WICKED { #Wattys2016 }

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Proper Kissing

Kol's foreboding warning truly resonated with Cordelia. So much so that she had a dream that could have been an old hollywood movie.

In it, she was standing outside, and it was raining so hard she couldn't make out her surroundings.

"Lillian we can make it work," He pleaded, taking her hands in his. "Don't give up on us." He whispered. "Henry I can't." She protested hoarsely, tears and rain droplets running down her face. Henry snuck his arm around her waist and smashed his lips against hers, kissing her like they were in Singin' In The Rain.

When she woke up, her lips were still tingling, and she was certain that that was a memory. That assesment led to several questions. When and where had this taken place? Why had that specific memory come back to her? And who had kissed her like she was a heroine in a romance novel?

She spent the day helping around the house, in preparation for tomorrow, when Eleanor and Malcom were supposed to be discharged from the hospital.

It turned out cleaning was a great distraction from your thoughts. Cordelia didn't think of magic, or Nina, or the Sterlings all day. Until around eight pm, when she was lying in bed catching up on some biology notes and got a text from Cal that said; You need to come over asap.

A sense of cold dread washed over her, that chilled her to the bone. It wasn't like Cal to text her something urgent like that. At all. Was someone hurt? Was the coven at the house? Whatever it was, she needed to get her butt over there. Now.

Violet was out with a friend, and Gran and Gramps had fallen asleep while watching tv, so sneaking out was easy. It was the drive over that was hard. Her hands were shaking, and she was torn between slamming on the accelerator to get there quickly, and stopping the car altogether because being in the car made her want to hurl.

When she finally pulled into the driveway she ran towards the house and all but kicked down the front door like she was Captain America.

And when she saw no sign of immediate danger; no witches, no fire, no blood, she could have cried in relief.

"Jeez Cordelia I didn't mean to scare you." She heard a soft husky voice say, and she looked up to see Cal rushing down the stairs towards her. Tonight he wore a white dress shirt that was partly unbuttoned, paired with dark wash jeans that fit him like a glove.

Cordelia's relief was replaced by embarrasement. She was embarassed that she had rushed over here ready to kick ass if need be, and she was self-concious because she had just realised what she was wearing -exactly what she had been wearing when she had gotten Cal's text: a grey tank top and plaid pyjama pants.

Her face flushed when she took the time to notice and appreciate how good Cal looked. She let herself admire his overtly male body. His wide shoulders, square jaw, the way he filled out his jeans. Meanwhile Cordelia was wearing pyjamas.

Sometimes Cordelia wondered if the universe hated her, or whether it just got a kick out of watching the series of fiascos that was her life. This was one of those times.

"I'm just jumpy and paranoid. I jumped to conclusions." She said finally, as he walked over.

As he neared, his gaze flickered to her cleavage, and Cordelia realized with some horror, that in her agitation she had rushed out the door without bothering to put a bra on.

She crossed her arms across her chest, but his gaze was already on her face like a gentleman. "I shouldn't have put it that way I really am sorry Cord." He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"It's fine. Really." She assured him, reaching out to touch his forearm. He looked from her hand to her face, before taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze.