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TITLE: A drabble for Katy
AUTHOR: Tesla
RATING:
SPOILERS:
CHARACTERS: Doyle/Cordelia
DISCLAIMERS:
SUMMARY:
NOTES: Because her husband won't get her any orange juice! I'm so glad I'm single, and can not get my own orange juice! She asked for Cordelia, Doyle, water and sweat
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"You have the fashion sense of a hedgehog!" Cordelia shouted.
"I don't really think hedgehogs have fashion," Angel said to himself, in his office, but of course, the combatants didn't hear him.
"Oh, right...hedgehog..." Doyle sounded deflated, and Angel was out of his chair and between them. Cordelia didn't know about Doyle's demon aspect, and any reminder would damage his shaky confidence.
Cordelia, naturally, was oblivious. "Look at him! He's dead and he has better fashion sense than you do!"
"What started this, Cordelia?" Angel asked. "Because you seem to be wearing a bandanna and two shoe strings, and those who live in glass---" he trailed off.
"I have an audition," she hissed at them both, her glare at death-ray levels. "There's no excuse for him."
Doyle scuffed the toe of his boot on the worn linoleum. He was, as usual, wearing his shiny brown leather jacket and bright polyester shirt. He looked up, and was about to say something, when he suddenly jammed the heel of his hand to his eye.
"Bakery---on Ventura--tonight---red demon with spiny head---gonna kill the doughnut guy. Jesus!" He staggered, and Angel and Cordelia caught him and lowered him to the couch. He held his hands over his eyes.
"I'll go," Angel said, grabbing his coat. "Cordelia, take care of Doyle."
"This doesn't get any easier," Doyle said. "Cordy, darlin' love, get me some water, willya?"
"Sure," Cordelia said. "Why you only make with the sweet talk when you're all visionary, I don't know." She brought him the bottle of aspirins and a cup of water. He gulped the aspirins, and lay back, eyes closed. He heard the elevator go down, then, after a moment, start back up.
"I got Angel's good stuff," Cordelia announced. She had Angel's bottle of Glenlivet.
"How'd you find that?" Doyle asked. "Not that I'm complainin', mind." He took the glass she held out. "Ah, you've got a fine, steady hand, to quote my favorite Irish movie."
His eyes widened as he saw Cordelia pour herself a drink, and drink it, neat. "What?" she asked. "You didn't think I was going to drown it, did you?" She sat back and kicked off her mules. "So, you wanted to know how I found it?" she asked. She frowned down at her pedicure. "I'm not happy with this color."
"Huh? Yeah, how did you find it?" Doyle asked.
She smiled seductively. "You know that night I spent with him, down there? Did you wonder what we were up to?"
"Aw, Cordy, you said he slept on the divan!" Doyle was beginning to sweat.
"Yeah, he did. Well, I drove him to drink." She wrinkled her nose. "He drank half of it right away. If you hadn't found my apartment for me, I'd have two mopey Irishmen on my hands. Oh, wait, I already do." She set her glass down. "So let's finish off the rest." She put her shoes back on. "After you take me home. I'm not wandering around here by myself." She put the cork back in the bottle and stowed it in her bag.
"Yes, ma'am," Doyle said happily, wiping his brow.
Best vision ever.
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