(Untitled)

[surgeonofmean]

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

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[justdoyle]

"It was good whiskey," Doyle said, gazing off for a moment. Still, he had a bottle of Glenmorangie right in his hands. He wasn't complaining.

He looked back at Cordy again, pretty sure he couldn't do any worse now if he just came out and said it. Whatever it was, anyway - he wasn't sure yet beyond pointing out what had happened and what he hoped would continue to happen.

"You forgot the part where we kissed," Doyle pointed out almost helpfully, although he was pretty much terrified. Didn't matter what he told himself or how he thought Cordy was going to act, actually doing something was always the hardest part. "And the part where I want it to happen again."

[surgeonofmean]

Actually, she hadn't. Ho, boy, how she hadn't. But, yeah. She'd kinda been hoping that Doyle would have forgotten about it, been too knackered off his potato or whatever weird expression the Irish used to say they were rip-roaring drunk skunks. On the other hand, though, she kinda had been hoping that he hadn't forgotten about it. Life was way too complicated to make sense, and Cordelia laughed mockingly in the face of anything resembling s-e-n-s-e or l-o-g-i-c.

The part where Doyle wanted it to happen again? SO not news. That film had already ran at 11 months and months and months ago, but she didn't even feel the urge to point that out.

Something was clearly wrong with her.

There she was, clutching Angela's Ashes like a baby-man-in-training actually wanting the happen again thing to, well, happen again. Because the last time (oh, okay -- times; the hurricane near-death thing counted, totally) they'd done the kissing thing, it had been very nice, much nicer than the 'goodbye, good riddance, see you in another lifetime and

[justdoyle]

Doyle frowned at Cordy curiously for a second, wondering just what she was getting at before it actually clicked. It was kind of hard not to grin like a fool after that, and he'd say he was having deja vu if he wasn't thinking about the last time they'd had an almost similar conversation. Well, not the conversation, exactly - Cordy had a mean slap and Doyle chose not to be put in a position for that to happen ever again - but the end result. Story of his life that she was the one who made things move forward at the right moment

[surgeonofmean]

"I know," Cordelia said rather matter-of-factly, and a bit 'duh' to boot. Doyle, good old reliable predictable pining Doyle. He couldn't have been more obvious all these months unless he'd, like, tattooed his intentions all over his body and fashioned a conch shell into a bull horn so he could profess his desire to date her.

Cordelia made a mental note to actually not say that, as the last thing she needed was Doyle playing Irish Music Man and getting everyone (i.e. that rat bastard Josh Lyman's) attention to air her business in public. Really, there was no telling what sort of stuff Doyle could pull when hammered and she would take no risks.

She was smart that way.

"It does," she said, softer somehow this time around. "But now nothing has to get old, right? Except for Angel's island-made hair products, because they're just NASTY."