Drabble - Denial
Something new and different! Recently (okay, like, "around Thanksgiving" was recently... seriously, where did the holiday season GO?) I started rewatching Angel, considering I bought the complete series DVDs for myself for Christmas last year and had hardly touched them. I hadn't seen most of it since my whirlwind introduction to Buffy/Angel in the spring of 2006, so I was surprised by how much I enjoyed season 1, especially Doyle. He wasn't really around long enough to make an impression the first time, and maybe it's my newly discovered Irish love, but dude, Doyle is awesome! I want to write lots of fics about him, but alas, I'm limited by how briefly he was on the show. So, I'm starting small, with a Cordy/Doyle drabble set after "Sense and Sensitivity."
Denial
“I guess Angel’s back to his normal self again, eh?” Doyle asked, startling Cordelia as she emerged from downstairs.
“If the return of his usual broody scowl is any indication, I’d say so.” She headed over to the coffee pot and investigated the contents, only to put it back in disgust. Apparently, not even Sensitive Angel knew how to change a coffee filter. She noticed that it didn’t seem to bother Doyle, who was sipping from a mug as though it was perfectly fine tasting sludge. Well, he’d probably spiked it with whiskey, anyway.
She kept thinking about Kate’s tactless observations from last night - if anyone knew tactless, it was Cordy - and she paused for a moment to study him. That goofy grin, the Xander Harris bargain basement clothes. And that stupid accent. He couldn’t even have a hot accent. Wesley had turned out to be a complete lame-o, but at least he sounded like Hugh Grant.
“So, Kate was clearly crazy last night, right?” she said abruptly. “You know, when she said that thing about…?”
Doyle’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah, definitely! Must’ve been the oversensitivity thing, made a holy show of herself. I wouldn’t think nothin’ of it.”
Cordelia’s face relaxed with exaggerated relief. “Right. Good, ’cause you know that that’s never, ever gonna happen, right? You and me?”
Doyle gave her an abrupt nod. “You’ve made that crystal clear.”
“So, you’re not gonna, like, ask me out on a date or anything.”
“No!” he sputtered, nearly spitting coffee back into his mug. “No, definitely not.”
Cordy let out a mollified sigh. “Okay, then. That’s… that’s good.” With a firm nod to say the conversation was closed, she turned back to the coffeemaker and attempted to start a new pot.
“Yeah, well, guess I’ll go check on Angel, then,” Doyle said, beating a hasty retreat out of the room.
“Good,” Cordelia muttered under her breath once he was gone. “’Cause I might’ve said yes.”
Denial
“I guess Angel’s back to his normal self again, eh?” Doyle asked, startling Cordelia as she emerged from downstairs.
“If the return of his usual broody scowl is any indication, I’d say so.” She headed over to the coffee pot and investigated the contents, only to put it back in disgust. Apparently, not even Sensitive Angel knew how to change a coffee filter. She noticed that it didn’t seem to bother Doyle, who was sipping from a mug as though it was perfectly fine tasting sludge. Well, he’d probably spiked it with whiskey, anyway.
She kept thinking about Kate’s tactless observations from last night - if anyone knew tactless, it was Cordy - and she paused for a moment to study him. That goofy grin, the Xander Harris bargain basement clothes. And that stupid accent. He couldn’t even have a hot accent. Wesley had turned out to be a complete lame-o, but at least he sounded like Hugh Grant.
“So, Kate was clearly crazy last night, right?” she said abruptly. “You know, when she said that thing about…?”
Doyle’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah, definitely! Must’ve been the oversensitivity thing, made a holy show of herself. I wouldn’t think nothin’ of it.”
Cordelia’s face relaxed with exaggerated relief. “Right. Good, ’cause you know that that’s never, ever gonna happen, right? You and me?”
Doyle gave her an abrupt nod. “You’ve made that crystal clear.”
“So, you’re not gonna, like, ask me out on a date or anything.”
“No!” he sputtered, nearly spitting coffee back into his mug. “No, definitely not.”
Cordy let out a mollified sigh. “Okay, then. That’s… that’s good.” With a firm nod to say the conversation was closed, she turned back to the coffeemaker and attempted to start a new pot.
“Yeah, well, guess I’ll go check on Angel, then,” Doyle said, beating a hasty retreat out of the room.
“Good,” Cordelia muttered under her breath once he was gone. “’Cause I might’ve said yes.”