"Blind Date," Part I

The waves of pleasure still pulsed throughout both their bodies as Doyle let his weight bear down on the soft flesh below him, only bracing himself enough not to crush her completely. He was enjoying her touch and her aroma, and the sound of her heart thudding against her chest, and of course, he could see the beautiful flush of color in her cheeks. He kissed her neck at that moment in order to taste the salt of her skin as well, fully immersing all five of his senses with Cordelia. It was his favorite thing to do.

A light ringing started to permeate into his perfect bubble of Cordelia-ness, and although it took him a moment to place the sound, he soon realized it was emanating from his cell phone, which was still in the pocket of his jacket somewhere on the other side of the room.

Impeccable timing, as always. At least it was a phone call and not a vision.

He kissed her soft flesh one last time, before beginning to roll off of her. He felt her clench around him in objection. "No… don't you dare answer that."

Despite her protest, he continued the arduous process of extracting his body from her bed. He never actually wanted to leave the soft, warm cocoon of her covers, and definitely didn't want to leave with her objecting so vehemently. "Sorry, love. I have to. Angel wouldn't call if it wasn't important."

"How do you even know it's Angel?" She asked sulkily.

He jumped from the bed, unclothed, and quickly located his jacket and the ringing object seeking his attention. "The only other person who calls me is you." He pointed out, right before flipping the phone open on what must've been close to its last ring and putting it to his ear. "Hey, man…. I was awake, yeah… No, not busy at all, just nowhere near the phone. What's up?"

Cordelia remained in the bed behind him, making her displeasure readily known with a dramatic huff of air. Doyle turned his back on her, so he could focus on Angel's choppy voice coming through the rather poor connection.

"Ah…yeah, think I know the place. I can come meet ya… no, no, it'll be quicker if I come to you." Doyle listened for another moment, keeping his back purposely turned away from his unhappy girlfriend. "Gimme fifteen minutes or so…. Yeah, okay."

He hung up the phone and turned to Cordelia with an apologetic look. She was half-sitting up and shaking her head back and forth in further objection. "No, Doyle. No!" She argued, before he could even say a word. "You need to call Angel back and tell him you can't help him kill whatever it is he wants to kill tonight."

"Cordelia…" Doyle pleaded as he moved toward his boxers, which had been discarded on the opposite end of the room.

"You lied to him. He asked if you were busy, which you most certainly are." She insisted. "We were right in the middle of something very important."

"Don't mean to get technical, darlin', but the middle came and went—we both finished, yeah?" Doyle countered, stepping into his boxers and grabbing his pants to also hop into them, one leg at a time.

"What about the cuddling?" Cordelia complained, pouting at him cutely. He had to avert his eyes again or else she'd win and Angel would be out one much-needed sidekick. "Cuddling is usually part of the post-coital package. And pillow talk—don't forget about that. Those are the crucial elements that separate girlfriend from floozy, y'know."

"I'll owe ya extra cuddling next time, so you'll feel less floozy-like." Doyle replied with a chuckle. He zipped his pants and spun around to locate his t-shirt. "Trust me, Cordy, if Angel called, it's not just 'cause he wants to hear my voice in the middle of the night. He needs help."

She folded her arms over her chest, which was now covered by the blanket she had pulled up nearly to her chin. "There's nothing he can't fight that you can." She said huffily.

"Well, it's not always about the physical help, y'know, sometimes the guy just needs some moral support. In fact, that's a big part of my job." Doyle explained, retrieving his shirt from under the bed where it had landed and slipping it on over his head. "Angel needs to be reminded that this whole good fight thing isn't just for show. There's a higher purpose and all that."

"And you're the only one who can remind him of that." She stated dully, clearly having heard him say this many times before. Enough that she could probably recite it by heart. "There isn't, say, a stuffier, more British individual who doesn't have a sex life to interrupt who could remind him instead?"

"You can remind him, too." Doyle winked at her as he grabbed his button down shirt and leather jacket and leaned over to kiss her quickly on the forehead, since he strongly doubted that she'd offer her lips. "I love—"

"Don't say it." Cordelia cut him off. "You're just saying it because you wanna keep me from being mad at you."

"Ah… Princess, that's just not true." Doyle replied, cocking his head at her sincerely. "Ya can be mad all ya want, but when I say 'I love you,' it's 'cause I mean it. I wouldn't say it otherwise."

He watched her face become slightly paler at his words, and it occurred to him that he had just turned a spotlight on the proverbial elephant that followed them a lot these days—the fact that she'd never said she loved him back.

Doyle cleared his throat uncomfortably, quickly averting his eyes to his shoes, which he had yet to put on his feet. "Get yourself some sleep now." He said, hurrying toward the shoes and slipping his feet into them.

"Doyle?" She said from behind him. "I…"

He turned to cast a glance over his shoulder and saw that she had bit down on lower lip, stopping herself from saying whatever she had intended to say. Then she breathed out and started over. "I'll be asleep when you get back. Try to be quiet, okay?" She said, making it clear that her anger was merely superficial, and that he was still very much welcome in her bed that evening.

"Quiet as a mouse." He promised, with an assuring smile, before turning to the bedroom door and seeing himself out.


"Cordelia is pissed, isn't she?"

"Ah… don't worry 'bout it, man. If she wasn't mad at me for this, I'm sure there'd be something else. I'm fairly gifted in the art of gettin' under Cordy's skin—for better or for worse."

"You should've just told me you were busy." Angel said, as the two men headed toward the warehouse where Angel had discovered a nest of vampires, ripe for the dusting.

Doyle hadn't intended for Angel to know what he'd been doing before he arrived to help, but he hadn't exactly had time to shower, and even if he had showered it may not have made a difference. Vampire senses were pretty powerful. As was Angel's sense of intuition.

"Ya said there are over a dozen vamps, yeah? Even if ya could take most of 'em on your own, why risk it?" Doyle reasoned. "That's what I'm here for… and, y'know, if ya need to talk or whatever. You can do that, too."

"Why would I need to talk?" Angel asked impassively. "Did you come tonight because you thought I wanted to talk?"

"I thought talking might be good for ya." Doyle admitted. "It's been a while since we had a real chat—you and me. I can start, if ya like."

Angel shook his head in mild perplexity, as he slid open the door to the warehouse. "As long as you can talk and stake at the same time."

Angel didn't have to walk that far into the warehouse before two vampires were charging toward him. He easily sidestepped them and called over his shoulder to Doyle. "Those are yours." He said, as he raced forward clothes-pinning two other vamps and staking a third. Doyle was knocked over by one of the two vampires Angel had designated as "his," but he'd been expecting it, and therefore, was able to maintain his human form and still roll out from under the guy.

As Angel had previously indicated, it was a young nest. There was probably an elder somewhere amongst them, but the majority of them were young and stupid—as vamps went, they weren't the hardest ones to dispose of. Doyle leaped upward and staked the second vampire who had basically walked into his outstretched stake and then he spun back to the one who had tackled him and staked him successfully as well. With those two gone, he followed in the direction that Angel had gone, hearing sounds of struggle along the way.

Doyle entered a wide area in the center of the warehouse, where bales of hay were strewn about. He saw Angel fighting with no less than three vampires. A fourth one came out from behind a mound of hay to hit Doyle with a mean right cross. Okay, this guy seemed slightly more formidable than the dopes he'd met in the doorway, but he still wasn't as old or strong as Angel. Doyle socked him back and managed to step out of the way of the next punch.

"So…" Doyle heard Angel ask, as he tossed one of the vampires across the room and staked another. "Tonight aside… you and Cordelia are doing well?"

Doyle ducked another swing. "Yeah, man. Things couldn't be better. Except—" He tackled the vampire below the knees in order to knock him to the ground.

"Except what?" Angel probed, taking out another vampire and whirling around to catch the guy he'd previously thrown across the room.

"Oh, well, there's that one piece—ugh!" Doyle grunted out his reply as he struggled on the floor with the vampire, losing the stake and scrambling to try and reclaim it. "… One piece she's still holding back. That's all."

Angel staked the third vampire and was about to come to Doyle's aid, when yet another guy leaped down from the beams above their heads. Angel was yanked back, and forced to tussle with him. "What piece?" He called, taking a punch to the gut, and then returning one of his own.

Doyle couldn't answer as he stretched his arm to its limit to get ahold of the stake and rolled on top of the vampire he was struggling with to send the stake directly through its heart. Doyle landed with a thud on a pile of newly formed dust and coughed as he inhaled some of it. He rolled on his back, catching his breath. "It's just that… well, as far as I can tell the feelings are there, y'know, she's just not real big on verbalizing them."

Angel flipped the vampire he was fighting on its back and staked it as well, bending over to place his hands on his knees. He gave himself a moment to recover. "I get it." He replied, standing back up and walking over to Doyle to offer a hand. "She hasn't said she loves you, yet. Is that what you mean?"

Doyle stood up with Angel's assistance, and brushed some of the dust off his clothing. "That's the gist of it, yeah." Doyle admitted, then looked around the now empty warehouse. "How many was that? Did we get 'em all?"

"I think there are two more." Angel answered, not seeming terribly concerned about finding them. It was a good bet that they'd either make themselves known soon or they were already long gone. "It bothers you? That Cordelia won't tell you she loves you."

"I'm trying not to let it bother me, man." Doyle confessed, as they sauntered back toward the center of the room and leaned against the bales of hay piled there. "I get the feeling she grew up in a house where they weren't big on saying it. Doesn't sound like there were a lot of boyfriends whispering sweet nothings to her in the past either. It's really no wonder she keeps her feelings to herself."

"She'll say it." Angel assured him. "Give her time."

"Oh, I'm a patient man." Doyle professed with a chuckle. "I'm not looking to rush anything. I love her enough for the both of us. But, I'd be lying if I said it doesn't get a bit awkward when I tell her as much." Doyle shifted his weight. "Ah… listen to me, man. Going on and on about my love life. Not really fair, considering who I'm talking to."

"You should definitely be talking to me about it." Angel replied evenly. "Living vicariously through your love life is the only way I get to have one."

"Okay, that's… really sad, man." Doyle noted, crinkling his forehead sympathetically.

Angel only smiled in reply, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the bales of hay behind him.

Suddenly, a groan from the far end of the room attracted the attention of both men and they leaped to their feet heading in the direction of the sound. A man came into view, hunched over and holding his bleeding abdomen. He slid down the wall near the entrance, and remained in an unmoving heap.

Wordlessly, Doyle and Angel rushed toward him to see if he was still alive, when a blurry form came out of nowhere and pinned Angel to the wall, holding him by the throat. The blurry figure appeared to be a woman. She let go and Angel came back swinging, but she easily ducked out of the way of each of his blows. Doyle stepped up from behind to land his own punch, but she ducked that one too, and spun around kicking Doyle from behind and sent him sprawling face first on the floor. She then spun back in the other direction, and ducked another of Angel's blows, although he did manage to knock her glasses off, revealing her milky white irises. She then used her cane to slam Angel backwards into the far wall and was gone before he could get back to his feet. It took Doyle slightly longer to pull himself upright, having had the wind knocked out of him and his lip split open on the hard floor.

"You alright?" Angel asked, coming up beside Doyle and staring out into the inky blackness of the night outside the warehouse door.

"Yeah, but can't say the same for that guy." Doyle said pointing to the now clearly dead body at their feet. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but did we just get our asses handed to us by a blind lady?"

"Looks that way." Angel said.

"As puns go that wasn't a very good one." Doyle remarked, leveling Angel with a critical gaze. He gingerly lifted a hand to wipe the small trickle of blood from his lip, and licked the already swelling lip.

"That wasn't a pun." Angel answered distractedly. "We should go. Nothing else we can do here. I'll call in an anonymous tip so the police find the body."

Doyle frowned down at the corpse at his feet. They'd never had a chance to save the guy, and it still somehow felt like a loss. That was one part of the job he'd never get used to—being the hero who couldn't save the day.


"I can start by searching for blind demons." Wesley spoke as he jotted a few notes down on a legal pad, and stood from the chair behind Cordelia's desk. The owner of said desk, stood nearby tapping her foot and frowning at the tall Brit who was still blocking her path and apparently not moving fast enough for her liking.

"I don't think she was a demon." Doyle replied over his shoulder as he poured himself a cup of the office special brew, which was tough on the esophagus and even tougher on the stomach lining. "Seemed human to me."

"Could you... uh, sense that she was human?" Wesley asked curiously, gesturing to his nose to indicate just what he was insinuating.

The fact of the matter was, Doyle hadn't been in his demon form when fighting the blind woman, so he really shouldn't have been able to answer such a question. However, he had sensed that she was human. And it was more than a little unsettling that he found it possible to do that. Especially considering how attuned he'd been lately to things like poisoned arrows flying through the air, and vampires sneaking out of the shadows. None of those things should have been possible for Doyle without spikes present on his face, and yet he very rarely sported the spikes.

"I could." Angel confirmed, pulling Doyle back into reality. "She was human... as far as I could tell."

"Unless getting tossed around like a rag doll messed with your vampire senses." Cordelia noted, finally being able to reclaim her seat behind the desk as Wesley moved aside. "Maybe this is something you can ask Lieutenant Blondie about?"

"Kate and I aren't on the best of terms, right now." Angel responded, his usually furrowed brow becoming slightly more furrowed at the mention of his ex-ally.

"He's still sore 'bout her offer to help him work on his tan." Doyle sassed, already making his way across the room to sidle up beside Cordelia. He gestured to the keyboard at her fingertips. "Why don't ya plug in a few keywords and see what comes up? I can't imagine there's a lot in the way of blind female assassins."

Cordelia tapped the keys at a respectable pace—if nothing else, her typing skills had surely improved after many months on the job. Maybe someday there would be a marked improvement in her coffee-making skills as well.

"Do we suppose she had the aid of a spell?" Wesley pondered. "Something that would enhance the senses, or restore one that was lost?"

"Maybe she's like Daredevil." Doyle suggested. What he got in reply were three blank expressions, looking for further explanation. "Comic book references tend to fall on deaf ears with this group, huh? It's Batman or nothing."

"Think of who you're talking to, Doyle. Those two refuse to read anything published within this century. And I actually used to have an active social life prior to this job." Cordelia commented dryly, hitting enter on the keyboard. She sat up abruptly as the screen filled with results. "There. Vanessa Brewer. She's our girl."

Both Doyle and Wesley leaned over her shoulders to see the information on the screen.

"Are you quite certain?" Wesley asked, squinting down at the computer monitor. "That seems too easy."

"Like I said, not likely to be a lotta them." Doyle repeated, gesturing to the screen with his half-empty coffee mug. "That's her alright and she's been charged before. Currently on trial for a homicide from last year."

"She's out on bail. That's why she was free to kick your respective butts last night." Cordelia said, pointing to a line of text on the screen. She gave a low whistle. "That's some bail."

Angel had been quietly listening as he leaned in the doorway leading to his office. "Do I even need to ask who's representing her?"

"Not unless ya want me to state the incredibly obvious, man." Doyle retorted, standing up straight and giving Angel a pointed look.

"Good." Angel said, pulling a pair of dark glasses out of his pocket. "I was hoping I'd have a chance to return these."