SUMMARY: So now that's Cordy's "ascended", someone's gotta take her place
back on Earth. Seems that there's a certain Irishman who's up for the job
.. Doyle returns! (Happy fun time!)
'SHIPS: Total Doyle/Cordy. I LOATHED the entire A/C romance storyline. Probably a little F/G thrown in for good measure.
DISCLAIMER: Don't sue me, blah, blah, blah . this is my first fanfic, so I'm still getting use to the style. I apologize for the formatting, I'm still trying to figure out how the tell to fix it. Oh, and the song's 'I Miss You', by Incubus.
To see you when I wake up, is a gift I didn't think could be real To know that you feel the same, as I do, is a Three-fold utopian dream You do something to me That I can't explain So would I be out of line, If I said I miss you. I see your picture, I smell your skin on, the empty pillow next to mine You have only been gone ten days, but already I am wasting away I know I'll see you again Whether far or soon But I need you to know, that I care And I miss you ...
******************
The pub was nearly deserted.
The establishment's few occupants lounged on high wooden stools, defensively hunched over the bar, nursing pints of ale and considering the mysteries of life, their next meal, why that little vixen named Fate had lead them here ...
A lulling Irish melody filled the air, the soft notes of the harp slicing through the thick silence. The place was inviting, homey ... the roaring fire flickered merrily, its' light giving the polished wooden interior a soft glow, delicious smells wafted from the back kitchen, carrying scents of baking bread and childhood memories, the plush chairs around the hearth welcomed visitors weary with travel or strife, seeming to suggest that this place meant rest, this place meant peace.
All the guests seemed comfortably settled, at ease, pouring over books, napping lightly in those comfy chairs, enjoying their respective brews. Each face was blessed with a calm, contented smile, each countenance bathed in the same happy glow. The solitary figures were cleansed of all their earthly worries and troubles; they simply existed. Not to fight or vanquish or love or hurt, they just were. Their stories were finished, their chapters brought to a close; they were truly alive only in the memories of others, as fanciful and insubstantial as specters.
And to each, this was their little piece of heaven.
These blissful sojourners hardly noticed the entrance of the girl. So many people were joining them, stopping for a visit, searching for a loved one, that the appearance of this radiant young woman, resplendent in her flowing white dress, barely caused a ripple.
One man, reclining next to the fireplace, did look up. He tipped back his brown fedora, a smug, satisfied smile stretching across ruddy features. He knew she'd make her way here eventually. His gaze strayed to a young, raven- haired man slouched over his beer at the bar.
Whistler shook his head knowingly, a small grin still playing on his lips. Words flitted through his mind, words uttered by another, a whispered, rolling Irish lilt: "Too bad we'll never know ..."
He glanced from the stunning woman in white to the dark-haired brooder. "Maybe you now you will," the demon murmured gently, easing out of his chair and strolling to the darker confines of the bar.
Cordelia Chase, ex-May Queen, former private investigator and half- demon, paused expectantly at the building's entrance. She knew this was his "spiritual resting place" or whatever Skip had called it; his ideal setting to spend the rest of eternity. And, big duh, it was a bar.
"I didn't know alcoholism could extend into the afterlife," Cordelia muttered to herself as she strode through the establishment. Still, it warmed her to think that some of Doyle's human, earthly habits had remained with him. That maybe he was still just as flawed and vulnerable and beautiful as before. God, he'd spent almost three years in, well ... heaven; he was probably all glowy and stuff. Wings? Halo? Yeah right. Just because Doyle was The Promised One, all noble and self-sacrifice-y, didn't mean he'd gone Touched By An Angel. He was probably the same old-
"Doyle."
Clear blue eyes met her glimmering brown ones. Rumpled hair and sleepy smile, battered leather jacket, familiar scent of whiskey, cigarettes and pine trees ... His strong Welsh features lit up with shock, then disbelief, then elation. One hand (trembling ever so slightly) traveled from the bar counter to Cordelia's face.
Doyle's thumb traced the strong line of her jaw, explored the delicate curve of her cheekbone. The other hand grasped her shoulder cautiously, experimentally, as if a touch too firm would make her evaporate. And still, he said nothing, simply blinked furiously, a dumbfounded smile on his lips.
He's just the same, Cordelia mused, her thoughts a whirlwind. "He's just the same, and he smells the same and he's so warm-"
Then Doyle's embrace engulfed her and all Cordelia knew was that he was alive (ALIVE!). And all Doyle could comprehend was that the void which had been chilling his soul was warmed and she was safe in his arms.
"Princess," he murmured brokenly, blue eyes bright with tears. "I've been waitin' for yea."
'SHIPS: Total Doyle/Cordy. I LOATHED the entire A/C romance storyline. Probably a little F/G thrown in for good measure.
DISCLAIMER: Don't sue me, blah, blah, blah . this is my first fanfic, so I'm still getting use to the style. I apologize for the formatting, I'm still trying to figure out how the tell to fix it. Oh, and the song's 'I Miss You', by Incubus.
To see you when I wake up, is a gift I didn't think could be real To know that you feel the same, as I do, is a Three-fold utopian dream You do something to me That I can't explain So would I be out of line, If I said I miss you. I see your picture, I smell your skin on, the empty pillow next to mine You have only been gone ten days, but already I am wasting away I know I'll see you again Whether far or soon But I need you to know, that I care And I miss you ...
******************
The pub was nearly deserted.
The establishment's few occupants lounged on high wooden stools, defensively hunched over the bar, nursing pints of ale and considering the mysteries of life, their next meal, why that little vixen named Fate had lead them here ...
A lulling Irish melody filled the air, the soft notes of the harp slicing through the thick silence. The place was inviting, homey ... the roaring fire flickered merrily, its' light giving the polished wooden interior a soft glow, delicious smells wafted from the back kitchen, carrying scents of baking bread and childhood memories, the plush chairs around the hearth welcomed visitors weary with travel or strife, seeming to suggest that this place meant rest, this place meant peace.
All the guests seemed comfortably settled, at ease, pouring over books, napping lightly in those comfy chairs, enjoying their respective brews. Each face was blessed with a calm, contented smile, each countenance bathed in the same happy glow. The solitary figures were cleansed of all their earthly worries and troubles; they simply existed. Not to fight or vanquish or love or hurt, they just were. Their stories were finished, their chapters brought to a close; they were truly alive only in the memories of others, as fanciful and insubstantial as specters.
And to each, this was their little piece of heaven.
These blissful sojourners hardly noticed the entrance of the girl. So many people were joining them, stopping for a visit, searching for a loved one, that the appearance of this radiant young woman, resplendent in her flowing white dress, barely caused a ripple.
One man, reclining next to the fireplace, did look up. He tipped back his brown fedora, a smug, satisfied smile stretching across ruddy features. He knew she'd make her way here eventually. His gaze strayed to a young, raven- haired man slouched over his beer at the bar.
Whistler shook his head knowingly, a small grin still playing on his lips. Words flitted through his mind, words uttered by another, a whispered, rolling Irish lilt: "Too bad we'll never know ..."
He glanced from the stunning woman in white to the dark-haired brooder. "Maybe you now you will," the demon murmured gently, easing out of his chair and strolling to the darker confines of the bar.
Cordelia Chase, ex-May Queen, former private investigator and half- demon, paused expectantly at the building's entrance. She knew this was his "spiritual resting place" or whatever Skip had called it; his ideal setting to spend the rest of eternity. And, big duh, it was a bar.
"I didn't know alcoholism could extend into the afterlife," Cordelia muttered to herself as she strode through the establishment. Still, it warmed her to think that some of Doyle's human, earthly habits had remained with him. That maybe he was still just as flawed and vulnerable and beautiful as before. God, he'd spent almost three years in, well ... heaven; he was probably all glowy and stuff. Wings? Halo? Yeah right. Just because Doyle was The Promised One, all noble and self-sacrifice-y, didn't mean he'd gone Touched By An Angel. He was probably the same old-
"Doyle."
Clear blue eyes met her glimmering brown ones. Rumpled hair and sleepy smile, battered leather jacket, familiar scent of whiskey, cigarettes and pine trees ... His strong Welsh features lit up with shock, then disbelief, then elation. One hand (trembling ever so slightly) traveled from the bar counter to Cordelia's face.
Doyle's thumb traced the strong line of her jaw, explored the delicate curve of her cheekbone. The other hand grasped her shoulder cautiously, experimentally, as if a touch too firm would make her evaporate. And still, he said nothing, simply blinked furiously, a dumbfounded smile on his lips.
He's just the same, Cordelia mused, her thoughts a whirlwind. "He's just the same, and he smells the same and he's so warm-"
Then Doyle's embrace engulfed her and all Cordelia knew was that he was alive (ALIVE!). And all Doyle could comprehend was that the void which had been chilling his soul was warmed and she was safe in his arms.
"Princess," he murmured brokenly, blue eyes bright with tears. "I've been waitin' for yea."