TITLE: Without You
AUTHOR: Alex Queirolo
EMAIL ADDRESS: codered007@earthlink.net mailto:codered007@earthlink.net
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: It's going to go to
http://www.angelfire.com/co/alexfic/index.html
All others, ask.
SPOILER WARNING: Up to Parting Gifts of ANGEL.
RATING: PG
FEEDBACK: I live off of it. Please.
CONTENT WARNING: Angst, a couple of words and some
liquor.
SUMMARY: First person Cordy in a very dark place
after Doyle's death. C/D with B/A similarities.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own the characters..Joss does. If I
did, they'd be treated a lot better and there would be
no Riley Finn.
MUSICAL NOTES: The lyrics are Sarah McLachlan. The
title is owed to Harry Nilsson.
"And I have the strength to recognize
that I don't know how to let you go"
******
She was never my best friend.
That helped. A little at least. I mean I respected her
I guess. I counted on her at the very least and I knew
that she'd always come through. That's respect, right?
Either way, it helped that I kept her at some kind of
distance. It meant that I could close my eyes at night
and know that the shadows weren't always lurking
around my bed ready to get me. It meant that I was
safe.
Since he died two weeks ago, I don't feel so safe. Not
anymore.
I just feel lonely. And afraid.
He was a dork. Aren't they all? I seem to have a
problem with dorks. They flock to me and I take them
in. Someone has to. Xander. Wesley. Doyle.
Doyle.
His name rolls over my tongue and sticks. It courses
through my mind and then rewinds itself and does it
again. Just like his death scene. Over and over. The
things I should have said before he was gone. The ways
I should have stopped him. The things I could have
done.
Nothing.
hat's what Angel says. He puts his large hand on my
shoulder and squeezes. Then he gives me those big
soulful eyes that Buffy fell in love with and tells me
that's it's not my fault. And he wants to say more, I
can see it- but he doesn't. That's not his way and I
get that.
His way is to close himself up inside of the darkness
and die a little bit more.
I can't do that. I don't want to do that.
I feel like I'm doing that. And I'm scared.
He lost Buffy. The love his life. And then when he had
the chance to have her back, to hold her in his arms,
world without end, he gave it back so that there would
be a world not to end. And now he's alone again. Sure,
he has me and he has Wesley but it's so different. So
very different.
She understands the demons that keep him awake at
night. The ones that force him to curl into a ball
when I'm sure he thinks no one is around to call him
on it.
The night I crashed over there at his place..the one
before I got my new apartment..I heard him crying out.
He's not a peaceful sleeper. I almost got up a couple
of times but really, what could I have said? What
would I have said when all he wants in the world is
the comfort of her arms?
I struggle with that.
Part of me really wants to walk up to him, give him a
good shove and scream at him to go after her. He loves
her and so what if they can't get horizontal..at least
they can enjoy the comfort of a good conversation or a
good laugh.
Not anymore.
Because Buffy's back in Sunnydale. And Doyle's dead.
I'm alone. And he's alone.
His pain is eternal. Without her, he is incomplete. At
least he knows that. It sucks but at least he has a
place to start from. Don't ask me where he's supposed
to be going. Haven't a clue. Just the same, at least
he knows.
I don't know what I am.
I feel empty. And I wonder if maybe if I watch this
tape a thousand times more if the pain will begin to
go away and lave me some peace.
Fateful last words, right?
So why is "damn him" all I can think? And why do I
want to find those stupid oracles and beat them until
they bleed? Even if they will probably then proceed to
turn me into something icky and green.
He was honest. Just like Xander. Both of them weren't
exactly bold but they were far from sly. They couldn't
keep a secret to save their lives. Well not when it
came to lust and all that. Xand was all about getting
smoochies and then we actually ended up liking each
other. Never figured for that.
Doyle. Well he was even less sly than Xander. I heard
him talking to Angel about asking me out and I thought
to myself, sure..okay but I'm gonna make him work for
it. Make him sweat. Weed him out if all he's thinking
about is the carnal stuff.
But he wasn't thinking about that at all. Well he was.
Of course he was. But that wasn't it. He was actually
gone on me. He died for me.
For me. And for Angel.
Bang. Gone.
Doyle.
Sometimes I wish I was more of a drinker. Sometimes I
wish that my poison was something more intense than
white wine on a good day and red on a shit day.
Sometimes I wish that I could drink the way Angel does
and Doyle did. Knock the pain back and away. Forget.
If only for five minutes.
Wouldn't that be something?
So I miss him. That's what all the crying is about. I
miss him. And I want him back.
I want to see him grinning at me. I want to hand him
Motrin as he knocks his head against the table in an
inane attempt to make his head stop thumping after
he's pounded a few too many brewskies.
Hey now, I know the terminology. Remember, most of
whom I dated back in high school were jocks who were
always pounding the liquor. Only they were doing it
because it was "cool" and they were supposed to. Doyle
did it to forget. Angel still does.
So here I am. A shot glass filled to the top with
Vodka. A can of Mountain Dew sitting next to it.
Always makes me think of Xander.
Now he wasn't much of a drinker but the guy was
constantly toked on soda. Anything with caffeine. He
and Willow. Maximum Dewage all the time.
To be honest, I've never really done shots. Doyle had
mentioned that he would show me how one of these crazy
old nights when the two of us retreated from the
office and from Angel. We never called it that though.
We said that we were leaving the boss alone with his
brooding but the reality of it was, we couldn't handle
his heartache. It was depressing.
Now I feel it.
I miss him.
I lift up the little shot glass and turn it around in
my palm. It says Pokey's on it. That's the name of a
seedy little West Los Angeles bar that we went into
about four days before he died. He said that he was
having a headache, not a sight one..oh and we'll get
to that later by the way..but one of those life sucks
kinda bangers. So we went down there and he drank for
awhile and I sipped wine. Meanwhile this greasy
guy..total ick factor... is looking down my cleavage
and trying to pick up on me. Like he had a chance.
Doyle had more of a chance to get the whole package
right on the floor of that bar than the dirty man had
of me even acknowledging his existence other than as
the person who was refilling my wine glass.
Anyways, both of us are buzzed as we're leaving and
the barkeeper tells us that we should buy something to
remember our honeymoon by. Doyle blushes. I'm cruising
and not caring. Doyle throws the guy a twenty for
something wrapped in paper and we leave. We go back to
my place and I crawl into bed. He sleeps on the couch
being annoyed by Dennis all night. Come morning, we
open the package to see the shot glass. Honeymoon. As
if. We had a good laugh about it. He took it out of
the paper and put it up with the rest of his glasses.
That's one of the first things I took from his
apartment.
So here I am again. Only this time I'm in my
apartment. I'm sitting in front of my television which
is off but I'm staring at it anyways. And I have this
shot glass in my hand and damn is the room shaking. Oh
wait, no..that's me I guess. I'm shaking.
Again.
Okay. I can do this. I can focus my thoughts. I can be
in control. I am a strong woman. I control my destiny.
I don't need a man to validate me..
No. I don't need him. But I miss him and I want him
back in my life.
Sure, he left me this groovy gift.
And yes,,with strange help from Barney, I realize that
Doyle did give me the most important thing he had..the
ability to make a difference. But really, couldn't it
have come with a complimentary head massager at the
very least? I mean, I never was key about head banging
but I'm thinking of taking up with a rock group soon
if I get another one of those slammers.
He hated them as much as I do. But he put up with them
with a little bit of good-natured gripping. Okay..I'm
starting to smear my makeup again. Damn him..this
would amuse him way too much.
Okay. Back to the liquor.
It's in my hand again.
And suddenly I'm back to her.
Buffy.
And how this all started.
With her.
That's not fair. Not exactly. I think she would have
much preferred to stay out of my way. Didn't happen
like that and I got messed up in her screwy little
world. Even if I held it at arms' length.
But then my own life turned upside down and it was
Angel, her demon lover who save my ass and then helped
me out by giving me a job and a purpose and something
to do that actually meant something real.
So even though I tried to keep my life from changing
by making sure that I was never really completely one
of her friends, this didn't work out that way. Weird.
"Drink, princess."
I can almost hear that. In my head, you know. That's
what he'd be saying. He said that my sipping drove him
nuts. Took too long to get the desired effect. I'd
always remind him that my intents were different than
his. He'd reply in his heavy accent, "True enough,
princess."
I rewind the video tape and silently promise that when
he says his last words, I'll toast him and finally say
goodbye.
I hit play on my VCR and suddenly there he is. Only
now I know the words by heart. Only now I feel the
words. I say them as he does and I feel a tear trace
down my cheek. I brush it away but it's followed by
another.
This calls for a pep talk.
Okay. Better now. Continue.
He moves around the screen nervously, pleading me to
let him go. No way. Stick there handsome. Keep going.
We both know the drill by now. Might as well get this
over with.
"Is that it? Am I done?"
I lift the glass up to my lips and I tip it back. I
can feel the tears spilling down my cheeks in waves.
Too many. God, this hurts.
I taste it in my mouth. It's bitter. More so than I
would have ever imagined. I can barely swallow it. I
almost spit it out . I squeeze my eyes shut though and
force it down. I can do this. I am my own master. Even
grief can not triumph over me.
Right?
I grab for the soda and use it to wash the liquor
down. Quickly. But I can still taste it in my throat.
And then I fall.
I'm on the ground. No, no, no. I've got to do this.
I've got to say goodbye. I've got to..
I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up hoping it's
him even though I know it's not.
This ain't no fairy tale princess. All the tears in
the world can't bring the prince home.
That's it. I'm gone.
The glass slips out of my hand and I'm in a ball on
the ground. Oddly, the hand is still there. I don't
think much of it though. Because I know it's not his.
"Shh.." a voice says. I know it's Angel but I don't
care. I wonder why he's here but I don't think long on
it. He pulls me up and against him and I find myself
folding into his chest. I can see now why Buffy liked
it. It's big and you can lose yourself in it.
Especially when all you want is for the world to take
it's crap elsewhere.
He knows why I'm crying so he saves us both the time
and trouble of asking what's wrong. He just rocks me.
Like he doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't. He's
just as helpless. He couldn't stop himself from losing
Buffy anymore than I could stop myself from losing
Doyle.
I just wish...
Dammit, no. Best not to go there. Madness.
I just wish I could have told him how much he meant to
me.
Problem is..like always, I don't figure it out until
too late. I didn't realize how much Xander meant to me
until I saw our relationship come apart in front of
me. And I didn't realize how much I looked forward to
seeing Doyle every day until I didn't.
Until I couldn't.
Because he's dead now.
Angel lifts me up and brings me into my bedroom.
Vaguely, I can hear the sounds of sheets being pulled
back. He lays me under them, covers me up and then
sits on the side of my bed. He brushes my hair out of
my eyes. "It'll be okay," he promises, using the tone
of someone who doesn't really believe it but has had
to live by it his entire life. Like a mantra. After
all, the good guys are supposed to win. Right?
Slowly I begin to drift. I put my hands out towards
the velvet cloak of dark and start to move towards it.
And then I fall into it. I think maybe he'll be there.
***
Morning comes soon enough and with it, a pounding
headache. Not a hangover..there wasn't enough alcohol
involved for that. More like the kind of slammer you
get when you're emotionally drained. When you haven't
got anything left to give. That's me. The Drajno girl.
Call my agent pronto.
When I come out of my room, he's sitting there. Angel
that is. He's sitting in a chair facing the bedroom
and I can tell that he's been there all night.
Watching. Protecting. Like's it all he can do.
It is.
He gets up when he sees me. "Hi,uh.."
I smile and wave him off. He's never been good with
words and the stammering might just give me a
headache. I appreciate the thought and the gesture.
Words mean nothing.
I go into my kitchen and start a pot of coffee. When I
look back, he's leaning against the doorframe. He
opens his mouth to speak, shuts it and then opens it
again. "You okay?"
I smile weakly. "No. Go on."
And that's that.
It's not open season and I'm not anymore ready to
share my pain than I am to let go of Doyle. I know it.
I feel it. He knows it too. We're the same in that.
Both holding on. Both so damn unsure of how to let go
and both absolutely unwilling to anyways. Buffy.
Doyle. Whatever.
"Okay. Uh..the office.."
"Yes?"
"It's Saturday.."
"I don't come in on Saturdays," I reply simply, almost
smiling. I know what he's trying to say and I could
save him the trouble but it's almost amusing.
"Right. Okay. I'll see you Monday then."
"Monday then," I say. He nods, offers another smile
and I know for certain that he'll be watching my place
again tonight to make sure I'm alright. Watching me
cry while his heart breaks a little more with each
moment he's apart from Buffy. "Bye."
"Bye," Angel replies. He taps the doorframe once, a
nervous motion I'm sure and then he ducks his head and
slips back out into the early morning dusk. I hear a
sound and I know he's entered the sewer system. He's
gone and I'm once again alone with my pain.
And my knowledge that one drink and a thousand hours
spent viewing that damn tape will never add up to
goodbye.
I pour my coffee, look at it and then put it down. I
glance at it once again and then move back towards my
bedroom. This is not a day I'm ready to start dealing
with. Not quite yet. Soon maybe.
Later.
When I can figure out how to stand.
-Fin