Title No Rest For The Wicked
Author: Emmy
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone from the Buffy-verse. They are all the
property of Joss Whedon, WB Network and Mutant Enemy (Grrr- Aargh). I am
merely borrowing them for some fun and/or angst and I will return them
unscathed (well, no more scathed than they were before) when I am done.
Suing is not the best plan of action as I am a poor student. I can give you
a bag of stale Smarties, 3 cap-less pens and a half chewed pencil and
that's
about it.
Teaser: Doyle's thinking about Cordelia.
Rating- PG
Author's Notes: It's just a really silly fic.


Doyle tossed the pillow across the room and let out a frustrated growl as

he heard footsteps patter across his ceiling. It wasn't that he objected to

the patters, it just meant that she wasn't sleeping either and that was

what drove him crazy. He kept seeing her wandering around "the penthouse" in

those little silk things that she liked to call pajamas. In reality, they

were just scraps of fabric placed strategically over particular body parts.

He wished to God that he had never seen them at all 'cause well now they

were all he thought about! It was enough to make him want a repeat of last

week's episode.

*********************

It had been rather late in the evening, he had been quietly enjoying Jay

Leno when a blood curdling scream brought him flying up the back staircase

to her door. Doyle chuckled to himself as the image of just how he had

found Cordelia flashed into his mind. She had been standing on top of her

kitchen table, clad only in her scraps of silk, knuckles white with fear.

Seeing him come charging through the door, Cordelia had gestured wildly

toward the counter to his left.

"There, there, there" she had cried, edging further from the counter.

"What?! Where?!"

"There! Don't you see it? It's huge!! Are you blind?" she had demanded

flailing wildly.

Sighing at her hysterics and trying not to drool at the sight of her long

legs, Doyle moved toward the counter. Peering at it, he finally noticed a

tiny black speck creeping along. Seeing that it was a very tiny species of

spider, Doyle had promptly burst out laughing.

"Doyle!! Don't just stand there! Do something for God's sake! Squish it!

Drop it in the sink!"

"Darlin', it's the size of an ant! It isn't goin' ta hurt ya." he had

replied chuckling.

"But... but it's a spider! I don't like them! Please Doyle, please get rid

of it. I won't be able to sleep if I know it's in here."

She turned her huge brown eyes to him, batted her eyelashes shamelessly and

grinned with satisfaction as his resolve melted to a puddle on the floor.

Doyle grabbed a Kleenex out of the box on top of the fridge and swept the

tiny insect up in it, all the while muttering about Cordelia's fearlessness

in the face of vampire attack but here she was cowering at the sight of a

microscopic bug! Having disposed of the Kleenex in an outside garbage bin,

Doyle returned to the kitchen to help Cordy off the table. Shaking his

head, Doyle extended his hand to her,

"C'mon, fearless, let's get ya down afore ya fall."

Poking her tongue out at him, Cordelia took Doyle's hand and let him help

her. Once down, Doyle got a full glimpse of her and swallowed although his

mouth was strangely dry. Cordelia was clad only in a pair of deep blue silk

tap pants and a matching camisole.

"What the hell are you wearing?"

"Pajamas, silly. What do they look like?" she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Are you sure? They look like one of me Ma's old silk hankies."

"Oh, that's really nice, Doyle! I'll have you know that these were very

expensive! Victoria's Secret does not come cheap when you make what Angel

pays me. Not to mention that that is the most revolting analogy...."



****************************

Doyle groaned again at the image in his mind. Victoria's Secret! The

catalogue alone nearly caused him to melt down whenever it arrived on

Cordelia's desk, but to actually see her in it... It was bracing to say the

least! Throwing back the covers, Doyle padded across the loft and into the

kitchen. He needed water, cold water, maybe in the form of a shower!

Reaching into the cupboard he pulled down his favorite plastic Star Wars

cup and let the tap run. At precisely the moment that he filled the glass 

and raised it to drink, Doyle heard a crash and an ear-splitting shriek.

Dropping the glass into the sink, Doyle raised his eyes to heaven and

mumbled a quick prayer of thanks before bolting for the back staircase.

There was never any rest for the wicked!