"Parting Gifts," Part II
Doyle finished picking the lock on Barney's front door and pushed the door open. "Dunno why the guy didn't just give us the key. We're supposed to be on his side." Doyle griped, stepping into the sparse space.
"Maybe it's because he can sense that you don't like him?" Angel guessed, giving Doyle a critical look.
"So what if I don't?" Doyle replied. "I'm still willing to pull my weight and—" Doyle's voice dropped off and his eyes narrowed at the leather-clad figure now occupying the open doorway behind them, aiming a crossbow directly at Angel's chest.
"Hello, Angel." The crossbow guy said snidely, revealing that he had an English accent.
Angel turned toward the Englishman, placing his hands in his pockets in casual regard. Clearly, he was neither concerned about the crossbow nor the man wielding it. "Wesley." He said in greeting.
"I wager you never thought you'd never see me again." The man called Wesley said, his demeanor was overly showy, hinting that his bravado was probably of the false variety. Doyle wondered how fast the guy would cower if Angel bared his fangs.
"To tell you the truth, I hadn't given it much thought one way or the other." Angel responded, still not bothering to remove his hands from his pockets.
"Who's this yutz?" Doyle asked, sizing up the tall, lanky English fellow, and deciding he liked him even less than the empath waiting for them back at the office.
"I beg your pardon?" Wesley sputtered, dipping the crossbow slightly. "I'll have you know, I am a world-class rogue demon hunter! And I'm on the trail of a particularly nasty bugger at the moment."
"This is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce." Angel deadpanned, finally reaching out and plucking the crossbow out of Wesley's hand, leaving the other man blinking in surprised confusion that he was now weaponless. "He was Buffy's Watcher for a short time." Angel turned back toward Wesley. "But, I'm guessing they fired you."
"Hardly." Wesley huffed. "With Buffy unwilling to follow Council orders there was simply no opportunity to function as Watcher. Hence, my new calling as a—"
"Rogue demon hunter. Yeah, we got it the first time." Angel replied, tossing the crossbow to Doyle, who caught it with ease. "Why are you stalking Barney?"
"If you're referring to the large, incredibly violent demon I've been tracking across the country, well, then 'Barney' is going to have to answer to me for the trail of corpses he's left mutilated in his wake." Wesley vowed—again, all bravado with nothing to back it up. Not even a crossbow.
Doyle snorted. "Trail of mutilated corpses, ya say? That guy?" He shook his head, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder. "If ya told me he cheated ya in a round of Black Jack I'd say ya were onto something, but murderer? Doesn't seem the type."
"I don't think I caught your name." Wesley said, eyes falling on Doyle, sizing him up derisively.
"That's 'cause I never gave it." Doyle shot back with undisguised contempt.
Angel rubbed his brow, already exhausted from all the bickering. "Doyle." Angel supplied, giving Doyle a sharp look. "Can we focus on the important thing here. For starters…" He turned back toward Wesley. "I think you've got the wrong guy."
"On the contrary." Wesley said, eyes suddenly darting to the ceiling overhead, where a large, yellow-green demon hung. "I'm quite certain I've found the right guy."
The demon lunged at that moment, landing on Wesley and then flinging him easily out of the way. Angel stepped into the fray next, trading blows with the large demon, before being knocked to his knees. As soon as Angel went down, Doyle fired the crossbow he'd inherited from Wesley, hitting the demon squarely in the chest. The thing yelped, and fled quickly, hurling itself out a nearby window and landing on the street below.
"Okay, now that guy looked way more like the mutilated corpse type."
Cordelia sat at Angel's kitchen table filing her nails, which were basically already perfect from all the time she spent filing them at the front desk. But, she didn't have much else to do down in Angel's apartment aside from trying not to look at the demon who was currently pacing the living room area. He wasn't hideously disfigured or anything, but he could probably benefit from a good dermatologist. As demons went, he was definitely no Doyle.
Aaand, there she went again. Thinking about Doyle, no matter how hard she tried to think of anything other than Doyle. His face kept popping into her mind, with its lively green eyes and disarmingly charming dimples—along with it came a jumble of emotions she still wasn't ready to process completely.
"I'm sure everything will work out just fine." Barney said, interrupting her deep thoughts.
"I'm sure you're right." Cordelia replied, not incredibly happy to be reminded about her babysitting duty. "That's what Angel does. Always saves the day."
"Oh, not that." Barney clarified, coming closer to her and leaning against one of the unoccupied kitchen chairs. "I mean, yeah, I hope that'll work out, too, for my sake. But, I was referring to things between you and your boyfriend."
"Excuse me?!" Cordelia chirped, her head rocketing up from her task. "My what now?"
"The guy from earlier. Uh... Doyle." Barney said a little more hesitantly than before. "I picked up on some stuff when I met you this morning, so I can only assume the regret and the yearning I'm getting now... well, that's about him, right?"
Cordelia's eyes widened to their full capacity and she felt her face flush with both embarrassment and fury at the thought of her personal thoughts being invaded. "You can stop right there, buddy—"
"Barney." He reminded her.
"What's your deal, anyway?" She demanded, narrowing her eyes at him. "Have you been listening to what I've been thinking this whole time, you floppy-eared freak?!"
"I'm not psychic." Barney assured her. "I'm empathic. I don't know what you're thinking, but I can feel your feelings as you feel them."
"Well, stop!" She ordered, deciding that was probably a whole lot worse than simply being psychic. "Keep your feelings out of my feelings. Some things are personal, besides you don't seem to be feeling things right. I'm not yearning. I don't yearn."
Barney nodded vaguely in response, but didn't look too convinced that he'd gotten anything wrong. That was even more infuriating than knowing he'd been eavesdropping on her feelings in the first place—that he seemed to understand them far better than she did. She was about to elaborate in more detail exactly where he could stick his empathic abilities, when he whirled toward the figures appearing at the bottom of the staircase. His eyes went wide with fear. "That's him! That's the guy who's after me!"
Cordelia turned to see Angel and Doyle entering the room with a third person. "Wesley?"
"Doyle can help you with the books." Angel instructed Wesley as he crossed the room and slung a comforting arm around Barney's shoulders. "Listen. There's been a bit of a misunderstanding. It's actually kind of a funny story..." As Angel and Barney stepped out of earshot, Cordelia stepped closer to greet the Watcher she hadn't seen since her high school graduation.
"Cordelia!" Wesley exclaimed happily, upon seeing her. "How lovely to see you. Angel didn't mention that you were working with him."
"I see you two already know each other." Doyle muttered, plopping a heavy book that he'd retrieved from the bookcase into Wesley's unprepared arms. Wesley grunted with the impact, but recovered enough to keep the book from crashing to the floor. "The rest of the books are right over there." Doyle finished, pointing toward Angel's extensive collection, while darting his disapproving eyes between Wesley and Cordelia.
Cordelia could plainly see that Wesley had already managed to get under Doyle's skin during their brief acquaintance, and although she wasn't entirely sure why, it made the corners of her mouth quirk into the beginnings of a smile. She suspected Doyle was jealous, or in the very least suspicious—wondering how well she and Wesley knew each other. She could test the theory quite easily...
Before had thought things through, she moved closer to Wesley and threw her arms around him and the big, dusty book Doyle had saddled him with. "It's so good to see you!" She enthused, not entirely lying. It was good to see him, just maybe not quite this good.
As she stepped back to see Doyle's brow crease and eyes narrow, her smile became a little wider and a little less genuine. "When's the last time I saw you?" She asked Wesley, affecting an air of cluelessness. "Was it prom night?" She turned her gaze to Doyle, offering an explanation. "He was my date."
Doyle quirked a brow at that, but said nothing, his features set in a hard line of obvious disapproval. Wesley looked a little flustered by her sudden enthusiasm, but was oblivious to the fact that it wasn't for his benefit. "Well, we did see each other at your graduation, as you may recall." He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to remind her of their disastrous kiss, without actually reminding her of precisely how disastrous a kiss it was.
"Right, right. Now I remember." Cordelia interrupted him dismissively, not actually wanting to relive that moment, nor give Doyle any actual details about what happened. She could tell by the look on Doyle's face that she'd already scored herself some major jealousy points; no need to push it too far. "Need help with the research?" She asked brightly.
"Why, yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you." Wesley answered, allowing her to take him by the elbow and lead him toward the bookcase.
Doyle was glaring at Wesley as if the Englishman had borrowed Doyle's favorite leather jacket without permission, but as Cordelia ushered Wesley closer to the books and tossed another glance in Doyle's direction, she noticed that his sharp glare dropped into a more sullen expression. His shoulders drooped and he looked... well, defeated. Cordelia's stomach lurched. She wasn't entirely sure why she had felt it necessary to make him jealous. She didn't actually want to hurt him. But, for some reason, she kept doing it anyway. Over and over. One way or another.
As she sat beside Wesley, flipping through demonology index after demonology index, her thoughts, as before, were solely focused on Doyle.
"Not so into the research anymore, are ya, darlin'?" Doyle asked with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Cordelia was pacing anxiously, like a caged tiger. Maybe she was worried about her precious Wesley.
Angel and Wesley had identified the demon they had encountered as a Kungai and they had fairly good reason to believe it would end up in Koreatown. Angel had ordered Doyle to grab a few weapons and follow behind as he confronted the thing, but Doyle had no intention of leaving Wesley behind with Cordelia—at least not while Doyle wasn't there to keep the guy in line with his constant death glares. So, instead, Doyle suggested that Angel take the incompetent, leather-clad demon hunter along as his back up and leave Doyle to research the sculpture from his vision earlier that day. Angel hadn't seemed thrilled by the prospect, but agreed, albeit reluctantly.
Doyle had to hope that Wesley wouldn't do something stupid like get himself killed, or worse, get Angel killed. Then Doyle would have to live with the regret of knowing his pettiness and jealousy had cost a life. On the other hand, he had complete confidence in Angel's ability to deal with the injured Kungai, and Wesley, well… he had been doing his own thing for a while now. As incompetent as he appeared, he must have some skill that had been keeping him alive thus far. Either that or he had a lot of luck on his side. Either way, Doyle's plan hadn't been entirely selfish—he really did need to figure out what the hell he'd seen in his last vision, or else someone in danger wasn't going to be getting any help from Angel Investigations.
Cordelia froze in place at Doyle's comment, turning her head to look at him in annoyance. "I can't help you find some sculpture I've never even seen. I'm not a mind reader." She argued. "And 'grey blob that resembles a nude female' isn't much to go on. Ninety percent of the art in those books contains nude females. Let's be honest, some artists aren't even that good, they probably just wanted an excuse to get a hottie out of her clothes." She said shaking her head in frustration. "Sounds like something you would do. Speaking of… I'm really glad I can't read your mind, Doyle, because I'm sure I'd be scarred for life."
She clamped her mouth shut suddenly, directing her gaze toward Barney who had been sitting quietly on the couch nearby doing a crossword puzzle that Doyle had tossed at him. He looked up and gave her a little smile that she did not return. Instead, her face twisted into something resembling a grimace.
Doyle had to chuckle, despite himself. "Ah…or ya might find ya rather enjoy it. After all, in my mind, you're royalty." He turned back to the art book in front of him and flipped through a few more pages as she went back to her pacing. "Y'know, I've never thought of pretending to be an artist. I'll have to keep that one in mind."
"Do you have any demon powers?" She asked abruptly, causing Doyle to sit up straight, nearly knocking the book off his lap.
"Huh?" He asked, giving her a baffled expression. "Demon powers?"
"Like him." She clarified, pointing at Barney and then wringing her hands together nervously. "He has this emotional radar thingie and he's been using it on me all day, which is totally rude, by the way." She stared daggers into Barney before turning back toward Doyle, her eyes loaded with questions. "You would've told me if you could do something like that, right?"
Doyle observed Barney sitting silently across from him, chewing on the end of his pencil. He gave Doyle a little apologetic shrug. Suddenly Cordelia's nervous behavior made a lot more sense. If there was anyone who didn't want someone reading her true emotions, it was Cordelia. "I'm not an empath, Cordy. If that's what you're askin'." Doyle reassured her, trying to keep his voice calm, even as his emotions churned within. She was still looking at him expectantly, so he felt like he needed to elaborate. "I'm half-Brachen. A bit stronger, faster and more agile than a human. Heightened senses, too—that's how I found the Ring of Amara in the sewer that time. I waited 'til ya turned around and morphed into my other face, so I could use the demon. When I'm sittin' here like this, I'm just your run-of-the-mill human guy."
"A Brachen." Barney piped in approvingly. "With the spikes? Pretty good-looking demons, if I do say so myself."
Doyle frowned in Barney's direction, wondering who told him he could speak. "She'll take your word for it, bud."
"They don't all get visions, though." Barney continued curiously, despite Doyle's death glare.
"No, I'm special like that." Doyle retorted, pointing toward the crossword puzzle in the empath's lap. Barney got the message, hastily scribbling letters into some of the empty boxes.
Doyle focused his eyes back on Cordelia, to see how she was absorbing the mental imagery of his demon self. He watched her exhale deeply, probably relieved to know that he hadn't been secretly reading her thoughts and feelings since he met her. Which wasn't to say he hadn't been trying to do exactly that. Even though Angel insisted that Doyle could read her better than most people, he still felt like a blind man feeling around in the dark when it came to predicting what she'd do next.
He braced himself, waiting to see if she would ask any more demon-related questions. He was already dreading the day she asked to see his demon face, which he assumed was coming soon. He hoped she'd have enough sense not to do it in front of a stranger. Just talking about this in front of Barney was bad enough.
"Good." Cordelia replied quietly, looking like she wanted to say more, but keeping whatever it was to herself. She was about to continue her pacing.
"Maybe ya could help me, after all." He asked pleadingly, gesturing to one of the art books on the coffee table and patting the seat beside him. "Just show me anything that looks remotely like what I described, yeah? It'll go quicker that way."
She seemed to be debating with herself, before slowly and reluctantly moving toward the empty seat beside him. As she sat down, he could tell she was sitting awkwardly, keeping her body tense and farther away from him than could be considered natural. He tried not to let it bother him, as she leaned forward, grabbing an art book and started flipping pages.
They sat in silence turning pages while Barney worked on his word puzzle across the way. Doyle could feel Cordelia's body heat beside him, even though she was leaning away from him. This was the closest they'd been in days and he couldn't ignore the fact that his pulse had quickened in reaction to her nearness. He wished he could make Barney evaporate so the two of them could be alone. Maybe then he could actually talk to her and clear the air properly.
"You're stronger?" She whispered. "Like Angel."
He wasn't sure why she was whispering. Barney was still close enough to hear them, and even if he wasn't, Doyle's demon strength wasn't anything they needed to be secretive about. It was, perhaps, the least offensive aspect of the whole thing. "Not as strong as Angel." Doyle replied. "But stronger than a human."
He watched her processing something; she reminded him of a coiled snake, waiting until you least expected to…
"Why don't you use it when you fight?!" She huffed in an exaggerated stage whisper. "Please tell me it's because of your daddy issues and not because of me?"
"Heeeey." Doyle responded as he processed her callous dig. He didn't bother keeping his voice down as it was entirely pointless to do so.
"I'm serious, Doyle." She replied, now raising her voice back to her regular speaking level. "Lying about having a wife and being a demon is one thing, but nearly getting yourself killed just to keep it from me…"
"It's not about you." Doyle snapped at her. "And for the record, I never lied about anything. I just hadn't gotten 'round to tellin' ya the whole truth, that's all. It's not like ya sat down and told me your whole life story."
"I don't have any big secrets! I was rich and now I'm not. The end!" She shouted, and then paused and held up a hand to silence him before he could say anything else in reply. "I don't think we should talk about this right now." She said curtly, giving a very unsubtle nod in Barney's direction. "Not when Mr. Big Ears, is over there, eavesdropping on our feelings."
"That would imply ya actually have feelings for him to read." Doyle mumbled under his breath.
"Nice, Doyle." Cordelia bit back, folding her arms across her chest. "Real nice. There you go insulting me again. How do you expect me to forgive you if you keep rubbing it in?"
"Well, if ya think about it. I never actually insulted ya in the first place." He kept his voice saccharine in nature, a little too sweet to be genuine. "I was just pointin' out how often you insult me. And, anyway, didn't you already say it was 'fine' and all that? Now who's lying, Little Miss Honesty?"
"It is fine." She retorted, tossing him a big phony smile.
Barney had been watching them in rapt fascination, turning his head from one to the other like it was a tennis match. Finally, he raised his hand as if he was a student in a classroom, waiting to be called on. The two sets of eyes that had been throwing heated looks at each other, turned toward him instead, causing him to sit back into the cushions as if he'd been burnt.
"Uh… Now I understand why your friend Angel doesn't own a TV. Who needs one with all the daytime soap opera drama going on right here?" Barney gave them an uncertain grin, still looking from one to the other. "I'll have you both know, I happen to be a terrific couples counselor and it's obvious you two could use the help. It'd be free of charge, of course."
Cordelia's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets; she looked like she was ready to pounce. "We..." She said, gesturing between she and Doyle. "…are so not a couple. No counseling needed, feelings-boy. Free or otherwise!"
Doyle rubbed at the bridge of his nose wishing he could have put a muzzle on this Barney guy. He reached over to touch Cordelia's shoulder, his thumb brushing against flesh through the oddly cut slits in her shirt sleeves. His intention was to comfort her, give her support, but he might as well have scalded her with a branding iron, judging by the way she leapt off the couch. His heart twisted in his chest involuntary at her reaction. He tried not to jump to the worst possible conclusion about what a reaction like that could mean, but it didn't exactly leave a lot to the imagination.
She didn't even want him to touch her.
"Coffee!" She exclaimed in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. "Who wants coffee? I know, I do." She wandered off to the kitchen, talking to herself about all the very intense feelings she apparently had about coffee.
Doyle sighed heavily, pointing a warning finger in Barney's direction. "Do me a favor, bud. Be sure to keep that empathy to yourself from now on."