DISCLAIMER: So if you skipped over the first chapter, Doyle's still dead,
but now Cordy's with him. Let the wackiness ensue! Oh, and I haven't
watched 'Angel' since the season started, so disregard all those happenings
... I still don't own this characters, demi-god Joss does, I am a poverty-
stricken student, so don't sue me ... if for some reason you want to
archive this silly piece of fluff, just ask. One more thing, this time the
song's 'Beach Music' by the
Watchmen. Enjoy!
One or two more times inside my head, and what's it stand for Racing time, the temporary far away from your door Once in a while, I find I run one more mile
Though I know you're not my idea Feel I'm kind of stuck with you What's behind the lines, the lines
Caught in the center, your hollow entertainer And I wonder, whatever do I see in you? Yeah, but I see it in you
Autumn breaks, your boyfriend wakes, leaves fast with your daughter I've seen you time and time again, pictures of them And tell me about your royalty and (ice land)
You waltzed right in the center and just sat You threw our lives upon our ears like that I can't believe you died
Caught in the center, your hollow entertainer And I wonder, whatever do I see in you? Yeah, but I see it in you
(CD) turns, the candle burns, bed-ridden 'cause you have to Sleeping all your days away, 'cause waking hours scare you How about a smile be the last thing that I did to you?
Hands off the trigger, 'cause I'm a hollow entertainer Also, I wonder whatever do I see in you? And did you see it in me?
*****************
Time passed.
(An eternity, a heartbeat.)
How much or how little, neither knew and neither cared.
They strolled down the beach, leaving a wake of lazy footprints in the hot, white sand. Doyle admired his surroundings. Perpetual, endless blue, all around ... the clear turquoise of the ocean, the unmarred sapphire of the sky ... lush vegetation dotted the horizon; vibrant flowers, lofty palm trees ... the exotic foliage cast a fragrant scent on the evening air. And before them, nothing but that unending expanse of warm, pale sand.
(We could walk forever.)
Paradise. Heaven.
Cordelia, her flowing, white gowns fluttering in the mild breeze, smiled radiantly and squeezed his hand. The contact stirred that feeling, that bright explosion of anticipation and anxiety, sent it spiraling up through his chest. (Jesus boy, getta grip. You ain't in grade school no more.)
But this wasn't just some trivial preteen crush. This was, well, he thought it could, maybe, still be-
"Doyle." She was peering at him, features half concerned, half amused.
"Yea Princess?"
She regarded him curiously. "You were a million miles away right then. What's up?"
Doyle considered the night sky, then his gaze drifted back to the lovely girl before him. Silky, blond hair (and God, he was still getting use to that colour) framed a flawless, finely-boned face; full lips now played with a beaming smile, deep-set, rich brown eyes so filled with compassion it would make your heart ache.
(How can they ask me to give up this? To give up Heaven?)
"Nothin' darlin'," he announced with false conviction.
Cordy waged a knowing finger at him. "Don't try to look all innocent-puppy- dog-eyes with me, mister. I'm broody-master's best friend; I know all the cutesy looks."
Doyle chuckled. "Angel did have sad-puppy-eyes down to an art, didn't he?"
A flinch. The name ... Angel ... something there. Cordy's delighted grin couldn't mask the sharp hurt in her eyes.
"That's for sure," she conceded, snaking one arm around Doyle's midsection. Like Skip had mentioned to her before, most people chose to improve their spiritual beings. Doyle's burgeoning beer belly of old had disappeared, leaving a flat, well-muscled stomach in its' place.
"Couldn't you of made yourself taller, too?" Cordelia grumbled good- naturedly, ensnaring him in a spontaneous embrace.
Doyle held her close. "Yeah, well, didn't wanna mess wit' perfection too much," he countered teasingly.
She laughed, then seated herself on the sand. Doyle settled next to her, hand still resting comfortably on the small of her back. The tepid ocean water lapped at their feet; a contented silence descended on them.
A few moments passed, then: "What's wrong, really?"
Doyle turned to Cordelia, face solemn. She searched his features, distress growing. A stray piece of hair obscured her exquisite countenance; he brushed it behind her ear with a tender hand.
"I hafta leave."
Cordy started, perplexed. "What are you talking about? Where are you going?" she demanded. "Are you trading in Ye Olde Pub for some art deco martini bar?"
Doyle allowed a smile to escape his somber demeanor. "No Princess ..." The rueful tone returned. "They're sendin' me back."
"Back? Where?" Her entire countenance dropped, deflated. Then a faint whisper. "Oh." But Cordelia Chase was still a force to be reckoned with, this was the eye of the storm; the tempest in her voice rose again. "Why? After all this time, why now? I just-I mean ..."
Doyle tenderly entwined his calloused fingers in her slender ones. "Angel needs a Seer. Damn, he needs all tha help he can get. But ya gotta different path now, Cordy. Tha Powers That Be want ya here."
She absently explored the ridges of his palm with her fingertips, lightly running them over the maze of criss-crossed scars that blemished his hand. (Does she know, he wondered, does she know what her touch still does to me?) All his other mortal injuries had healed, but these wounds, burns from the Scourge's instrument of death, had not. They remained, an ugly sea of red welts, a reminder (Still atoning? Does my penance ever stop?) that Doyle rather not have.
Cordelia sighed deeply. "And they need Alan Francis Doyle back on Earth."
Doyle shrugged off-handedly; a hint of humour in his gesture. "Life's a bitch."
Cordelia pouted half-mockingly. "So's unlife."
"It seems so, yea?" He planted a gentle kiss on brow. "Comes wit' the territory. We are soldiers an' all."
Cordelia shot him an disbelieving glance. "And by soldiers you mean self- proclaimed bitches of the People Upstairs, right?"
"Cor-" He started.
"I know, I know," she breathed airily. "Fight the good fight, blah, blah ... can't a girl indulge in a little self-pity now and then?" Doyle granted her a wide smile. "What I mean is, bad timing much? You get incinerated by the Lightbulb of Doom before we even have one date, and then Skip herds me up here just before I tell Angel-"
A knowing look, both sagely complacent and mournfully resigned, crossed Doyle's winsome features.
Cordelia's brown eyes went wide. "Oops, Rambly Cord, not so attractive. Time for self-edit."
Doyle swallowed, hard. There seemed to be this lump in his throat ... "You love him, dontcha?" He all but choked on the words. (Stop kiddin' yerself, bud. Like she'd wait fer you ... Mr.I-Was-Cremated-Alive.)
She sighed tiredly. "I did ... a lot, but he's a soul-challenged vampire with an Apocalypse-bringing son and I'm a dead half-demon. Did I mention the dead part?"
He pulled back slightly, hugged his knees to his chest in a childish display of self-defense. "Puts a damper on the relationship, yea?" He couldn't hide the miserable hurt behind his words.
(Why are you doin' this, bud? Tryin' ta hurt her more?)
Cordelia reached for him, but her half-demon companion recoiled. She yielded carefully; began to sketch doodles in the sand. "I'm sorry, Doyle ... so much happened after you died ..." Her words meekly trailed off into a suffocating quiet.
Doyle shot a glimpse at his visibly wounded would-be lover. He exhaled heavily. "Ain't no reason fer you ta apologize, Princess," he murmured gently, pulling her back into his arms. "I'm the almighty idjit that should be sayin' sorry."
She nuzzled her head under his jaw, the cool skin of her brow resting against his neck. Willowy arms entangled themselves around his abdomen. She didn't need to speak; she forgave him everything. Her presence said that much.
Unbidden tears prickled at Doyle's eyes. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair. (I'm sorry fer everything I've put ya through and everything else you're gonna hafta face. I'm sorry things turned out this way. I'm sorry I never got ta tell ya how much I love ya.)
They sat in silence for a while, turquoise waves washing over their toes. "I do know how to pick 'em, huh?" Cordelia piped up self-mockingly. "I fall for a blood-guzzling dead guy on Earth and a spiky-faced dead guy in Heaven. Then I lose both."
Doyle stretched lagoriously, reclined back on the sand. "Well, ya've still got this spiky-faced dead guy for a lit'le while longer ..."
Cordelia favoured him with another of her fabulous, heart-breaking smiles. Then she leaned over, and grazing his rough cheek with her fingers, delivered a gentle kiss on his lips.
"I'll take all the time I can."
You waltzed right in the center and just sat You threw our lives upon our ears like that I can't believe you died
Caught in the center, your hollow entertainer And I wonder, whatever do I see in you? Yeah, but I see it in you
NOTE: Reviews are wonderful and I'll love forever all those who bless me with them! It also helps encourage my muse to come out and play! ;)
One or two more times inside my head, and what's it stand for Racing time, the temporary far away from your door Once in a while, I find I run one more mile
Though I know you're not my idea Feel I'm kind of stuck with you What's behind the lines, the lines
Caught in the center, your hollow entertainer And I wonder, whatever do I see in you? Yeah, but I see it in you
Autumn breaks, your boyfriend wakes, leaves fast with your daughter I've seen you time and time again, pictures of them And tell me about your royalty and (ice land)
You waltzed right in the center and just sat You threw our lives upon our ears like that I can't believe you died
Caught in the center, your hollow entertainer And I wonder, whatever do I see in you? Yeah, but I see it in you
(CD) turns, the candle burns, bed-ridden 'cause you have to Sleeping all your days away, 'cause waking hours scare you How about a smile be the last thing that I did to you?
Hands off the trigger, 'cause I'm a hollow entertainer Also, I wonder whatever do I see in you? And did you see it in me?
*****************
Time passed.
(An eternity, a heartbeat.)
How much or how little, neither knew and neither cared.
They strolled down the beach, leaving a wake of lazy footprints in the hot, white sand. Doyle admired his surroundings. Perpetual, endless blue, all around ... the clear turquoise of the ocean, the unmarred sapphire of the sky ... lush vegetation dotted the horizon; vibrant flowers, lofty palm trees ... the exotic foliage cast a fragrant scent on the evening air. And before them, nothing but that unending expanse of warm, pale sand.
(We could walk forever.)
Paradise. Heaven.
Cordelia, her flowing, white gowns fluttering in the mild breeze, smiled radiantly and squeezed his hand. The contact stirred that feeling, that bright explosion of anticipation and anxiety, sent it spiraling up through his chest. (Jesus boy, getta grip. You ain't in grade school no more.)
But this wasn't just some trivial preteen crush. This was, well, he thought it could, maybe, still be-
"Doyle." She was peering at him, features half concerned, half amused.
"Yea Princess?"
She regarded him curiously. "You were a million miles away right then. What's up?"
Doyle considered the night sky, then his gaze drifted back to the lovely girl before him. Silky, blond hair (and God, he was still getting use to that colour) framed a flawless, finely-boned face; full lips now played with a beaming smile, deep-set, rich brown eyes so filled with compassion it would make your heart ache.
(How can they ask me to give up this? To give up Heaven?)
"Nothin' darlin'," he announced with false conviction.
Cordy waged a knowing finger at him. "Don't try to look all innocent-puppy- dog-eyes with me, mister. I'm broody-master's best friend; I know all the cutesy looks."
Doyle chuckled. "Angel did have sad-puppy-eyes down to an art, didn't he?"
A flinch. The name ... Angel ... something there. Cordy's delighted grin couldn't mask the sharp hurt in her eyes.
"That's for sure," she conceded, snaking one arm around Doyle's midsection. Like Skip had mentioned to her before, most people chose to improve their spiritual beings. Doyle's burgeoning beer belly of old had disappeared, leaving a flat, well-muscled stomach in its' place.
"Couldn't you of made yourself taller, too?" Cordelia grumbled good- naturedly, ensnaring him in a spontaneous embrace.
Doyle held her close. "Yeah, well, didn't wanna mess wit' perfection too much," he countered teasingly.
She laughed, then seated herself on the sand. Doyle settled next to her, hand still resting comfortably on the small of her back. The tepid ocean water lapped at their feet; a contented silence descended on them.
A few moments passed, then: "What's wrong, really?"
Doyle turned to Cordelia, face solemn. She searched his features, distress growing. A stray piece of hair obscured her exquisite countenance; he brushed it behind her ear with a tender hand.
"I hafta leave."
Cordy started, perplexed. "What are you talking about? Where are you going?" she demanded. "Are you trading in Ye Olde Pub for some art deco martini bar?"
Doyle allowed a smile to escape his somber demeanor. "No Princess ..." The rueful tone returned. "They're sendin' me back."
"Back? Where?" Her entire countenance dropped, deflated. Then a faint whisper. "Oh." But Cordelia Chase was still a force to be reckoned with, this was the eye of the storm; the tempest in her voice rose again. "Why? After all this time, why now? I just-I mean ..."
Doyle tenderly entwined his calloused fingers in her slender ones. "Angel needs a Seer. Damn, he needs all tha help he can get. But ya gotta different path now, Cordy. Tha Powers That Be want ya here."
She absently explored the ridges of his palm with her fingertips, lightly running them over the maze of criss-crossed scars that blemished his hand. (Does she know, he wondered, does she know what her touch still does to me?) All his other mortal injuries had healed, but these wounds, burns from the Scourge's instrument of death, had not. They remained, an ugly sea of red welts, a reminder (Still atoning? Does my penance ever stop?) that Doyle rather not have.
Cordelia sighed deeply. "And they need Alan Francis Doyle back on Earth."
Doyle shrugged off-handedly; a hint of humour in his gesture. "Life's a bitch."
Cordelia pouted half-mockingly. "So's unlife."
"It seems so, yea?" He planted a gentle kiss on brow. "Comes wit' the territory. We are soldiers an' all."
Cordelia shot him an disbelieving glance. "And by soldiers you mean self- proclaimed bitches of the People Upstairs, right?"
"Cor-" He started.
"I know, I know," she breathed airily. "Fight the good fight, blah, blah ... can't a girl indulge in a little self-pity now and then?" Doyle granted her a wide smile. "What I mean is, bad timing much? You get incinerated by the Lightbulb of Doom before we even have one date, and then Skip herds me up here just before I tell Angel-"
A knowing look, both sagely complacent and mournfully resigned, crossed Doyle's winsome features.
Cordelia's brown eyes went wide. "Oops, Rambly Cord, not so attractive. Time for self-edit."
Doyle swallowed, hard. There seemed to be this lump in his throat ... "You love him, dontcha?" He all but choked on the words. (Stop kiddin' yerself, bud. Like she'd wait fer you ... Mr.I-Was-Cremated-Alive.)
She sighed tiredly. "I did ... a lot, but he's a soul-challenged vampire with an Apocalypse-bringing son and I'm a dead half-demon. Did I mention the dead part?"
He pulled back slightly, hugged his knees to his chest in a childish display of self-defense. "Puts a damper on the relationship, yea?" He couldn't hide the miserable hurt behind his words.
(Why are you doin' this, bud? Tryin' ta hurt her more?)
Cordelia reached for him, but her half-demon companion recoiled. She yielded carefully; began to sketch doodles in the sand. "I'm sorry, Doyle ... so much happened after you died ..." Her words meekly trailed off into a suffocating quiet.
Doyle shot a glimpse at his visibly wounded would-be lover. He exhaled heavily. "Ain't no reason fer you ta apologize, Princess," he murmured gently, pulling her back into his arms. "I'm the almighty idjit that should be sayin' sorry."
She nuzzled her head under his jaw, the cool skin of her brow resting against his neck. Willowy arms entangled themselves around his abdomen. She didn't need to speak; she forgave him everything. Her presence said that much.
Unbidden tears prickled at Doyle's eyes. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair. (I'm sorry fer everything I've put ya through and everything else you're gonna hafta face. I'm sorry things turned out this way. I'm sorry I never got ta tell ya how much I love ya.)
They sat in silence for a while, turquoise waves washing over their toes. "I do know how to pick 'em, huh?" Cordelia piped up self-mockingly. "I fall for a blood-guzzling dead guy on Earth and a spiky-faced dead guy in Heaven. Then I lose both."
Doyle stretched lagoriously, reclined back on the sand. "Well, ya've still got this spiky-faced dead guy for a lit'le while longer ..."
Cordelia favoured him with another of her fabulous, heart-breaking smiles. Then she leaned over, and grazing his rough cheek with her fingers, delivered a gentle kiss on his lips.
"I'll take all the time I can."
You waltzed right in the center and just sat You threw our lives upon our ears like that I can't believe you died
Caught in the center, your hollow entertainer And I wonder, whatever do I see in you? Yeah, but I see it in you
NOTE: Reviews are wonderful and I'll love forever all those who bless me with them! It also helps encourage my muse to come out and play! ;)