TITLE: You drive me insane: Rhythm of the rain AUTHOR: Lady Raven DISCLAIMER: Angel, Cordelia and Doyle belong to Joss Whedon, who shall be held hostage by the GCBAS (Grand Coalition of Buffy/Angel 'shippers) until he agrees to our terms. The title comes from the song by the Cascades. Thanks to Eliz H for the info! RATING/CONTENT: PG for one bad word. Rather strange and silly. SPOILERS: Nothing. Written before 'City of'. 'Hero' never happened. SUMMARY: Cordelia and Doyle's first Christmas present to Angel has a rather... unusual trait. AUTHOR'S NOTES: For the past few days, it's been raining. For the past few days, I've been playing my Billie Holiday CD while I do the dishes in the morning. So I came up with this... NOTE TO ARCHIVISTS ONLY: I didn't decide to make this part of the 'You drive me insane' series until after I wrote it, so I have no idea where it will fit in. When I figure it out, I'll tell the people who have the story on websites. * December 15 Cordelia Chase pushed a strand of long brown hair out of her eyes, and muttered something too low to hear, except by her reluctant companion. Reluctant on her part, not his. "What's the matter, Cordy?" the young man said in his distinctive Irish accent, his eyes dancing. "Call me that again, Doyle, and I'll rip off your arm and beat you with it," Cordelia retorted. Very few people were allowed to call her that, and the half-human/half-demon next to her wasn't one of them. Xander had lost the right when they stopped dating, Buffy was back in Sunnydale, and Angel wasn't here... although he was the reason that the two of them were. "You know very well that I'm talking about how hard it is to shop for Angel. Hell, it's the only thing that would make me resort to shopping with _you_." Doyle put a hand over his heart and put a patently false look of shock on his face. It was a handsome one, although Cordelia would have rather been seen in public with bad hair than admit it, even to herself. "What's wrong with shopping with me?" "Besides everything?" Cordelia retorted. Satisfied that she'd won the current round, she bent her head over the 'classic blues' section, pausing only to sneeze at the dust. Even in this collectors' paradise of a music store, the vinyl albums weren't exactly popular. She paged through the LP covers with the ease of recent practice, finding her prize rapidly. "Hah!" she exclaimed in shopper's triumph, holding the album aloft. "Does he have this one?" Doyle pulled the list out of his pocket and checked it. "Nope, he doesn't." He took a closer look at the cover, then pointed out, "Look, it says that this was recorded from a live session. So he's bound not to have this, anyway." "Great," Cordelia sighed in relief. "Now all we have to do is find something for him to play the damn thing on." "No problem. The owner's got one for us; he's been keeping it out back for the past two weeks. I still say we should have gotten it first." Cordelia rolled her eyes in a way that all the Scooby Gang could have recognized. "What's the point of getting him a gramophone if he doesn't have anything to play on it? Conversation piece?" Doyle opened his mouth to retort, then with a recently born wisdom closed it. Instead, he just led the way to the counter. December 24 Angel was staring into his computer screen like an ancient oracle into a scrying pool. This mood was abruptly broken when the door flew open and his person Friday came through, followed by his so-called 'spiritual advisor'. Angel gave a mental snort at that name for Doyle, whom he and Cordelia took turns at dragging out of bars and racetracks. Then he blinked as Doyle crashed a large box wrapped in festive paper on the clean side of the desk. "Careful, you idiot!" Cordelia screeched. She then gently placed a large thin square wrapped in matching paper next to it. "Merry Christmas, Angel. We thought we'd give this to you now, and try to improve on your last Christmas Eve. Not that that wouldn't be easy, since it totally sucked." "What happened?" asked Doyle, who hadn't heard the story. Cordelia shrugged, summing up the First Evil's appearance with, "Big bad evil tried to make Angel kill Buffy by bringing up the ghosts of former meals. Angel tried to kill himself instead." Doyle shrugged in return, and replied, "Why doesn't that surprise me, our boy here being such the self-sacrificing type and all?" Angel rubbed his temples, wondering, not for the first time, if vampires could actually get headaches. "Do you mind?" Doyle turned to him and asked, "So what made you change your mind?" "It started snowing," Angel answered, carefully working at the tape that held the wrapping paper fastened. "I'm supposed to open the big one first, right?" Cordelia nodded, then told him, "In case you didn't guess, this is a joint effort - the effort mostly on my part - and the present's from both of us." Angel stopped unwrapping, and looked at the two of them in surprise. "You two went shopping _together_?" "What's so strange about that, may I ask?" Doyle said, in a slightly indignant tone. "Besides everything?" Angel said absently as he bent to undo a fastening right near the bottom. He eventually unwrapped a gleaming 1930's gramophone. "This is gorgeous, but... what's it for?" Cordelia pointed in her best Queen C manner at the second package. Angel obeyed and revealed an old LP. He took a look at the cover, and smiled. "How did you guys know I liked Billie Holiday?" "I asked Buffy," Cordelia admitted. "I'm supposed to remind you that you're meeting in three days. She's doing Christmas with her Mom and having it late with her Dad this year. She said you were doing the present thing then." Spotting the signs of an imminent Buffy-inspired brooding session, she added, "I mean, you've already got every Sarah McLachlan and Depeche Mode CD ever made!" Doyle snickered, and Angel gave a rueful smile. They promptly set up the gramophone and started the album playing, since no 'special' clients were due. As the cool notes floated through the air, Cordelia sat down on the couch and started to shape her nails while she went over an audition piece. Doyle grabbed the paper and studied the horse race listings, as he sat in a client chair with his legs hanging over the arm, and Angel went back to the computer screen. When the third song started, Cordelia frowned and said, "I know this song. My grandmother used to play it on the piano. What's it called?" "Gloomy Sunday," Angel answered. Cordelia went back to her lines and her nails, and as Billie reached the first chorus, all three heard the patter of rain against the small windows. December 26 Angel hummed along to Billie Holiday as he sorted the day's mail. Cordelia had been converted to Billie Holiday fandom too, and asked permission to play the album once he came in. He heard Cordelia singing along to the first verse of 'Gloomy Sunday' and smiled. Cordelia was only a little off-key, as opposed to her legendary appearance in the sophomore Talent show (he'd been lurking in the theatre that night, watching for Buffy); obviously those voice lessons she was taking were having a good effect. As Cordelia sang the chorus a bit louder, Angel heard it start to rain. December 28 Angel came through the door, and Cordelia came up to him before he had the chance to say a word. "Angel, we need to talk," she informed him, and led him by the arm to his office, shutting the door behind them. "Cordelia, what is it?" Angel asked, concerned. "I think something's strange with the gramophone." "What?" Cordelia took a deep breath and asked, "Just let me get all the way through, or you'll think I'm nuts. Remember when we played your Christmas present the first time?" Angel nodded. "Remember that it started to rain?" Angel nodded again. "Remember when we played it two nights later, until we had to go bail Doyle out of jail after he got caught in that bar brawl?" Angel nodded. "Yeah, we had to put the hood up on the car because it was raining." Cordelia swallowed, and added, "I've played it twice since then, once in the morning, once in the afternoon. Each time, it's started raining by the chorus of 'Gloomy Sunday'." At Angel's speculative look, Cordelia went on, "I called the weather bureau. Rain hasn't been expected at all for the past week. The only place it rained in LA in the past ten days has been in a circle about 500 yards out around this office. So I did some more digging. That album was recorded during an enormous storm. According to the newspapers at the time, it rained non-stop for four days and nights." Angel raised his eyebrows and asked, "Are you saying that you think my album and gramophone can make it rain?" "This is a Hellmouth, Angel, far stranger things have happened," Cordelia retorted. "What's that James Bond quote Doyle's always spouting? 'Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is a conspiracy'?" As Angel continued to look doubtful, Cordelia's lips tightened and she asked, "Care to test the theory?" Angel shrugged and answered, "Why not?" Cordelia marched over to the gramophone, and started it working. Angel sat in his desk chair, and she sat in one of the client chairs on the other side of the desk. Partway through the second song, Angel said, "Nothing yet." "Just wait." As 'Gloomy Sunday' started, Angel listened for a few seconds, then remarked neutrally, "No rain." "Wait for the chorus." The chorus started, and Angel said, "Well, I can't hear any-" then broke off. Cordelia just looked at him, as the unmistakable sound of rain grew louder. Angel looked at her, and Cordelia looked back. Cordelia offered, "One of my neighbors down the hall has a brother who works in a sound studio. I can get him to put this on a CD for you, if you like?" Angel listened to the rain for a few seconds longer, then replied, "That would be nice. Thank you."