Title: Budding
Author: Nicollette Marquis McFadgen

Disclaimer: Joss and David own them 'cause they're cool like that.
Note: ANGEL fic.  No real spoilers.  Sequel to Remembrance.

Walking into the small kitchen, Doyle found Cordelia sitting at the table, eating cool whip right out of the container.  "Mornin'."

"Morning," she said brightly with a smile.

"You're in a good mood."

"Yeah, well, having a steady job that pays money and being able to eat cool whip makes me happy."

Doyle poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from the girl, trying not to openly stare at her beauty.  "Doesn't take much to please you."

Rolling her eyes, Cordelia replied, "Hardly.  Well, I mean, I used to be hard to please but things. . .change."

"As they're apt to do."

Examining her nails, Cordelia sighed.  "I want to get my nails done but I have no car and there's no good salons around here.  And I just know when it gets dark and Angel gets up, he'll just piss and moan if I ask him to take me."

"Well, I take you," Doyle offered.

Looking up, Cordelia studied the half demon for a moment.  "You're a 'go out in the day' demon?"

Doyle nodded slightly.  "Half demon, actually."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed a little as she thought.  "You're pretty proud of that half human part, aren't you?"

Suddenly finding the table very interesting, Doyle studied it.  "Aye, well, it means a lot."

"Well," Cordelia said, not noticing the near shame Doyle was displaying.  "I can be dressed and ready to go in fifteen minutes if the offer to take me to get a manicure is still on the table."


"You know," Cordelia said as she held an ice cream cone with a well manicured hand.  "I've never known a demon that eats ice cream."

Trying to concentrate on walking and talking and eating the melting ice cream, Doyle tried to keep his mind off of Cordelia's long, shapely legs.  "Not all demons are bad."

Nodding, then taking a lick off her cone, unaware of Doyle studying her as she took that lick, Cordelia asked, "So what else do good demons do?"  She looked to Doyle and he shrugged.  "Do they go to movies?"

"Aye, if they have someone to go with."

Smiling, Cordelia said, "Good.  'Cause there's this new Bruce Willis movie that I've wanted to see for so long and now I have money and I want to go and look," she said as she pointed to the theater marquis across the street, "it's playing in like ten minutes."  Looking down quickly at her shoes, she looked back up at the Irishman next to her.  "Do you want to go?"


"So, I really think that you should just go out and get a whole new wardrobe."  Cordelia sat on the couch, sizing up Doyle, who sat in the chair across from her.  "Not that your clothes aren't without a certain. . . personal flare, it's just that I think you'd look so much. . ."  Narrowing her eyes as the half demon raised both heels of his hand to his temples, Cordelia called, "Doyle?  Geez, people always told me that I gave them headaches but I never thought. . ."

Her words trailed off as Doyle shook his head, then titled it back to rest against the chair.  "You okay?"  She was becoming concerned.  His face was scrunching up and the color was draining from it as he let out a soft moan of pain.

Doyle tried to tell her that he was okay, that this was normal when he got a vision, but he couldn't seem to get the words out before he passed out.  When he awoke, he was lying on the floor with his head pillowed on Cordelia's lap.  Bringing his palm to his forehead, he choked out, "Oy, I bloody hate it when that happens."

"How's your head?" she asked as she looked down at him, her fingers continuing to rub circles over his temples.  He just gave a groan in response.  Talking softly, Cordelia looked at him with genuine sympathy.  "Well, once you can sit up, I'll make you this drink that I used to make for my mother.  It always got rid of her migraines."

"I need," Doyle started, wincing at the sound of his own voice.  "I need," he started over, quieter, "a pen and paper."


"To write down this name for Angel.  I get these visions and. . ."

"That's right.  I forgot."  Helping him to sit up and lean against the chair, Cordelia got up and retrieved a pen and pad of paper from the table.  Handing them to Doyle, she sat back down next to him, her hand reaching out to stroke his temple.  "How often do you get them?"

He shrugged.  "I don't know.  They come here and there, whenever whoever is in charge decides."

"That kinda sucks."


"Hey, Doyle?"

Almost completely recovered from his headache and having written down a name and a place on the paper, Doyle looked up at Cordelia.  "Yes?"

"You and Angel are kinda like my only friends."  He started to say something comforting, but stopped when she continued.  "Would you like to go see another movie with me tomorrow?"

Doyle smiled as he nodded his head.  "I would love to."