished she hadn’t.

“What do you mean he’s dead!!” She shrieked as she leapt off the couch and raced frantically to the bassinet only to find that Fred was right. Connor was most assuredly a sickening shade of blue, and judging from the lack of body heat and the rigidness that was starting to invade his still limbs, definitely dead.

“Oh God, what happened?!? I finally got him to go to sleep after he refused to take a bottle and now- - what did you do?” Cordy couldn’t keep the hysteria from her voice as she turned away from the silent baby to face Fred.

“I- - I didn’t. I came downstairs to take over and found him like this,” Fred managed and took a wary step back from the panic-stricken seer.

Cordelia turned back to the bassinet and forced herself to examine the body for any signs of trauma, fearful that someone had attacked him while she slept soundly just a few feet away. She didn’t find anything save for more dried vomit coating the corners of his blue lips.

“Could it have been -- ” She turned, expecting to find Fred still standing there but found nothing but empty air in her place. “Fred?”

“Is this the bottle you fed him?” Fred’s voice from behind her startled Cordelia and she jumped.

“Jesus! Quick survival tip around these parts: never sneak up on someone when they are seriously wigged!!” She took a moment to glance down at the still full bottle Fred held gingerly in her hands, “Yeah, looks like it. Why?”

Fred sighed and pushed her glasses back into place with visibly shaking fingers.

“Cordy, this bottle was sitting next to an open can of rat poison. Here, smell it.” Fred pushed the bottle towards Cordelia’s face and she recoiled at the rancid smell, her stomach lurching as the reality of what had happened began to sink in.

“No. No way. There’s no way that I could have- -” Cordy brushed past Fred, still standing there holding the lethal bottle, and ran frantically into the kitchen only to find her worst fears confirmed in the form of a can of rat poison sitting on the counter next to the sink. Just exactly where she’d prepared Connor’s last bottle (Oh God, it really *was* his Last Bottle), and everything suddenly made a sick kind of sense.

The exhaustion, all the screaming, she had been distracted when she reached for the formula and didn’t check to see that she’d grabbed the right can. She’d been too focused on getting the bottle made and to the baby that she hadn’t noticed the smell, or that the powder didn’t dissolve quite right.

“ohgodohgodohgod,” the full weight of what she’d done hit Cordy with the force of a Mack Truck (yeah, a Mack Truck straight on it’s way to HELL) and she slid to the floor as her trembling knees gave out on her. She cradled her head in her hands and rocked back and forth muttering: ‘nonononono’ over and over while Fred tried desperately to calm her.

“Cordy, it’s going to be okay. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to do it.” Fred winced at the futility of her own words but couldn’t think of anything else to say. What was there to say?

“Oh God,” Cordy jerked her head up suddenly and inadvertently slammed the back of her head against the wall, “He’s going to kill me. Angel’s going to torture me for hours on end and then kill me dead. Oh God!”

She buried her face back in her hands as Fred crouched in front her, grasping desperately for the right thing to say.

“No, Angel’s a good guy, he would never hurt you. You’ll see - -” Fred’s attempt at comfort was cut short when Cordelia let out an incredulous snort and raised her head to smirk directly at the dazed girl hovering in front of her.

“Clearly, the words: ‘Scourge of Europe’ mean nothing to you,” Cordy offered, a knowing sarcasm lacing her voice, “ Trust me on this one, you’re about to find out.”

Fred quickly decided she did not like Cordelia’s tone of voice, and opened her mouth to try and talk some sense into the dark-haired seer who was now laughing hysterically, still rocking back and forth. Before she could attempt to say anything she heard the sound of emergency sirens approaching and the resounding smack of the heavy metal and glass hotel doors slamming into the wall as Angel’s voice came echoing through the hotel.

“Cordy?? Fred??”

Fred was torn between meeting the others in the lobby before they found the baby and staying with the-growing-more-hysterical-by-the-moment Cordelia. She hesitated a moment too long and the choice was made for her as Angel’s voice shouting ‘Connor!’ tinged with something she’d never heard before: panic, sent shivers crawling up her spine, while Cordelia continued to rock back and forth, back and forth, laughing madly and muttering incoherently over and over what sounded to Fred like it was something having to do with sleep, and Brad Pitt and -- a zebra??

**

end

These authors spend lots of time to write these stories. If you took the time to read this PLEASE take the time to give them some feedback. Happy writers write more ;-)

Aurora - girl292@hotmail.com