35. Waiting in the Wings, Part II
Doyle brushed off the lapels of his rented tux—classic, but plain. He didn't like it as much as the one he'd worn to the wedding a few months back. Of course, he couldn't exactly return the shop that had rented him that one; not after the poor condition of the tux he'd returned last time. He really hoped there wouldn't be any demon-fighting this evening or his options for any future black tie events would be severely limited.
Catching a flurry of movement at the top of the staircase, Doyle spotted Fred, looking as lovely as he'd ever seen her. She was giggling at Gunn, who had just arrived wearing his own rented tux with much reluctance. Although, Doyle couldn't hear precisely what was being said on the floor above, it was clear that compliments were being exchanged. Soon Wesley joined them at the top of the stairs, dividing their attention as he placed a stole over Fred's shoulders; the threesome then moved in unison down the grand staircase, joining Doyle at the bottom.
"Great dress." Doyle praised Fred politely, as she passed on the arms of her two companions.
"Thanks." Fred blushed in response. "Cordy picked it out."
"She does have a knack for that sorta thing." Doyle agreed, leaning against the banister as he waited for his date to appear.
As if on cue, a new figure appeared in the space at the top of the staircase in all its hourglass glory. Doyle's heart skipped a beat as he saw her—Cordelia, looking as radiant as ever. Her hair was pulled into a relaxed up-do, with sexy pieces framing her face. And the dress itself looked like it had been made for her to wear. The shimmering black material clung to each of her curves as she gracefully moved down the stairs, stopping right before she reached the very bottom.
"So… what d'ya think?" She inquired, holding her arms up and tilting her hips.
Doyle's brows arched upward as he admired the visual, and his lips formed an O-shape unaccompanied by any sound.
"Speechless is good." Cordelia declared with a proud nod of her head. She dropped her pose and let her eyes roam over her date's tuxedo clad body; her lips curled in approval.
Licking his lips, Doyle made his approach, sliding an arm around her waist and finding nothing but bare flesh across her lower back. He definitely liked this dress. "Y'are a vision, darlin'." He said huskily. "It's like seeing ya again for the first time—butterflies and whatnot."
She flashed him a wry smile. "Doyle, the first time you saw me I was helping a bullet-ridden Angel limp to his car, which you had just rammed into a wrought iron gate."
"Hence, the butterflies." Doyle maintained, taking the shawl she had slung over her arm and assisting her in wrapping the garment around her naked shoulders. "I thought Angel was gonna kill me."
Cordelia's laughter rang out like a bell; she dropped an affectionate peck on his lips and slipped an arm through the crook of his elbow so he could properly escort her away from the staircase. Standing beside the ménage e trois already clustered in the lobby, they waited for the final member of their party to make his appearance… which he did a moment later with an angry demon on his heels, shooing him along.
"Connor will be fine, you big worry-wart you!" Lorne insisted, pausing at the top banister while Angel scurried downward. "And, don't worry—I bear no grudge whatsoever for having not been invited along. Seriously, a night full of music, dancing and well-dressed individuals, clearly not the sort of thing that yours truly would find at all interesting."
As soon as Angel made it the bottom he grinned at all the smiling faces around him. "Shall we?" He asked the group, rubbing his hands together with excitement.
In answer, Cordelia extended her open right arm in Angel's direction, and he happily latched on. Three by three, the members of the Angel Investigations team headed out for a night that they hoped would be magical.
Zzzzzz. Snort. Snort. Zzzzzz.
Doyle's head rested against his palm, which in turn, rested on the arm of his velvet-lined seat. He blinked his eyes wildly, trying to keep his heavy lids from falling shut. It was an arduous task that wasn't helped by the rhythmic snoring in his ear.
It was like a buzz saw—a very infectious buzz saw. Cordelia had been sound asleep, drooling on his shoulder, for the entire first act. Doyle himself had dozed a few times, and then jolted awake as if he was a student who'd fallen asleep in class and expected the teacher to yell at him. The teacher, in this case, being Angel, who was so enraptured by the performance below, that he probably didn't even realize Cordelia was snoring, despite the volume and proximity at which she did so.
On the stage below, the blur of tiny dancers continued in time with the endless music. Doyle wasn't really focused on any one dancer in particular; they all looked like little spinning cupcakes from his vantage point. He knew there was supposed to be a story unfolding, but he hadn't made much of an effort to follow it. He could guess from the musical cues that something very dramatic was transpiring.
They really needed to add dialogue or subtitles or something.
In the seats directly in front of Doyle, sat Gunn, Fred and Wesley, respectively, wrapped in a subtle drama of their own. Wesley's focus was on Fred, his hand darting toward hers at several junctures, but ultimately shying away each time. Meanwhile, Fred seemed engaged in the spectacle on the stage below—only occasionally did she turn her head to smile at the two men seated on either side of her. As for Gunn, he was fully engrossed in the show, missing every smile tossed in his direction. Despite his reluctance to attend, he now seemed like the biggest ballet fan of the bunch, save Angel himself.
Speaking of Angel, Doyle noticed the vampire shift forward in his seat, his brow visibly furrowing even in the dim light. Interest piqued, Doyle leaned over Cordelia to address his friend. "What is it, man?" He whispered, knowing Angel was the only one likely to hear him over the music. "Not exactly how you remember it?"
Snort. Snort. Zzzzz. Cordelia shifted slightly against Doyle's shoulder as he moved.
"It's the way I remember." Angel replied, his narrowed eyes never leaving the stage below.
Doyle felt a yawn coming on, but he fought to stifle it. "They're consistent—that's good."
"No… I mean, everything's the same." Angel clarified, turning to look directly at Doyle, his eyes dark with suspicion. "Same dancers. Same steps. Same exact performance I saw over a hundred years ago."
Doyle sat up a little straighter in his velvet seat, for the first time taking a legitimate interest in the dancing below. "Ah... well, that sounds a bit more unnatural-like." He observed the twirling figures, letting his demon senses extend to the far reaches of the theater. "Not vampires." He noted with mounting curiosity. "Not sensing any demons at all."
"Me neither." Angel agreed, turning his head back toward the stage. "But, something's definitely not right."
Peeking down at the program in his lap, Doyle saw a glimmer of light on the horizon. He lifted the pamphlet and held it up for Angel to see. "Intermission, yeah? We see if we can get ourselves a back stage tour."
Angel nodded his agreement and Doyle sat back in his chair, tapping his foot with anticipation. For once, he wasn't sorry to have a job pop up in the middle of a night out—he just hoped whatever it was wouldn't ruin his tux.
Keeping his hand on Cordelia's lower back, Doyle ushered her down the hallway and toward the private stage entrance. "Sure you don't wanna go back and catch a few more Z's?" Doyle teased her as they followed in Angel's footsteps. "Or can't ya sleep without my shoulder to drool on?"
"I don't drool." She retorted as they maneuvered past the now unconscious security guard, who Angel had deftly knocked out before the guy even knew what hit him. "Think I've hit my nap quota for one evening—I'm ready to join Vamp Cassidy and the Brachen Kid on ribald adventures through the underworld of ballet dancing."
Doyle chuckled at the mental imagery—he and Angel as cowboys, battling a posse of evil ballerinas. That would be a strange happenstance even for them.
"Uh…" Angel had passed through the stage door and stopped short, causing Doyle and Cordelia to also come up short behind him. They each took a moment to take in their surroundings, which were a little more bizarre than evil ballerinas.
"This building didn't go on forever from the outside, did it?" Cordelia asked, turning her head in one direction and then twisting it the opposite way.
"We've got some serious mojo going on here." Doyle declared. "Why couldn't it have just been evil ballerinas?"
"We can't rush into this." Angel instructed, and was met with eager nods of agreement from his partners in crime. "Let's go talk to the others, form a plan."
All three of them spun around to retreat through the door they'd just entered, only to find a solid wall in its place. No door. No way out. Just a wall in an endless hallway.
"Pretty sure this violates the fire code." Cordelia critiqued, pointing to the now door-less wall.
"And all the laws of physics." Doyle added, shuffling a few steps forward to place his palms against the solid structure, hoping to find the exit he knew must be there somewhere. He pushed against the solid facade several times, looking for a trap door. Nothing moved—not even a budge. He knelt down feeling along the floor for a panel or a vent; still he came up empty. Pushing himself off the floor, he brushed the dust from his knees.
"This is more serious than I thought. We'd better stay close, there's no telling—" He turned back to face his companions and found that he was talking to himself. "…what could happen next." He trailed off as he stared at the empty air. "Cordy? Angel?" He called for them, turning all around in a circle as he searched for the friends who had been right beside him only seconds ago and were now nowhere in sight. "Like, say, us getting split up and never seeing each other again." He muttered unhappily to himself as he began trudging down the endless hallway. "That would be decidedly bad, yeah?"