(no subject)
Continued from here
"I remember," she said automatically, a sad sort of smile curving her mouth as she remembered the first time she'd said that to him. And then: "I'm the one who said it, so yeah, I definitely remember. I haven't exactly gone senile just yet, Doyle."
Oh, crap. He wanted to talk. About New Year's. A lot of it was foggy (Bloody MARY foggy) and some of it wasn't, and she was kind of totally mortified about the whole thing, really. Only not so much, but she wasn't about to let HIM know that.
Wincing a little, she held up a hand. "I am NEVER having another Bloody Mary again. Seriously. I even SEE a stalk of celery and I'm gonna run."
Doyle kept that whole celery bit in mind, because as much as he did like Cordy, she and space (and quiet and tranquility and a million other words for the same thing meaning Leave Me Alone) were not related in any way, shape or form.
He gave her a thoughtful look, not sure if she was trying to find an out to the conversation already or what. "How much do you remember, then?"
"I remember enough," she allowed slowly, fingers idly flipping the pages of the book. "Like, for example, most people? Should be outlawed from karaoke. For life. Or face, like, death by firing squad if they even think of rockin' the mic like a vandal."
Using the book as an aid, she pointed at him. "I remember you. You kept me company. And you had whiskey. But no rye or American Pie, which was probably a smart move on a tetchy stomach's part."
"I remember," she said automatically, a sad sort of smile curving her mouth as she remembered the first time she'd said that to him. And then: "I'm the one who said it, so yeah, I definitely remember. I haven't exactly gone senile just yet, Doyle."
Oh, crap. He wanted to talk. About New Year's. A lot of it was foggy (Bloody MARY foggy) and some of it wasn't, and she was kind of totally mortified about the whole thing, really. Only not so much, but she wasn't about to let HIM know that.
Wincing a little, she held up a hand. "I am NEVER having another Bloody Mary again. Seriously. I even SEE a stalk of celery and I'm gonna run."
Doyle kept that whole celery bit in mind, because as much as he did like Cordy, she and space (and quiet and tranquility and a million other words for the same thing meaning Leave Me Alone) were not related in any way, shape or form.
He gave her a thoughtful look, not sure if she was trying to find an out to the conversation already or what. "How much do you remember, then?"
"I remember enough," she allowed slowly, fingers idly flipping the pages of the book. "Like, for example, most people? Should be outlawed from karaoke. For life. Or face, like, death by firing squad if they even think of rockin' the mic like a vandal."
Using the book as an aid, she pointed at him. "I remember you. You kept me company. And you had whiskey. But no rye or American Pie, which was probably a smart move on a tetchy stomach's part."