Author: Circe, circex@netscape.net
Title: Once More, From the Top
Part: 5
Disclaimer:  If I owned them Doyle wouldn't have died.  'Nuff said.
Rating: PG.
Status: The story is complete, the series is too.
Summary: Pairing D/C. Set after the events in ‘Just Walk Away’ and ‘What
He Wants’.  Doyle and Cordelia finally talk about their relationship.
Other:  Feedback cherished.  Dedicated to my beta-reader, Georgia, who
gave me the song at the end and to Aleta, for giving me a claddagh.


I can feel the sun on my skin, my hair, but I don’t feel warm.  The steel rail
beneath my arms is almost too warm to be leaning against, but I’m so cold inside
that I don’t feel it.  I’m just sorta numb inside my head.  That’s how Doyle
surprised me.  I think that’s how he surprised me.  It could have been the boat
I was busy staring at. Anyhow, one minute I’m alone, or as alone as I ever am
now, and the next minute Doyle is standing beside me.  Crap.  I left the office
in an attempt to get away from everything, most of everything being him, and
here he is to mess me up again.  Not that I wasn’t doing a fine job of that
on my own.  Doyle.  Damn. He’s got these blue, blue eyes that just stare right
through me.  And the sun is in his hair.  Damn, damn, damn.  Why, God, does he
have to look so good in that weird little way of his?  And he looks, determined.
What the hell is going on?  I look back out to the ocean.  “Mind if I have a
seat?”  What?  Oh.

“Knock yourself out.”  I sound tired.  Doyle sits down, right next to me.  From
the corner of my eye, I see him lean his arms against the rail, mimicking my
posture.  Except instead of looking out at the ocean, like me, he lays his cheek
against his arms and watches me.  I keep watching the waves.  We’re quiet
together and I feel myself relax.  My eyes drift shut and I turn my head to lay
my cheek against my arms, facing Doyle.  We’re still quiet.  I wonder what
brought him out here.

“You.”  Please God, tell me I didn’t ask that out loud.  I open my eyes and
Doyle is now the one looking out at the waves and that stupid boat.  “You left
the office,” he continues, “I didn’t know that I was going to follow you.  I
just…I just did I guess.”  Oh.

“Oh.”  I don’t know what else to say, so I don’t say anything.  And then he
looks at me again and I realize how close we are.

* * *

Our elbows are nearly touching; we’re so close.  I can see the small streaks of
gold in her eyes.  I love her eyes.  I don’t know what it is I want to say to
her, so we go on saying nothing for a few minutes.  Not moving, just looking at
each other and I realize that I’m not going to be able to gather my thoughts
together while she’s looking at me looking at her.  But I can’t manage to look
away.  I send a heart-felt prayer winging upwards that I don’t come off sounding
stupid when I next open my mouth.  Because I need to talk to her.  I need to
tell her everything that I’ve just realized about her and myself, to ask her all
the things I could have ever asked her.  The only thing I ever should have ever
asked her.  So I’m as surprised as hell by the next words out of my mouth.

“I’m sorry.”  Why am I whispering and why the hell do I feel like I’m going to
cry?  She blinks.  I guess I surprised her as much as me.

“Why?”  Her voice is as quiet as mine just was.  Why are we whispering?  I can’t
keep myself from touching her, I’ve got to touch her as I try to find words for
what I’m feeling.  It’s tough because I don’t <know> what it is I’m feeling.  So
I reach out one hand, the hand of the arm closest to her, and I run my fingers
through her hair, to rest by her ear.

“For not being here.”  I turn my hand over and run my knuckles along her cheek,
turning my hand over again to cup her chin for an instant.  “And for being here
again.”  Something flashes in her eyes for an instant, and I don’t know what it
is.  Part of it stays in her eyes.  I don’t like it.  My hand drops away from
her face and comes to rest on the rail beside her.

“You’re sorry you came back?”  There is something hard and cold in her voice.
No, I’m not sorry I came back.  How could I be?  But I’m not sure how to explain
what I mean.  I grope for words.

“I’m sorry for what it’s doing to you, Princess, for what me being back now does
to all the plans you’ve made and the life you built while I was gone.”  I take a
breath and continue.  “I’m sorry that you grieved for me and now you have to
find a way to deal with everything you’ve had to deal with.” I’m not making any
sense now.  But Cordy doesn’t have that funny look in her eyes anymore.

* * *

Me.  It’s me.  Doyle has been so distant ever since he came back.  Like he
didn’t want to be here.  Like he didn’t want to have to deal with me and the
baby.  But all this time he’s just been worried about me.  And about where he
fits in to me now.  Okay, that was kind of suggestive, but you know what I mean.
His staying away was just his way of being sweet while he tried to figure things
out.  He was trying to give us both space to do our own thing.  Too bad it
nearly screwed us up.  Men.  When are they ever going to leave things up to us
women?

I’m not saying anything here.  Why aren’t I saying anything?  I don’t know how
to break the silence now.  Because I’m not sure where I want him to fit into my
life.  Do I want to date him?  Love him?  Marry him?  Or do I just want him to
be around for the baby?  And what exactly does Doyle want?  Crap.  Maybe leaving
things up to us women is kind of a mistake right now.  Damn hormones.  We’re
still looking at each other and I hope that I don’t look as scared as he does
right now.  ’Cause panic?  Not a good look for me.  Then the baby kicks, a good
hard jab.  I reach down to rub the spot where he or she just nailed me, and my
hand brushes against Doyle’s.  The one resting on the rail, the one that had
been in my hair and on my skin just a moment ago.  That gives me an idea.

I grab his hand and bring it to rest against my belly, over the place where the
baby just kicked.  I feel him try to jerk his hand away and I can see the
confusion in his eyes.  “<Shhh>.”  I’ve never actually hissed before and I don’t
know why I’m doing it now.  It’s not like the baby can really hear us very well,
or like it would stop kicking just because we were talking.  Whatever, he gets
still, and the baby kicks again, right beneath our joined hands.  Little
fluttery, butterfly kicks from our baby.  Oh God, his face. He looks so awed, so
moved.  He looks so sweet, I think I’m going to cry.

* * *

Mary, Jesus and Joseph.  Can you feel that?  Can you?  Just tiny flutters under
my hand under hers.  Right here.  Cordelia’s stomach feels so hard and right
underneath the hard feeling is this tiny moving feeling.  Do you feel it?  I
think I might pass out.  God, I want this.  Everything, right here, just this.
I want this forever.  I drag my eyes from her stomach to her face and she’s
smiling this wide happy smile.  I completely understand.  I’ve got to be
grinning like a moron.  “Do you feel that, Princess?”  Stupid question, of
course she feels it.  For Christ sake man, she’s the one who put your hand
there!  Stupid, stupid question.  But she smiles even bigger than before.

“Yeah.”  She whispers.  We’re both still whispering.  I wonder if we’ll be
whispering all day.  She draws her hand away from mine and folds her arms
against the rail again.  Lays her cheek back against her arms and watches me.  I
don’t move my hand until I’m sure that the baby has stopped kicking.  I count to
two hundred to make sure it’s really stopped.  Mother Mary in heaven.  I move
back into my old position, just like Cordy’s.   And I watch her.  I’m still
smiling and I don’t think I’ll stop anytime soon.  Did you feel it?

“Doyle?”  Cordelia isn’t whispering anymore.  “What would our first date have
been like?”  I don’t even have to think about this one, I’ve imagined it so many
times.  She’s not asking what our first date will be like, and we’ll have a
first date no doubts about that.  She’s asking what it would have been like, if
I’d never died and she’d never gotten pregnant.  I think I know what it is she’s
looking to know.  She wants to know that we’d have come to this point on our
own, without Fate kicking our asses.

“I would have wanted to take you out to some fancy restaurant, one with candles
and wine and music.  Flowers.  The works.”  Beside me, Cordy snorts in
disbelief.  I’ve got to smile all over again.  “I said I <would have> wanted to,
that doesn’t mean we would have gone.  Neither one of us could have afforded
it.”  She laughs, a short breath of mirth, and then speaks again.

“So, where are we going?”  I’m a bit startled by her words, as though we’re
actually going out on our could-have-been first date.  Then I go with the flow;
I like the thought of going out on this date, with her.

“There’s this pub,” again she snorts.  “Not a <bar>,” I tell her “A pub, like in
Dublin.  A place where families can go to eat and have fun and where a man can
go out with his mates for a pint.  I wasn’t always a drunken sot.”  I explain to
her.  Her smile drops off.

“I know, Doyle.  You couldn’t have been, not and be a teacher too.  Harry said
that…” She trails off and I know that she’s regretting bringing up Harriet.

“Finding out about my demon side changed me a bit.  I know and it did, but I’m
trying to change the whole drinking thing, I have for the most part.  Since I
met you.”  I watch her blush.  And I go on with our date.  “So there’s this pub,
<Shannon Kelly’s>, it’s not actually too far from Angel’s.”  Cordy nods, I was
pretty sure that she’d been past it before, equally sure that she’d never gone
in.  I’ve only been in the once.  Left when it reminded me too much of the past.

“We’d get dinner there.  Shepherd’s pie or bookmaker sandwiches.  There’s salad
too, if you want something that’s low fat.  Not that you’d need it.”  I tease
her.  She grimaces and gestures pointedly to her stomach.  I laugh at her and
continue.  “We’d talk; all those stupid little things people talk about on
dates.  Our pasts, work, demon heritage.”  That last gets a smile out of her.

“I’d get you to play a round of darts with me, I’d probably have to teach you
how to play, the rules, that sort of thing, but it’s really pretty simple.”
Cordelia nods.  “You’d kick my ass, even thought I’m not trying to let you win.”
She laughs and it is such a sweet sound.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard her
laugh.

“Damn right I would,” She tells me. “You throw like a girl.  Remember the police
station window?”  Of course I remember.  She has a hell of an arm, that’s how I
know she’d hand me my ass at darts.  But it’d be fun.  I can just see her in the
pub laughing as we play the game.  Laughing as we play at darts and seduction.
I tell her so and watch her eyes go dark.  If I’m not mistaken she likes the
idea of playing seduction with me.

* * *

Seduction.  If we’re not careful we’ll be doing seduction right here.  I told
you that my hormones are out of whack.  I liked him before tonight, liked the
way that he kissed me.  Going on our ‘date’ now makes me think of what the rest
of that date could have been like.  Good night kiss, mmmm.  Knock it off,
Cordelia.  Mind on the subject.  Or away from it as the case may be.

“What else.”  I sound a little breathless.  Damn hormones.  He smiles at me.
Smirks more like it, because he knows what he’s done.  Then he turns his mind
away from it, I guess, because the smirk fades and just leaves the smile.

“Dancing.”  I must look a little confused, I’ve heard the music that gets played
at <Shannon Kelly’s>, and it sounds very Irish.  “I’d teach you Irish dancing.”
I watch his smile widen at the look at my face.  See, back in grade school our
music teach would dress up like a leprechaun on St. Patrick’s day and make us do
the Irish jig.  She had this weird bouncy way of doing it, hands on her hips and
nothing moving but her feet.  It was severely disturbed.  Maybe he knows the jig
or maybe he knew about my music teacher but he’s laughing at me, at the look on
my face.  So I tell him all about Ms. Winde and the trauma she inflicted on me.
I make him laugh with my story and I smile because I like hearing him laugh.

“There’s more than just the Irish jig, I’d teach you to waltz. Some of the slow
dances.  Step dancing, but not the stupid Riverboat kind. It’d be fun, I
promise.”

And suddenly I want that.  I want Doyle to teach me darts and Irish dancing.  It
doesn’t matter that we didn’t have a traditional sort of relationship.  He can
teach me to throw darts and dance now, or actually he should wait until the baby
is born.  He can teach both of us how to play darts and to dance.  Now I know
how to reach out to him, how to invite him into my life, because now I know what
part of my life I want him to be.  I reach out to him, with the hand that
farthest from him, leaning in closer to him.  Doyle reaches back toward me, with
the same far hand as I reached out with, the far hand and he’s leaning in closer
too.  And we link hands, a strong link.  I draw his other hand back to my
stomach, to our baby.  “Would you teach us both?”

* * *

We’ve formed a little circle, hands linked over the railing and hands over the
baby.  We are a little circle.  Would I teach them both to dance?   The Powers
That Be couldn’t tear me away from the promise I’m about to make to her, them.
I stroke my fingers over our baby and the fingers of the hand against her
stomach.  “You’re sure you want me around to teach both of you?”  I’m hoping I’m
on target here, that I not taking a mile when she was giving me an inch.
“Because dancing, it could take years of intensive work to learn y’know.”
Please, God.

“I promise I want you around for as long as it takes for both of us to learn
Irish dancing.  And maybe you could teach any other…people…or quarter demons…or
kids who want to learn?  If you promise to stick around to teach us.”  She’s
smiling confident and a little uncertain all at the same time.  Ohhh, something
in my heart is going wild and coming home all at the same time.

“I promise Princess.”  We lean in to kiss each other, just a soft tiny kiss.
Nothing like our first kiss, this.  Just the barest brush of lips against lips
to seal my promise, our promise.  We draw back, and I rest my forehead against
hers.  I’m gonna kiss her again, right now.  And it isn’t going to be a chaste
kiss either.  She wants it too; I can see a hunger in her eyes.  I think that
this is the world’s most perfect moment.  The heat of the sun, the heat of
Cordelia’s eyes, the sweetness of our breath mingling together before we kiss,
the nauseating pain of a vision as it rolls over both of us, swamping us in
images of blood and violence.  I guess the moment is over.


Author’s Notes, part two.
While reading this story Georgia was listening to a song that she thought really
fit this story.  ‘ten million years’ by Black Lab.  Thanks Georgia.

  it's such a simple thing
  i never feel this way
  i have nightmares
  i have dreams of you gone
  there is something in you i want today
  so hide the bones away beneath the yellow lines
  you're scared of what you lose
  or what you might gain this time

  i love you more than i should
  i would wrap my heart in bands of rosewood
  i love you more than i should
  i would stay beside you here
  ten million years

  you see yourself in the mirror
  you see yourself at night
  you see yourself in the gutter
  baby you see yourself like a star shining bright

  i love you more than i should
  i would stay beside you here
  ten million years

  every minute, every hour
  every second, you take me over
  every night of every day
  i wait i take
  i know i take

  but i love you more than i should
  i would wrap my heart in bands of rosewood
  i love you more than i should
  i wanna stay inside you here
  ten million years
  ten million years