Title: Heaven and TV
Author: molly22
Summary: Cordy goes to heaven and runs into an old friend.
Pairing: Cordy/Doyle
Disclaimer: I don't own Angel. The dude or the show. Not that I'd want to own the dude. He's okay to look at but boy is he moody. Okay, I'll stop rambling. My point is just this: I don't own thi show and I just wanted to write a story cuz I miss Doyle and Cordy.
A/N: I can't do an Irish accent. Sorry. You'll just have to use your imagination. Also, Doyle may be a little OOC, but remember--he's been in heaven for a couple of years and has been lonely and serene and not himself.
Surveying the room she had simply appeared in, Cordelia sighed. So this, this was heaven. This was the place she was supposed to have been anticipating. Why she was supposed to live a good life.
She couldn't help but feel disappointed. Heaven had let her down.
It had the feel of a hospital, really, not paradise. It was not warm and soft and comforting, but cold and hard. And, most surprising of all, smack dab in the middle of the white room, was a television.
Suddenly a voice, familiar and masculine, said, interrupting Cordy's thoughts," I know what you're thinking, Princess. A tv? in heaven? But its not a normal tv. It can show you your loved ones." She whirled round to face the speaker. "It does pick up NBC sometimes. Was that show Coupling a rip-off or what?"
The brunette girl found her voice. "Doyle?"
"How are ya, Princess?"
She marched up to him and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. Then, abruptly she pulled back and slapped him hard across the cheek.
"Ow! What was that for?" he cried.
"How dare you leave me and Angel! You stupid . . . stupid person! Why the hell did you have to be a hero?"
He half smirked. "You're angry 'cause I saved Angel's life. Jeez, I thought you were in love with the guy."
"I-what do you mean you thought I was in love with Angel?"
"Well, you are, aren't you? I mean, I saw that goodbye kiss and well--mine definitely pales in comparison."
She gaped (and blushed a little). "You saw that?"
"I'll sometimes watch you . . . and Angel in the TV." As a response to her raised eyebrows, he said, "Not like in the shower or anything. The TV doesn't work that way."
"Um, okay, I guess."
He smiled sadly. "You shouldn't've had to die. It's my fault."
"Your fault? How could it be? You didn't put me in a coma."
"When I died, I kissed you--"
"I remember."
"--and I passed on the visions. I should've known you couldn't handle it."
"I could so--"
"Your body. Your mind. You were a human, and it wasn't right. So you had to become part--the tiniest part--demon. Like me.
"Only, your demonic-ness allowed you to become a puppet in a plan orchestrated by, well, evildoers. You were possessed."
Cordelia interrupted, "I recall this, Doyle. I haven't forgotten."
"I'm sure you haven't. But let me finish."
"Fine," she said, taking a seat.
"If you hadn't been possessed, I doubt you would've slept with Angel's son."
"Okay," she said, embarrassed, "can we stop talking about this now?"
He ignored her. "You were pregnant. But when you went into labor with that Jasmine person, you fell into a coma. Then, one last vision of Angel killed you." He knew what the vision was of because sometimes he shared visions with Cordy, even though he had supposedly passed them on.
"Thank you for the reacp," she muttered, "but what are you trying to say?"
"If you hadn't--if I hadn't passed on the visions, you wouldn't have died."
She snorted. "You're taking my death harder than I am."
"Cordelia--"
"No, I'm still pissed. You have no idea what I went through after you died. I mean, I was left virtually alone."
He gave her an odd look. "You had Angel. That's why I died."
"Oh, Angel. Mr. Doom and Gloom whose main hobbies at the time included brooding, brooding, killing demons, and, oh yeah, brooding!"
"But, i thought--"
"You were my best friend in LA. My best friend ever," she said, clearly full of passion.
Doyle looked even more confused as he said, "But--but you love Angel. He's the love of your life. Love is all you need. Blah, blah, blah. You should be happy I died. Because it was either him or me."
"I'm not talking about Angel right now, I'm talking about you," she explained, avoiding the whole subject of her feelings for the moody vampire. "And I wish you'd stop talking about him for two seconds." He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't let him. "You left me alone. Every day, I wished you would come back to me. Even after Wesley and Gunn and Fred came. Even after Connor was born. Even when I was in a coma."
"You couldn't have possibly--"
"I dreamed. Most of the time I dreamed of you. Sometimes I had dreams about Angel and Connor, but my wish is, has always been, for you to be alive again. Or for you to have never died in the first place."
He wiped away he tears. "Don't cry.'" He didn't realize he was crying too.
"Angel didn't understand. He'd known you, cared about you, but he didn't understand. No one understood. So I didn't discuss you with other people. Don't get me wrong, though. I wasn't depressed. I had some great and weird and terrifying times. I just wished you could have been there too. I just wanted to see you, to talk to you, for things to be like they used to."
"Oh, Princess, I--"
"I guess I got my wish, huh. I see you, I'm talking to you . . ."
He finished her thought. "But thing'll never be like they used to."
"No." She put on a brave smile. "That's okay though. Things aren't supposed to always stay the same." Her voice trembled slightly. "Things change. That's what life--and death too, I guess--is about." Another smile played on her lips.
" You've grown up so much. Matured, I mean."
Cordy narrowed her eyes. 'What are you saying? I wasn't mature before? I was shallow and superficial?"
"Well--I mean--that's not--"
"I hate to interrupt," a low male voice proclaimed, "but I fear I must."
Cordelia turned to face a tall, built guy. He wore a bright white robe (unbelievably clean, by the way) and small feathery wings flutterd behind him, protruding from between his shoulder blades. Upon further inspection, she realized he had a striking resemblence to Tom Cruise.
Doyle, not at all perturbed by this man's sudden appearance, said, "Oh, hello, Feo. What do you need?"
"Just a little info from our new arrival." He gestured toward Cordelia.
The Irishman smiled wanly and stepped away from his female companion. "Of course."
Feo grinned at Cordy. "Well, now," he said. "Since Helen of Troy arrived, I haven't seen anyone quite as pretty as you." She blushed. Doyle rolled his eyes. "So, name--Cordelia Chase, correct?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Cause of death?"
"Um." She paused. "Coma . . . or something?" She actually wasn't sure what she could say was her cause of death. A coma, a vision, or maybe giving birth to something she couldn't even name.
He looked as his clipboard. "It says here supernatural or magic-related death. Care to elaborate?"
"Oh, sure. I was in a coma. I got a vision. It killed me."
He scribbled something down. "A seer, huh? Interesting." He looked down again. "It also says you stuck around for a little longer than you were supposed to." He raised his eyebrows. "And that you were corporeal. Interesting."
"Yeah. I had a . . . friend I had to help out. That last vision--it was of him, in some trouble." Doyle rolled his eyes again.
He asked a few more questions, then said, "Okay, welcome to heaven. We have a mixer tonight, if you want to get acquainted with some people. Good people are a very social bunch, you know. Doyle can take you. That is, if he remembers where it is. He's only gone once. the rest of the time, he's sat in front of the tv, staring at--" Doyle coughed loudly. Feo amended, "Well, it's not important. I'm sure he'll remember. It's one of those things you never forget."
"I see," Cordy said, not seeing at all.
"Other things--if you want to go somewhere on any of our heavenly dimensions, just wish yourself there. Again, Doyle can help you there. If you want to, you can schedule a meeting with one of the upper angels or, even--" His voice lowered to a whisper-- "God."
She looked surprised. "I can?"
"Sure. The list's fairly long though. Decades of waiting. You're better off talking to me, or one of the other angels who aren't so well known, if its urgent."
"Now, one last thing, and this is perhaps the most important--have fun! This is heaven, you got here because you did something noble and you lived a good life, but since you're here for eternity, enjoy it. We're not strict and religious, and if you really feel the need to meditate on clouds and hear heavenly choirs, then go ahead. But its not a requirement or anything. Not everyone here is a party-pooper like Doyle." And then he was gone.
"Lord, this place is complicated," she muttered, then turning to Doyle, she said, "He called you a party-pooper."
A smile flickered across his lips. "I'm not a party-pooper, and this place is complicated. I expected to just float around on clouds with some of those ugly birkenstocks on and a harp in hand." He chuckled. "Actually, I didn't expect to end up here at all. I am part demon, you know."
"Well, so am I. And I didn't even die to save someone. You did."
He frowned. "You're suggesting that you belong somewhere other than heaven?" He shook his head. "Impossible."
"Actually, I never really thought about it. I was like, 'Death? Pwah. It won't come till I'm old and ugly and wrinkly.' I was very stupid."
"Not stupid," he said. "Just hopeful. Wishful thinking."
"Still, I should have--it seems like I would have--thought about it considering my line of work. The first time I really gave it serious consideration was when I had to make a decision about my life--should I start over, never meet Angel, and become a famous actress, or should I remain as I am, dying from visions I didn't even ask for?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. The visions were a gift. I see that now. But, I want you to understand that I wasn't sure what choice to make. Sure, the answer seemed obvious, that living was the best choice, but what did that mean for everyone else? For Angel. But then a thought occured. If I chose this great life, not as a demon hunter, but as an actress, you might never have died." She shrugged. "I was wrong, and Angel was crazy. So I made things go back to the way they were."
He decided to stick to the topic of the visions. "But the visions, they hurt you. I saw. I saw you go through so much pain."
"It wasn't so bad. I got used to it. Just like you had to."
He sighed uncomfortably. "Still, you didn't deserve to have all of that dumped on you."
She smiled. "But, I have to ask you something. It's . . . been bothering me for a while." She laughed, but it was a hollow laugh, without humor. "When you died--I mean, before you died, when you . . ." Cordelia trailed off uncomfortably.
He didn't understand. "When I . . .?"
"When you kissed me."
"Oh."
She blushed slightly. "Well, did you mean it? I mean, did you kiss me to kiss me? Or . . . did you just want to pass on the visions because you had to?"
Doyle was shocked. "What?"
"Did you mean it? Did you care? Did you mean to pass on the visions? I know you said you're sorry for it, but did you know?"
He was at a loss for words. Finally, he said, "Of course not. I didn't know. If I had, I would never have kissed you. When I realized I had passed that burden on to you, it nearly killed me. Well, if I had still been alive that is."
"Really? It wasn't something you felt you had to do?"
"No, it was something I wanted to do."
She smiled, her lips curving upwards, and, to Doyle, she looked unbelievably beautiful. And then, he couldn't resist himself. He couldn't have stopped himself even if he had been aware of what he was about to do. But he wasn't aware and he didn't stop himself.
And he kissed her.
Author: molly22
Summary: Cordy goes to heaven and runs into an old friend.
Pairing: Cordy/Doyle
Disclaimer: I don't own Angel. The dude or the show. Not that I'd want to own the dude. He's okay to look at but boy is he moody. Okay, I'll stop rambling. My point is just this: I don't own thi show and I just wanted to write a story cuz I miss Doyle and Cordy.
A/N: I can't do an Irish accent. Sorry. You'll just have to use your imagination. Also, Doyle may be a little OOC, but remember--he's been in heaven for a couple of years and has been lonely and serene and not himself.
Surveying the room she had simply appeared in, Cordelia sighed. So this, this was heaven. This was the place she was supposed to have been anticipating. Why she was supposed to live a good life.
She couldn't help but feel disappointed. Heaven had let her down.
It had the feel of a hospital, really, not paradise. It was not warm and soft and comforting, but cold and hard. And, most surprising of all, smack dab in the middle of the white room, was a television.
Suddenly a voice, familiar and masculine, said, interrupting Cordy's thoughts," I know what you're thinking, Princess. A tv? in heaven? But its not a normal tv. It can show you your loved ones." She whirled round to face the speaker. "It does pick up NBC sometimes. Was that show Coupling a rip-off or what?"
The brunette girl found her voice. "Doyle?"
"How are ya, Princess?"
She marched up to him and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. Then, abruptly she pulled back and slapped him hard across the cheek.
"Ow! What was that for?" he cried.
"How dare you leave me and Angel! You stupid . . . stupid person! Why the hell did you have to be a hero?"
He half smirked. "You're angry 'cause I saved Angel's life. Jeez, I thought you were in love with the guy."
"I-what do you mean you thought I was in love with Angel?"
"Well, you are, aren't you? I mean, I saw that goodbye kiss and well--mine definitely pales in comparison."
She gaped (and blushed a little). "You saw that?"
"I'll sometimes watch you . . . and Angel in the TV." As a response to her raised eyebrows, he said, "Not like in the shower or anything. The TV doesn't work that way."
"Um, okay, I guess."
He smiled sadly. "You shouldn't've had to die. It's my fault."
"Your fault? How could it be? You didn't put me in a coma."
"When I died, I kissed you--"
"I remember."
"--and I passed on the visions. I should've known you couldn't handle it."
"I could so--"
"Your body. Your mind. You were a human, and it wasn't right. So you had to become part--the tiniest part--demon. Like me.
"Only, your demonic-ness allowed you to become a puppet in a plan orchestrated by, well, evildoers. You were possessed."
Cordelia interrupted, "I recall this, Doyle. I haven't forgotten."
"I'm sure you haven't. But let me finish."
"Fine," she said, taking a seat.
"If you hadn't been possessed, I doubt you would've slept with Angel's son."
"Okay," she said, embarrassed, "can we stop talking about this now?"
He ignored her. "You were pregnant. But when you went into labor with that Jasmine person, you fell into a coma. Then, one last vision of Angel killed you." He knew what the vision was of because sometimes he shared visions with Cordy, even though he had supposedly passed them on.
"Thank you for the reacp," she muttered, "but what are you trying to say?"
"If you hadn't--if I hadn't passed on the visions, you wouldn't have died."
She snorted. "You're taking my death harder than I am."
"Cordelia--"
"No, I'm still pissed. You have no idea what I went through after you died. I mean, I was left virtually alone."
He gave her an odd look. "You had Angel. That's why I died."
"Oh, Angel. Mr. Doom and Gloom whose main hobbies at the time included brooding, brooding, killing demons, and, oh yeah, brooding!"
"But, i thought--"
"You were my best friend in LA. My best friend ever," she said, clearly full of passion.
Doyle looked even more confused as he said, "But--but you love Angel. He's the love of your life. Love is all you need. Blah, blah, blah. You should be happy I died. Because it was either him or me."
"I'm not talking about Angel right now, I'm talking about you," she explained, avoiding the whole subject of her feelings for the moody vampire. "And I wish you'd stop talking about him for two seconds." He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't let him. "You left me alone. Every day, I wished you would come back to me. Even after Wesley and Gunn and Fred came. Even after Connor was born. Even when I was in a coma."
"You couldn't have possibly--"
"I dreamed. Most of the time I dreamed of you. Sometimes I had dreams about Angel and Connor, but my wish is, has always been, for you to be alive again. Or for you to have never died in the first place."
He wiped away he tears. "Don't cry.'" He didn't realize he was crying too.
"Angel didn't understand. He'd known you, cared about you, but he didn't understand. No one understood. So I didn't discuss you with other people. Don't get me wrong, though. I wasn't depressed. I had some great and weird and terrifying times. I just wished you could have been there too. I just wanted to see you, to talk to you, for things to be like they used to."
"Oh, Princess, I--"
"I guess I got my wish, huh. I see you, I'm talking to you . . ."
He finished her thought. "But thing'll never be like they used to."
"No." She put on a brave smile. "That's okay though. Things aren't supposed to always stay the same." Her voice trembled slightly. "Things change. That's what life--and death too, I guess--is about." Another smile played on her lips.
" You've grown up so much. Matured, I mean."
Cordy narrowed her eyes. 'What are you saying? I wasn't mature before? I was shallow and superficial?"
"Well--I mean--that's not--"
"I hate to interrupt," a low male voice proclaimed, "but I fear I must."
Cordelia turned to face a tall, built guy. He wore a bright white robe (unbelievably clean, by the way) and small feathery wings flutterd behind him, protruding from between his shoulder blades. Upon further inspection, she realized he had a striking resemblence to Tom Cruise.
Doyle, not at all perturbed by this man's sudden appearance, said, "Oh, hello, Feo. What do you need?"
"Just a little info from our new arrival." He gestured toward Cordelia.
The Irishman smiled wanly and stepped away from his female companion. "Of course."
Feo grinned at Cordy. "Well, now," he said. "Since Helen of Troy arrived, I haven't seen anyone quite as pretty as you." She blushed. Doyle rolled his eyes. "So, name--Cordelia Chase, correct?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Cause of death?"
"Um." She paused. "Coma . . . or something?" She actually wasn't sure what she could say was her cause of death. A coma, a vision, or maybe giving birth to something she couldn't even name.
He looked as his clipboard. "It says here supernatural or magic-related death. Care to elaborate?"
"Oh, sure. I was in a coma. I got a vision. It killed me."
He scribbled something down. "A seer, huh? Interesting." He looked down again. "It also says you stuck around for a little longer than you were supposed to." He raised his eyebrows. "And that you were corporeal. Interesting."
"Yeah. I had a . . . friend I had to help out. That last vision--it was of him, in some trouble." Doyle rolled his eyes again.
He asked a few more questions, then said, "Okay, welcome to heaven. We have a mixer tonight, if you want to get acquainted with some people. Good people are a very social bunch, you know. Doyle can take you. That is, if he remembers where it is. He's only gone once. the rest of the time, he's sat in front of the tv, staring at--" Doyle coughed loudly. Feo amended, "Well, it's not important. I'm sure he'll remember. It's one of those things you never forget."
"I see," Cordy said, not seeing at all.
"Other things--if you want to go somewhere on any of our heavenly dimensions, just wish yourself there. Again, Doyle can help you there. If you want to, you can schedule a meeting with one of the upper angels or, even--" His voice lowered to a whisper-- "God."
She looked surprised. "I can?"
"Sure. The list's fairly long though. Decades of waiting. You're better off talking to me, or one of the other angels who aren't so well known, if its urgent."
"Now, one last thing, and this is perhaps the most important--have fun! This is heaven, you got here because you did something noble and you lived a good life, but since you're here for eternity, enjoy it. We're not strict and religious, and if you really feel the need to meditate on clouds and hear heavenly choirs, then go ahead. But its not a requirement or anything. Not everyone here is a party-pooper like Doyle." And then he was gone.
"Lord, this place is complicated," she muttered, then turning to Doyle, she said, "He called you a party-pooper."
A smile flickered across his lips. "I'm not a party-pooper, and this place is complicated. I expected to just float around on clouds with some of those ugly birkenstocks on and a harp in hand." He chuckled. "Actually, I didn't expect to end up here at all. I am part demon, you know."
"Well, so am I. And I didn't even die to save someone. You did."
He frowned. "You're suggesting that you belong somewhere other than heaven?" He shook his head. "Impossible."
"Actually, I never really thought about it. I was like, 'Death? Pwah. It won't come till I'm old and ugly and wrinkly.' I was very stupid."
"Not stupid," he said. "Just hopeful. Wishful thinking."
"Still, I should have--it seems like I would have--thought about it considering my line of work. The first time I really gave it serious consideration was when I had to make a decision about my life--should I start over, never meet Angel, and become a famous actress, or should I remain as I am, dying from visions I didn't even ask for?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. The visions were a gift. I see that now. But, I want you to understand that I wasn't sure what choice to make. Sure, the answer seemed obvious, that living was the best choice, but what did that mean for everyone else? For Angel. But then a thought occured. If I chose this great life, not as a demon hunter, but as an actress, you might never have died." She shrugged. "I was wrong, and Angel was crazy. So I made things go back to the way they were."
He decided to stick to the topic of the visions. "But the visions, they hurt you. I saw. I saw you go through so much pain."
"It wasn't so bad. I got used to it. Just like you had to."
He sighed uncomfortably. "Still, you didn't deserve to have all of that dumped on you."
She smiled. "But, I have to ask you something. It's . . . been bothering me for a while." She laughed, but it was a hollow laugh, without humor. "When you died--I mean, before you died, when you . . ." Cordelia trailed off uncomfortably.
He didn't understand. "When I . . .?"
"When you kissed me."
"Oh."
She blushed slightly. "Well, did you mean it? I mean, did you kiss me to kiss me? Or . . . did you just want to pass on the visions because you had to?"
Doyle was shocked. "What?"
"Did you mean it? Did you care? Did you mean to pass on the visions? I know you said you're sorry for it, but did you know?"
He was at a loss for words. Finally, he said, "Of course not. I didn't know. If I had, I would never have kissed you. When I realized I had passed that burden on to you, it nearly killed me. Well, if I had still been alive that is."
"Really? It wasn't something you felt you had to do?"
"No, it was something I wanted to do."
She smiled, her lips curving upwards, and, to Doyle, she looked unbelievably beautiful. And then, he couldn't resist himself. He couldn't have stopped himself even if he had been aware of what he was about to do. But he wasn't aware and he didn't stop himself.
And he kissed her.