Rating: Pg-13
Disclaimer: Joss.
Summary: Doyle has a vision.
Feedback: Is fun. Do it.
For Rob.
By: Karen
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"I'm going to die."
"You're not going to die. Ralph all over the carpet, maybe. I'm sure glad this is Angel's carpet because mine is fairly new and throw up, not a good cleanser." Cordelia handed Doyle a cup of coffee. "Why did you drink so much anyway? Did you want to ruin Angel's carpet? Or was there some higher purpose?"
Doyle's stomach roiled. "Oh, I needed to forget a few things. Ya know, kill some brain cells. Then per'aps the others'd get a clue and off themselves."
Cordelia sat down on the edge of Angel's middle-class sofa. "Doyle. Save the cells. As far as I'm concerned you need every one. Say don't all three of them need to work together so you can lift the whisky?"
Doyle rolled over onto his stomach. "Very funny Cordelia. But I don't just drink because I'm a lush."
"Is it because you're Irish?" Cordelia raised an eyebrow.
"Wait just a minute! Don't go blaming good Irish roots for my sorry state! I'll have you know my ancestors were drunk a millennia before the Pics and Celts started building Stone Henge and settlin in for a good long carousal."
"Not helping your cause. You just called all of your ancestors lush, plus the entire island of Ireland. Spin doctor this, if it's not for an ancestral lovefest get in touch with your roots gag me crap, why are you drunk?"
Doyle scrubbed at his eyes. "I had a vision. Needed to get liquored up before it came to pass or whatever, you know happened, like?"
Cordelia leaned forward. "So what? Do you die? That's it! You die, don't you!? This is so cool. I mean it's not cool for you. But it's cool cause you know and you can tell me how it happens so I know what to look for. . ."
Doyle grabbed her arm. "Cor, Cor. Cordelia! No. I am not going to die."
"Oh."
"Well, don't go sounding all disappointed on me!" Doyle sat up and wavered a bit.
Cordelia frowned. "So what happens? Does Angel die? Do I die? And if it was me, what was I wearing? I want to die in Armani."
"Nobody dies, okay?" Doyle's blue eyes widened. "If I'd known you were such a fan of the violence I would've taken you to a boxing match or a cock fight. . ."
"A what??"
"Chickens, Cordy, fighting chickens." Doyle smiled at her. Well he smiled at the two blurry Cordys.
"Oh." She tugged at the hem of her shirt. "So what's going to happen?"
Doyle motioned for her to come closer. Then closer. "This." Doyle pressed his lips against hers. Cordelia was so surprised she slid on to the sofa and into Doyle's lap. He wrapped his arms around her gently. She didn't resist. He ran a hand through her hair. She smiled against his lips and copied him. Touching his dark hair she thought about how nice it looked contrasting his pale skin and gorgeous blue eyes.
Breaking apart she sighed. "So why the drinking again? Am I a demon you don't want to kiss?"
"No, you're a beauty all right. It's the after I was worried about." Doyle gently fixed Cordelia's hair. "The part where Angel walks in and you dump me on the floor."
"I would never. . .Angel!" Cordelia leapt to her feet. She was still semi entangled with Doyle. He toppled to the floor and slammed his head into the coffee table. "OH! Did it help?"
Doyle bit back tears. *Not half so much as it would have.* But seeing her expression, he exclaimed, "Not a bit."
"What's going on in here?" Angel asked, dropping a book on to the table.
"Doyle had this vision . . ."
"Then let's go. . ." Angel was all action.
"No man, it's okay. It happened. You missed it." Doyle climbed back onto the sofa.
"Was it anything big, or dangerous?"
"Not big." Cordelia muttered.
Doyle looked pained. "I thought it was big."
"You wish it was big." She growled.
Doyle stared down into his lap.
Angel stared at them. His friends were just odd. Why couldn't they sit around
in the dark brooding like any sane person?
"I always thought it was goodly sized. . ."
"And who told you that? Your mom?"
"You leave my mum out of this."
Angel backed away. "I'm going to go sit in the dark and finish this Grishm novel . . "
The End.