My Little Bam Bam

Doyle was drunk. Drunker than she'd ever seen him before - and she went to the pub with him most nights after work, she'd seen him the worse for wear. But tonight he was really hitting it hard - insisting that Angel's wonderful news was worthy of the celebration. Although Angel, himself, was notably absent from said festivities.

'You might be poor,' Doyle said, gripping his whisky. Cordelia glanced at Oz and smiled, feeling a little bit embarrassed. 'Your shoes might be broken, but your mind is a palace…' the Irishman drained the last of his drink and called for more. 'You know what that's from?' he demanded.

'He doesn't usually get like this,' she hissed to Oz. 'He drinks, but this is…'

'It's fine.'

'It's from Angela's Ashes,' Doyle told them - not noticing their own whispered conversation. 'The best book I ever read.'

'Huh - and here I was thinking you couldn't read,' she teased, trying to cheer him up - as the whisky was making him maudlin and his so-called celebration was souring.

'I can read,' he told her, shaking his head, vehemently. Then he stopped and looked queasy. 'Oh I wish I hadn't done that. Where was I?'

'You were boasting that you could read,' Oz told him.

'Right - yeah - thanks. I can. And of all the books I have ever read … Angela's Ashes is the is the … it's the most good one that I've read.' He nodded to himself, looking proud to have finished his sentence.

'I heard it was basically misery porn,' Cordy said, wrinkling her nose, 'and I think we should cut you off.'

She reached out to take his glass, but Doyle snatched it away from her - spilling some of the amber liquid. 'Ah - jaysus - now look what you made me do. What was I sayin'?'

'You were extolling the virtues of misery porn,' she said.

'Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the Irish miserable childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.'

'I'm sure Ireland's not that bad.'

'No no - it's from Angela's … Angie's Asses. Ashes… I was raised Catholic,' he said, glumly, draining his glass again. 'It is miserable.'

Cordelia bit her lip and tried not to giggle. 'What about that gem of Amara, then, huh?' she said, trying to change the subject, 'that's gonna be a game changer.'

But Doyle wasn't listening. 'You know - you know what it's about?'

'The gem?' She was hopeful.

'The book.'

'Oh,' she shot another apologetic glance at Oz.

'It's about these two people - Betty and Barney Rubble.'

'I don't think it is.'

'No it is.'

'Isn't it about a lady called Angela? That's what I'd guess.'

'No!' he slammed his fist down on the table, making it rock. 'You've not read it. I've read it. I know. It's about Betty and Rubbly Barn… I mean Barney Rubble. And they have this little boy, see? Bam Bam he's called. And he's just so poor. He's just so poor.' He shook his head, tears began to leak from his eyes.

Cordelia massaged her brow with her finger tips, closing her eyes briefly and praying for patience. 'I think you should go home, I think we've celebrated enough for one night. Oz?'

'I'm all celebrated out,' they both started to get to their feet.

But Doyle stayed where he was, 'and Little Bam Bam - he just loves to read, though he is so poor - he finds his riches in his words. "It's Shakespeare and it's like having jewels in my mouth when I say the words"...' He suddenly looked directly at Oz. 'You know- you remind me of him, Bam Bam, 'cause you don't say much - and he likes his words. You're just like him. My little Bam Bam. My little Bam Bam,' and then he laid his head on the table and began to weep.

Cordelia didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The thought of Oz going back to Sunnydale and reporting back to the scoobies on the state of Cordy's new friends made her want to weep with shame … but, then it was also quite funny. Doyle was always funny - right now he was being ridiculous, but god help her she still found it amusing.

The tears continued to roll down Doyle's face, as he rested his head on the surface of the table and murmured a poem about missing a mother's love… She was actually quite impressed at his literary recall when he was this far gone. OK - maybe he was getting some of the details wrong - pretty major details - but he had the quotes down.

'Come on,' she said to him, gripping him under his arms and heaving him out of the chair, 'it's time to go, Oz - could you maybe give us a lift? I don't think I can walk him back in this condition.'

'Sure.'

'I'm fine,' Doyle said defensively. 'I can walk.' Cordelia let go of him, and he immediately lost his balance and slid to the floor.

She pushed her hands through her hair and stared down at him - caught halfway between exasperation and amusement. 'Well I think that answers that. Come on, little Irish man, you're getting in the van.'

...

Between them, Cordelia and Oz managed to haul Doyle out of the pub and then pour him into the passenger seat of the van. Then Cordy scrambled up next to him. 'Where to?' Oz asked, getting into the driver's seat.

'I'll direct you.'

'I can direct him,' Doyle slurred. He leaned on Oz's shoulder and grinned at him. 'You should really read Angie's Asses, Little Bam Bam.'

Oz glanced at him. 'I'll get right on that.'

'I'd tell y' about Seig Payers… Leg Hayers… Peig Sayers. But we read her as gaelig as gae … in Irish, so I don't know what happened.'

'That's a shame.'

The Irishman shook his head sadly. ''S a terrible thing not to speak your own language.' They went round a corner, and he fell back from Oz and slumped against Cordelia, on his other side. He settled down, closed his eyes and started singing The Soldier's Song quietly to himself. Although he was singing in a foreign language, and she didn't understand any of it, Cordy could tell he didn't actually know any of the words.

...

He'd fallen asleep against her and was snoring, by the time they pulled up outside his apartment building - though the van coming to a stop hurled him back into wakefulness. 'W'as goin' on? Where are we?'

'You are home,' Cordelia told him. 'Are you OK to make it up to your apartment by yourself or do you need me to walk you?'

'I can … can … 'm fine, Dordelia… Cordoylia … Cor… Cor… your name sounds like a blackbird - you ever noticed that?'

'It's passed me by. And your hand is in inappropriate places,' she glanced down to where his right paw was resting against her breast as he tried to crawl out past her.

He glanced down and saw it resting there - he squinted, trying to focus. 'Huh - would you look at that?'

'Remove it.'

'Right.' He lifted his hand, overbalanced and hit his head against the dashboard. 'Ouch! That ... that should have hurt. It didn't.'

'I think you're too drunk to feel the pain, right now,' She said. 'Here,' she opened up the door - reaching out an arm to stop him from tumbling out into the street - and clambered down herself, before guiding him onto the sidewalk. Once she had him standing on his own two feet - not that firmly, she had to note - she turned him around so he was facing the door to his apartment block and gave him a small shove in the right direction. 'In there,' she said, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Night Cor - Cord - princess…' he shambled towards the doorway, before remembering Oz and turning back to the van, 'night, Bam Bam.'

'In,' Cordelia said, firmly, pointing at the door to the building. He nodded, tripped over his own feet and then stumbled inside. Once the door had closed behind him, she scrambled back up into the passenger seat of the van. 'I'm sorry about that,' she said to Oz, 'he doesn't normally get that way - I guess he was over-excited about the gem and then he just didn't know when to stop.'

'Not to worry. Where to now?'

She gave him the directions to her own apartment and then leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes and wondering if Doyle had managed to make it safely up to his own apartment … or if he would have just lain down and gone to sleep on the stairs. He would have a headache in the morning - she would need to make sure there was some aspirin in the office, and that the water cooler was full, she'd have to get him lots of water to rehydrate him… her eyes snapped open. Wait a minute - why was she spending time planning how she was going to look after Doyle?