BuffyAngel68 - If That's Destiny On The Phone, I'm Not Home! 05

Title: If That's Destiny On The Phone, I'm Not Home! 5/7
Author: BuffyAngel68
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, holy lord of all creative, intelligent minds, (may we worship him always!) owns all of them, not me. TYVM Joss, for creating characters with such depth and heart. I had a marvelous time making them speak and can only hope I captured their spirits. Yada-Yada-Yada- not making money- will return them in a much happier state than I found them, emotionally and otherwise.

Chapter 5: Cordelia-You don't know half what you think you do....

Cordelia's protective cloak of anger only lasted until she opened her eyes and realized where she was. When she saw the PTB's audience chamber, her fury gave way to total confusion, only to bubble back to the surface a few moments later.

"What?! Why am I here? What's going on? Somebody talk to me, or I'm going to get really, really upset!"

"Can't have that, can we princess? I've seen ya upset, an' it's nothin' these fellers should hafta experience. Let's spare 'em the gore an' the wrecked furniture, shall we? Not ta mention the slammin' doors. Damn near damaged me hearin', ya did."

For a long stretch of minutes, Cordy stood utterly still, unwilling to lend any credibility to what she had just heard.The familiar lilting brogue had seemed to come from everywhere, but the man who had once owned it was not in sight, and she refused to believe. She had heard the voice too many times in her dreams, and sometimes even in the early mornings, when she was half awake, to take even one step toward acceptance of it's reality.

When tears of rage finally spilled over and began to track down her cheeks, her paralysis broke, and she lifted a hand to angrily swipe them away.

"You sons of bitches.... how dare you? How dare you use his voice to make me do what you want?! Get me the hell out of here! I want out! Do you hear me?! I'm not playing!"

Fighting back his own tears, a frustrated, fuming, Irish half-demon turned to his overseers and repeated what he'd been trying to get through their heads for months, despite knowing it would be no more effective this time than it was on the previous one-hundred attempts.

"I tole ya. You've hurt her... shit, ya hurt the whole lot of 'em.... too often and too deep. She won't trust that it's me, not even if she sees. She'll still think it's some trick a'yours."

"I've been through my test! You said I passed it! I did what ya tole me to on that thrice damned ship, and I've had to watch her suffer an' almost die more than once because of it! No! No more!"

"Yeah, well ya wouldn't would ya? I hurt her so much when I just left her like that.... I won't rip up her heart again."

"Ya can't make me do this..." he murmured, staring at his beloved Queen C, his final protest a quiet one, devoid of any hope that the Powers might learn compassion in the next few seconds.

"Yes, damn you to hell... I'll go. I'm so sorry, princess. They're not givin' me any options. Here I come...."

Standing behind one of the pillars a few feet from Cordelia, Doyle debated one last time making an appearance. He knew full well how fiercely she shielded her heart these days, and seeing him would only infuriate her.

He also knew his jailers would not let him back out of this particular mission, so, fearful as he might be, he stepped out from his hiding place and tried to speak to her, but, as he'd predicted, she was having none of it.

"Hello, Princess. How ya been? I missed ya somethin' awful, ya know...."

Cordy spared her suddenly ressurected friend only the briefest of black glares, before turning her attention back to the upper galleries.

"I warned you. I said, don't try and use my memories of him to play me. That.... is it."

"I did tell ya." Doyle smirked up at the Powers as he backed away, out of Cordy's reach. "Now you're in fer a full on, blood on the apol'stry, good old-fashioned Queen C hissy fit. Better batten down all the hatches boys an'girls..... an' I hope every last damn one of 'em leaks on yer empty heads."

From one moment to the next, the atmosphere in the lower chamber radically shifted; from claws out and out of control, to quiet wonder. Feeling the change, Doyle looked down again and sought out Cordy, surprised to find she was staring right at him.

"Who are you? What are you?"

"I know it might be a bit of a stretch fer ya, darlin'...... but it is me. It's the same Francis Allen Doyle ya knew and barely tolerated."

In his love's dark eyes, and in her expression, he could see faint stirrings of hope, hope that desperately wanted a place for itself, a place from which it could grow and fill the dark hollows and painful holes he'd left her when he died. He also saw that she wouldn't allow that hope its place just yet; she kept it at the edges, unwilling to risk the disappointment, unwilling to risk her heart.

"What were the last words we said to each other?"

The memory of those last moments brought a tiny smile to Doyle's lips, but he pushed back the tears that followed right behind, not wanting to ruin the fragile peace they'd established. She had never known him to be weepy in the slightest, and he feared it might disturb her.

"Princess.... the only things I want to remember out of all the time I spent in that wretched world are you an' Angel. How could ya think I'd ferget...... I knew what I had to do. I looked up..... said the words, finally. Bloody stupid ta wait 'till the last, I know, but...."

"What words?"

"From that movie you were always ravin' about. I said 'I love you'. Still do, by the way. Then you said 'I know', I kissed ya.... an I let go. After that it's blank 'till I woke up here."

"What movie?"

Doyle searched his memory frantically, but couldn't come up with the right title. He snatched pieces of it, could even see every other word *except* the title scrolling neatly up the screen.

"You would ask that. Now it's gone straight outta me block-head. Had somethin' to do with.... guys all over white.... er was it black..."

"You're stalling. Doyle would know."

"Jesus, Mary an' Joseph, girl! It's been almost three years! We don't have video stores here ya know! It was.... The Empire Strikes Out...... nah... wait a minute.... Strike the Empire in the Backfield..... cripes, that ain't right either....."

Gazing up from his struggles, Doyle saw Cordelia walking slowly toward him, the hope she'd held back so strongly now filling her eyes and shining out from her bright smile.

He braced himself for a hug that would knock him on his backside, and was stunned when she merely grasped one of his hands tightly and reached out to touch his face with her other hand.

"You never could get that right. It always came out having something to do with sports. I can't.... you're real. I don't understand. Why?"

"You think they tell me anymore now than they used to? They said you an' me was supposed to do this... journey together. Said it's been written."

"That's their excuse for everything. The geeks! So? What do we do now?"

Doyle closed his eyes for a moment, then turned toward the pillars behind them, never losing his grip on her hand.

"According t'them, we just walk between two of these, an' everythin' will start. You ready?"

"Me? I've already done this once. They can't scare me with it again. Let's go."

"That's my princess."

Hand in hand, Cordelia and Doyle strode forward into the dim space between two of the pillars and vanished from sight.

"Ugh. I say, very loudly, ugh! A yellow brick road? Please! How low-brow and cliché can you get?"

"It's what we've been given, girl. Let's get walkin'."

For a moment, Cordelia resisted, but eventually gave in.

"Fine, but if I see even one wasp or a single flying monkey, I am so out of here!"

"I'll be right behind ya, princess. I hate bugs with a passion, in case ya don't recall."

"That's right." Cordelia suddenly remembered, laughing behind her hand. "When I first brought all my stuff to the office, and you saw a roach in my suitcase.... you screeched like a girl."

"No more than you did." Doyle groused, the moment not having been one of his finest.

"I *am* a girl."

"No. Yer a woman. Full-grown an' built like a brick...."

"Doyle!"

"I was gonna say somethin' nice."

"Sure you were. Walk."

"I am! See the feet movin'? Wonder when we get t'the Scarecrow?"

"Let's see. No brain, right? Must be Xander."

"How about ninety-nine percent a'the guys you went with in high school?" he grumbled, his tone gaining a little more anger, losing a bit more control.

"Okay," she chuckled "so you've got me there. How could I ever have picked a dumb jock who treated me like his fourth favorite football trophy, over someone like Angel, or Wesley, or Gunn.... who know who I really am, and who treat me as if I matter."

"Yer wrong about the boy, ya know. You were always wrong about him, but ya never could spare a minute to stop and see it."

"Xander? What are you talking about?"

"I've been keepin' a watch on all of ya, the SunnyHell bunch included. Ya never looked twice at him back at the watcher's house. Same as always. Don't really matter, I s'ppose. He's nothin' you woulda recognized anyhow. An' his name is Alex."

"I remember Spike saying something about that..... wait just a minute! We barely had five minutes to catch our breaths back there, before all this started, and of course I'd recognize him. I don't have Alzheimers, Doyle!"

"Not if ya looked in his eyes. When.... if we get back from this, take him aside, an' really look in his eyes. Ya won't like it."

"What? What won't I like? If you know so much about "Alex", then tell me what I'll see."

"Ferget it, 'Delia. I'm sorry I got upset with ya, alright? Didn't know what I was sayin', shoulda kept me big mouth shut. Let's just get on with this. I think I see what we're lookin' for up ahead."

Doyle reached the spot several minutes before Cordy did, as she had stood for quite a while in the middle of the road, arms crossed over her chest, fury written clearly on her face as she indulged a sudden urge to be petulant.

When she finally aquiesced and decided to join him, he waved her away. The structure he was staring up at meant only one thing to him; death. Despite being half demon, he had had several years of Catholic teaching at his parents insistence. The tall wooden pole sunk into the ground, with the heavy cross member secured a few inches below the top, had only one meaning, and he didn't want Cordy coming too close. She, as usual, had other ideas, and approached, he was surprised to see, without any fear.

" 'Delia! Get away, girl! This ain't somethin' you need to be lookin' at!"

"What is your problem? I've seen them a million times. I may live in California, but I have been to other states, you know. So where is it? Did somebody pull it down, or what?"

"Pull it.... How can ya be so calm talkin about this.... My God, girl have ya gone that far 'round the bend?!"

"Okay. We're not talking about the same thing are we?"

"We aren't?"

"This is a support for hanging a....."

"Stop, will ya please? I know what they hang off these.... evil things. Now you just.... ease on down the road. I'll be there in a minute."

"Doyle, will you stop and listen? This is for a scarecrow, you dumbell!"

"A what? I know a crucifix when I see one, 'Delia. Ain't you never been to church?"

"No, and apparently, you've never seen *The Wizard of Oz.*" she groaned, turning her face back to the sky. "Let me guess; I explain the whole plot of the movie to Mister no-pop-culture or we spend the whole trip getting into these stupid arguments, right? Why do I volunteer for these damn quests and missions.... they always end up making me wish I'd never been..... Ohhhh.... oh boy. That was a close one. Zip the lip Cordy, or you'll wind up on the bridge in the blizzard with Clarence the angel. There are worse movies they could have picked...." she mumbled under her breath.

Seriously concerned for her state of mental health, Doyle approached her slowly, as if afraid she might attack him suddenly.

"Cordy..... Princess? Are you...." "Playing with a full deck? Running on all four wheels? Yeah, unfortunately, I am. Come sit down, Doyle. I have a story to tell you...."

"So... let's see if I have this straight, yeah? This lass's house gets picked up by a tornado, an' dropped into this weird country fulla little people, where it lands on a bad witch, killin' her. The girl then steals the shoes off a dead person, which a so-called "good witch" condones. This mightily pisses off the other bad witch, her sister, who torments the kid, chasin' her to hell an' back, prob'ly just tryin' to retrieve her poor sister's shoes so she can bury the old gal proper. Along the way the kid picks up a buncha whiny loser hitchikers, an' they all find this wizard fella... who ain't nothin' but a normal guy in a shower stall with an overhead projector an a bitchin' P.A. system. He tells her to commit a second murder, an' then he'll give her an' the others everything they want. The girl an' the whiners kill the *other* witch too, then steal *her* property as well to take back t'the Wizard as proof a'what good assassins and thieves they are. The not-a-wizard guy makes the whiners shut up by givin' 'em cheap imitations of what they really wanted, then takes off in a balloon before they find out what a con artist he really was. The good witch aids an' abets the kid in escapin' prosecution..... an' we end up findin' out it was all a dream? What a rotten story! Worse than that episode a'Dallas years back! The kid shouldn't a'gotten to go home! They shoulda given her two consecutive life sentences! How can ya possibly think that's a classic movie!"

"The way you tell it, it's an episode of "Oz's Most Wanted! Only you would see an archetypal children's story that way!"

"Arche... what? You got a word a day calendar you're workin' through or somethin'?"

Standing and brushing loose grass off her pants, Cordelia glared fiercely down at Doyle.

"Just get up and help me check this thing out, would you? There has to be something here.... a note, words carved into the post.... something that tells us what's going on."

"If ya mean the inscription, I thought it was probably the name and particulars of the guy they crucified up there. Didn't think I should pry." Doyle remarked as he got to his feet.

"Where?" Cordy asked, peering as closely at the wooden structure as she could with the fence in the way.

"Right there. See the words scratched in the wood just in the middle there?"

"Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not.... roasted? Don't tell Angel that. Buffy loved him so much, and boy did he roast! I mean he *was* in Hell, you know, so...."

Suddenly, Doyle spoke up from behind her, and Cordy found herself turning to look at him, unsure it was truly his voice she was hearing.

"Love is patient; love is kind; it does not envy; it is not boastful, rude, or arrogant; it does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things; it rejoices not in evil, but rejoices in truth; love never fails."

"Wow."

"Yeah... well, see what actually *goin* to church'll do fer ya? That's my favorite passage outta the whole Bible, I think. First one I ever memorized. I've lost near everything else to the whiskey, the gamblin' or sheer stupidity.... but I never lost that. It stayed with me even here, I guess."

"So... do you believe it? I mean, do you really believe that love can be all those things; that it even should be?" Cordy asked him softly as she climbed carefully onto the lowest board of the fence , reaching up to the wooden post and tracing her fingers lightly over the incised letters and words.

The tone of her voice, so unlike the Cordy he remembered, prompted Doyle not to answer immediately. Instead, he studied her silently for several minutes, trying to figure out where the question had come from. Slowly, he began to realize that he'd made the same snap judgments and wrong assumptions about her that she'd made about Alex.

Since his death, his princess had clearly been going through a sea-change; a metamorphosis from the defensive, haughty, demanding Queen C he'd known, into a strong, wise, capable young woman, worthy of the title.

"Yeah, I do believe it. I want to, anyhow. I mean... think about it; no breakin' hearts over stupid material things an' petty jealousies, or with words you spoke without thinkin'. You support each other, you try to always be kind, both people listen, they have total faith in each other, an' it never hurts. Ain't that how love's supposed to work?"

"In a perfect world, maybe."

"True, it ain't perfect. Not even close, really, but the point of livin' in an imperfect world, with imperfect people.... is to try an' make it better every way ya can. The idea is to find someone who really cares for ya..... create the strongest, truest, happiest love possible, and enjoy it."

Still perched on the fence, Cordy half-turned to look at Doyle, paused for a long moment, then hopped down and walked to him, taking his hands as she had back in the audience chamber, and gazing deeply into his eyes. It took almost no effort to find what she was searching for. In a moment of blinding clarity, she understood how deeply her off-hand, frequently capricious treatment of Doyle must have hurt him in the past, and she instantly regretted casually throwing away something so precious.

Suddenly, she comprehended the mental depth and emotional vulnerability Doyle had always contained, but had never found a way to reveal to her. Finally, she touched the radiantly beautiful soul that, had she ever bothered to look, she would have discovered long before she'd lost him to death .

"What? Oh, damn it t'hell, my demon ain't showin, is it?"

"No." she told him, smiling softly. "Nothing like that. C'mon. I think we're done here."

Still loosely gripping one of Doyle's hands, she turned and began to stroll down the garishly hued brick path again, tugging him along. "Let's go, buster! Hustle! We've got a Tin Man to find."

{Tin Man.... right. No heart. Wish I could claim that.... God above, I wish it every time I look at her...}

"An oil can.... an' a rusty ax. Explain this t'me one more time, if ya don't mind awfully."

"Remember, I told you he'd been left out in the rain. Dorothy used the oil can to loosen up his arms and legs and all that so he could move again."

"He was the one missin' a heart?"

"Right. Well... kind of. He wouldn't step on little bugs in the road, he hated to see someone get hurt..... all that stuff made him cry, and that rusted his jaw, and they had to drag out the oil again.... it was a whole big thing. I guess you could say he had a heart in the spiritual sense, just not in the physical one."

"Spiritual is what matters. Angel's heart don't beat, but he's grievin' fer Buffy as hard as any of ya. Harder."

"I know. I want to help him. I just don't know what more I can do. I've tried to talk to him about her.... but he just shuts me down and changes the subject."

"Did ya expect any less? Lookit what happened t'the watcher, fer Lord's sake. If that.... what's his name, Spike? If Spike hadn'a come along, your Giles might not still be around."

"What do you mean? What about Giles? Spike didn't say anything about..."

"He won't unless ya really press him. It wasn't Rupert Giles' proudest moment, to say the least. The two of 'em have put it in the past, so it ain't my place to go tellin' tales...."

"Doyle. Please...."

"After the Slayer passed on.... Giles kinda slipped off the twelth step, I guess ya could say. He was drinkin' a great deal too much. Impressed even me, an' that's sayin' somethin'."

"Are you.... you cannnot possibly be trying to tell me that Rupert Giles was once an alcoholic. No way in heaven or SunnyHell I will ever believe that."

"Ya haven't known him his whole life, now have ya? See, 'Delia, the thing about bein' so connected to the Powers, about bein' in this... in-between place, is it lets ya see things others can't. When I saw how easy he took to the liquor after the Slayer's death I didn't understand it either. It jus' didn't fit with everythin' you'd told me about the man. Then their highnesses lemme have a look at his past. Mosta his early years were a fun fair ride through hell on earth."

Suddenly, a vague memory of one of many, many nasty groups of days from high school surfaced for Cordy.

''Wait..... I remember something. There was a demon that came after Giles and Ethan and some other Watchers..... and then went into Miss Calendar. Buffy said it had something to do with a group they were all in. She wouldn't say much more about it, but I got the impression they weren't baking cookies and studying the Bible."

"That was just a hangover from his *real* slow-suicide period, but ya got the idea well enough."

"Then Willow had that great idea of getting Angel to help. He saved Jenny.... saved all of us."

"That's what Angel does." Doyle reminded her, gazing up at her for a moment from his crouched position, then returning his gaze to the items in front of him. "So..... how is he, anyhow? I mean.... he's okay, right?"

"I thought you'd been watching us."

"I have."

"But not him? Oh. I get it. You didn't want to watch him. To answer the question you didn't ask, yes he misses you, Doyle. He misses you more than I do sometimes..... and that's a whole lot of missing, lemme tell you. Losing his best friend like that hurt him..... but he got better. He went through a bad patch a while back. He fired all of us, pushed us away and tried to handle things on his own. Wesley and I had both ended up in the hospital at different times for different things.... like I said, Angel hates to see anybody get hurt, especially if he thinks it was because of him."

"I saw. I saw what went on when he was away from you lot. He's not as strong as he thinks he is. He thought he could carry his own oil can, but he finally figured out how much he needs his lass from Kansas. Took him long enough to get that through his ten-inch thick skull......" Doyle said, a small smile touching his lips.

Tears stinging, Cordy closed her lips tightly on what she wanted to say, feeling, somehow, that it wasn't the right time to put something before Doyle that he wasn't ready to hear. Instead she laid a hand on his shoulder to brace herself, and crouched down beside him, studying the can and the ax closely.

"So. Find any messages yet? More Bible verses maybe?"

"Nothin'." he admitted, picking up the oil can and brushing gently at the dirt encrusted on it. "Wait. There are words here... inscribed in the metal. They're so tiny.... hang on. Lemme get me glasses." he mumbled, digging in a pocket.

"Glasses?" Cordelia giggled. "You wear glasses? I never saw you wear them even once back when...."

"Just look at the ax, wouldja, an' stop guffawin' at me infirmities?"

"Fine, fine. It looks like there's only half a quote here. It must...."

".....start over here. So it does." he replied, slipping a small pair of wire-rimmed frames onto his nose. "Let's see.... " 'Tis loyal friends and true that bind the heart to the soul, and the soul to the body. They are rest for the weary champion, his home, his comfort and...." Hmmm. Stops there. Must be yer turn."

"..... his shelter from the darkness within. They are his comrades in the daily battle he wages for the world's salvation, and his salvation when the battle is o'er." Wow. I don't recognize the quote, but that's Angel alright."

"That's all of ya." he corrected, tugging his glasses off and sliding them back where they'd come from. "You were right, 'Delia. He does have a heart. Now the trick is to.... how did ya put it a minute ago? Oh, yeah. The trick is t' oil it fer him, loosen up his heart an' help him make use of it. There's so much he didn't say t'the Slayer that he wishes he had, so much he wanted to give her..... "

"We're all feeling that, Doyle. I never really knew Buffy. We could have been good friends..... I think. I was such a rich bitch that I couldn't see anything that wasn't directly under the nose I was looking down most of the time."

"Then you lost everythin'."

"Then I met Angel, and I found it again. He saved me.... before he ever really saved me, you know?"

"You saved him too, Princess. An', trust me.... the Slayer understands. Over this side.... all that stuff just goes away. The bad feelin's, the broken hearts, they're worth about as much as nothin'."

"Did you.... were you there when....."

"Nah. But since they knew I'd been involved with Angel, an' he was so connected t'her..... I asked to see her, just once before I got sent on this fool's errand. I wanted to be able to tell ya how she is."

"And?"

"She's warm, an' safe, an' happy. No fightin', no pain. She's at peace. Ya have to make himself believe that, 'Delia. She is at peace."

"It'll be the struggle of the century. You know he's only happy when he's wallowing in guilt and regret."

"I know. It used to be my job t'pull him out of it, remember? It's yours, now. You gotta be his balance pole."

"Balance pole? I don't understand."

"Ya know, the thing a circus performer carries t'help 'em keep steady when they walk across the tightrope? Angel's got some long, thin tightropes comin' up, girl. He's gonna need you to watch his steps, make sure he don't fall."

"I don't know if I can do that. What if I'm not there at the right second? What if I let him down? Will he have a safety net?"

Standing, Doyle began to stretch cramped leg and back muscles in preparation for moving on. Cordy followed suit a few seconds later.

"Yeah, but settin' it up ain't my job. I can't know if it'll be strong enough t'hold him. I can see the past sometimes, Princess, but the future.... it's outta my hands. He's a big boy, our Angel is, with a few tons a'weight on his shoulders t'boot. Whoever his net is.... they're gonna have to be made a'steel an' concrete. You ready t'push on?"

"Yeah. Let's go. The Cowardly Lion awaits, and I have a really strong hunch about who it is...."

"Okay. Where is it? I don't see anything. No hint this time? What's up with that?"

" 'Delia. Over here. Come and see." Doyle called from the opposite side of the road, his voice clearly telegraphing his wonder and a touch of fear.

"What? What did you.... oh. Oh, my God! Wesley! Get him out of there!"

"I've tried, girl. I can't break it. Can ya go back an' get the ax fer me?"

Cordy nodded quickly, then took off in the direction from which they'd just come. Doyle leaned his hands on the glass partition separating him from Wesley and tried to calm the man panicking and pounding on the other side of the barrier. Not knowing if the other could even hear him, Doyle began to speak, half to himself, half to the former watcher.

"Look.... take it easy.... Wesley, is it? Must be, ya idjit, that's what she called him! Wesley, calm down. Cordelia will be right back, alright? We'll get ya outta there, I promise. Just try to be cool.... Hurry up, Delia, wouldja?"