Lost in Heaven
Hey! This is just a really quick one shot that came to me in a dream. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning my other story.
***
Cordelia broke down in tears. Even though she wasn't in love with Angel, she still loved him. It was so hard, turning away from him like that in his office. Kissing him goodbye and telling him to answer the phone. By now he probably caught up with the others and told them of her death.
All around her people were wandering around, enveloped in their own peaceful existences after death. They had long forgotten the pain and hate of the harsh world below them. Believing that everything and everyone they left on Earth lives' were just as happy as their own when in all actuality, people were lost and mourning.
Cordelia had no such reprieve. Blindly seeking what everyone else already found, she wandered aimlessly among the happy people, desperately seeking out some kind of purpose. It seemed as though a century had passed before the soft Irish lilt she was, unknowing searching for touched her ears.
"'Delia," a man's voice breathed behind her.
She turned slowly, daring to hope that who she was searching for was truly behind her. Sure enuogh she came face to face with an Irishman with black, curley hair and pale blue eyes. "Doyle?" she squeaked.
He smiled warmly and extended his hand toward her. "Take me hand, Princess," he instructed. She loved it when he called her princess. All her life she was Queen C: the bitch of Sunnydale. To Doyle she was always a princess, never a queen. She liked it more that way.
Cordelia reached for his hand, grasping on to it for dear life. Relishing in the warmth of his touch, canceling out the cold of her surroundings.
The cold room evaporated around the two, turning into a beautiful room with a small coffee table and a few soft, plush chairs. On the table were two steaming cups of coffee. Doyle extended an invitation for Cordy to join him. He had certainaty grown from the gambling, bowler shirt wearing, drunk she knew in L.A.
"You're one of the very few people, 'Delia," He began, "who can't bring themselves to move on. You refuse to let yourself to be happy because you want to keep on helpin' people. I'm like that, too. I don't want to leave the world down there unprotected. There are a few others...Darla, I believe you know her, a pretty little Wicca from Sunnydale named Tara and some others, I don't really want to go into detail...for the most part there are only a handful, that's the point." Doyle told the young woman in front of him.
"I'm askin' you to join me in my journeys around the world, explorin' the cultures and helpin' hundreds of people." He finished, watching Cordelia closely.
"Oh god, I love to!" She exclaimed, pulling Doyle into a tight hug, "I missed you so much. I don't want you to leave me every."
"I won't, I won't," he reassured.
She pulled away, wiping away her tears. "Sorry, got a little emotional there."
"Don't apologize," He told her, "There's no need."
She smiled and, surprising herself, pulled Doyle into a passionate kiss. His hand traveled up her back, reaching her hair. He ran his fingers through the chocolate locks. "I think I love you, Doyle," she confessed.
"I love you, too, 'Delia." He whispered against her ear.
***
Review and tell me if this is good or not.
Hey! This is just a really quick one shot that came to me in a dream. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning my other story.
***
Cordelia broke down in tears. Even though she wasn't in love with Angel, she still loved him. It was so hard, turning away from him like that in his office. Kissing him goodbye and telling him to answer the phone. By now he probably caught up with the others and told them of her death.
All around her people were wandering around, enveloped in their own peaceful existences after death. They had long forgotten the pain and hate of the harsh world below them. Believing that everything and everyone they left on Earth lives' were just as happy as their own when in all actuality, people were lost and mourning.
Cordelia had no such reprieve. Blindly seeking what everyone else already found, she wandered aimlessly among the happy people, desperately seeking out some kind of purpose. It seemed as though a century had passed before the soft Irish lilt she was, unknowing searching for touched her ears.
"'Delia," a man's voice breathed behind her.
She turned slowly, daring to hope that who she was searching for was truly behind her. Sure enuogh she came face to face with an Irishman with black, curley hair and pale blue eyes. "Doyle?" she squeaked.
He smiled warmly and extended his hand toward her. "Take me hand, Princess," he instructed. She loved it when he called her princess. All her life she was Queen C: the bitch of Sunnydale. To Doyle she was always a princess, never a queen. She liked it more that way.
Cordelia reached for his hand, grasping on to it for dear life. Relishing in the warmth of his touch, canceling out the cold of her surroundings.
The cold room evaporated around the two, turning into a beautiful room with a small coffee table and a few soft, plush chairs. On the table were two steaming cups of coffee. Doyle extended an invitation for Cordy to join him. He had certainaty grown from the gambling, bowler shirt wearing, drunk she knew in L.A.
"You're one of the very few people, 'Delia," He began, "who can't bring themselves to move on. You refuse to let yourself to be happy because you want to keep on helpin' people. I'm like that, too. I don't want to leave the world down there unprotected. There are a few others...Darla, I believe you know her, a pretty little Wicca from Sunnydale named Tara and some others, I don't really want to go into detail...for the most part there are only a handful, that's the point." Doyle told the young woman in front of him.
"I'm askin' you to join me in my journeys around the world, explorin' the cultures and helpin' hundreds of people." He finished, watching Cordelia closely.
"Oh god, I love to!" She exclaimed, pulling Doyle into a tight hug, "I missed you so much. I don't want you to leave me every."
"I won't, I won't," he reassured.
She pulled away, wiping away her tears. "Sorry, got a little emotional there."
"Don't apologize," He told her, "There's no need."
She smiled and, surprising herself, pulled Doyle into a passionate kiss. His hand traveled up her back, reaching her hair. He ran his fingers through the chocolate locks. "I think I love you, Doyle," she confessed.
"I love you, too, 'Delia." He whispered against her ear.
***
Review and tell me if this is good or not.