Post by Illwind8725 on Jan 19, 2011 1:10:49 GMT -5
Chapter 1-Dear Cordelia
Dear Cordelia,
I'm sorry.
[-]
Allen Francis Doyle opened his eyes on an abandoned cargo hold. His head felt light. Doyle remembered vaguely, the feeling of his skin melting from his body. He winced in the memory of the pain. He stood up from his place on the floor and tried to understand why he was alone. Why he was even here.
'Cordelia', he thought. "Where are you?" He asked out loud.
A burly wall like demon materialized in front of him.
"Heya! I'm Skip, your connection to the PTB." The demon smiled, as if they were on a mini golf course.
"Skip." Doyle nodded. "What's going on here? I had the distinct impression I would be dead now." He stated in his familiar Irish lilt.
"Those visions…they weren't yours to give away. The PTB are not pleased." Skip frowned dramatically.
"Cordelia?"
"Yes, Cordy girl inherited your visions. I bet she's thankful as ever for those lovely migraines you've given her to remember you by." Skip smirked.
"Hey! I didn't do it to hurt her!"
"Now, don't be so touchy. You're here now, and you are going to have to live with what you've done….Sort of."
"So…what? I get another chance? Another go with the visions?"
"Well…no. You're incorporeal."
"A…ghost?"
[ - ]
Doyle was finally left alone by Skip and he visualized Cordelia. He figured she would have gone home to her apartment. No sooner had he imagined her walking in her front door, did he appear beside her. He reached out for her.
"Cordy!" His arm swung and made contact with air.
Cordelia made no movement to show she had heard him. She was crying. Her face was red and blotchy and she seemed disoriented.
Doyle followed her to the kitchen, with a look of sympathy and pain on his face.
"I can see her and I can't talk to her…or touch her? How could you bring me back to this torture…" he said aloud.
"It's torture alright. She's been like this all day."
Doyle jumped at the sound of another male voice. He spun around to see a blonde man.
"Hey, it's me, Dennis."
"Blimey, Phantom Dennis! I never thought I'd live to see the day that I'd see your face!" He almost smiled.
"Well, technically, you didn't live to see the day…" Dennis pointed out.
"Right…"
"She's been missing you something awful. Wishes you took those visions with you though…" Dennis said.
"I don't know what to do. I want to comfort her…"
"I have an idea…" Dennis suggested, and led him over to the coffee table. "You know I can move things around and interact with Cordy, but she can't hear me? Same goes for you. Something I've always wanted to try…grab that pen and write to her…could be worth a try."
"Wouldn't that scare her? I just died and now I'm suddenly able to write to her? I think that'd upset her more…it's too soon." Doyle said sadly, watching Cordelia very slowly go through the motions of brewing a pot of coffee.
"Think about it." Dennis said and went to sit on the couch.
"I will."
[-]
Cordelia was exhausted. She badly wanted coffee, but she also wanted tea…cookies, no biscuits… She wanted sleep, but she wanted to stay up all night….to watch movies but to read a book…. She wanted Doyle.
She leaned against her kitchen counter in frustration.
"Dennis…" She whispered, "Could you please turn up the heat in here? I'm feeling….cold. I'm going to lie down…can you finish making my coffee for me…please? I can't…" She felt soft, mushy and pathetic. The world seemed to heavy right at that moment to complete the simplest of tasks.
Immediately the room got warmer and the coffee filters and grounds started moving at their own accord about the kitchen. She smiled softly and waded over to her loveseat. She lay her head on the armrest and closed her eyes.
[-]
"Fair lady beckons…" Dennis said to Doyle after her request for coffee. Doyle ran to the coffee machine while Dennis took care of the thermostat.
Doyle picked out a green coffee cup, his way of saying he was there to help…even if she didn't know it.
[ - ]
He stood in front of her then with her coffee cup in hand, and watched her fitfully doze. He softly put down her coffee and noticed the journal on the table again…
[-]
Cordelia woke up at 2AM to find her coffee beside her, and surprisingly still quite warm. Her ghostie had reheated it for her.
"Thanks Dennis." She grinned, eyes full of sleep.
She sat up with every intention of taking a sip of the beverage, when her brain was filled with graphic images. Her eyes shut and her head whipped back and made contact thankfully with the soft back of her loveseat.
Doyle watched from the chair right beside her, and cringed right along with her, frustrated with himself that he was powerless to assist her in any way.
Cordelia screamed in pain and when she finally righted herself she turned to her notebook and scribbled down the words, "Girl, blonde, Park Avenue."
She took a moment to steady her swirling brain and took a moment to silently curse Doyle.
She picked up her house phone and started dialing Angel's cell phone, when she froze.
On the notepad she had just written on, the notepad that had been blank moments before read:
Dear Cordelia,
I'm sorry.
-AFD
[-]
Authors note: Set in season 1 right after Doyle dies. Please, please review, give me some feedback, I really want to commit to this story and keep up with it. My roommate and I are currently rewatching the series, so I'm really in the vibe of the characters right now. Thank you! =]
If you read it, feed it. Please![/b]
---
You can also keep track of me & my fanfictions at www.fanfiction.net/u/631005/Fireworks8725
Dear Cordelia,
I'm sorry.
[-]
Allen Francis Doyle opened his eyes on an abandoned cargo hold. His head felt light. Doyle remembered vaguely, the feeling of his skin melting from his body. He winced in the memory of the pain. He stood up from his place on the floor and tried to understand why he was alone. Why he was even here.
'Cordelia', he thought. "Where are you?" He asked out loud.
A burly wall like demon materialized in front of him.
"Heya! I'm Skip, your connection to the PTB." The demon smiled, as if they were on a mini golf course.
"Skip." Doyle nodded. "What's going on here? I had the distinct impression I would be dead now." He stated in his familiar Irish lilt.
"Those visions…they weren't yours to give away. The PTB are not pleased." Skip frowned dramatically.
"Cordelia?"
"Yes, Cordy girl inherited your visions. I bet she's thankful as ever for those lovely migraines you've given her to remember you by." Skip smirked.
"Hey! I didn't do it to hurt her!"
"Now, don't be so touchy. You're here now, and you are going to have to live with what you've done….Sort of."
"So…what? I get another chance? Another go with the visions?"
"Well…no. You're incorporeal."
"A…ghost?"
[ - ]
Doyle was finally left alone by Skip and he visualized Cordelia. He figured she would have gone home to her apartment. No sooner had he imagined her walking in her front door, did he appear beside her. He reached out for her.
"Cordy!" His arm swung and made contact with air.
Cordelia made no movement to show she had heard him. She was crying. Her face was red and blotchy and she seemed disoriented.
Doyle followed her to the kitchen, with a look of sympathy and pain on his face.
"I can see her and I can't talk to her…or touch her? How could you bring me back to this torture…" he said aloud.
"It's torture alright. She's been like this all day."
Doyle jumped at the sound of another male voice. He spun around to see a blonde man.
"Hey, it's me, Dennis."
"Blimey, Phantom Dennis! I never thought I'd live to see the day that I'd see your face!" He almost smiled.
"Well, technically, you didn't live to see the day…" Dennis pointed out.
"Right…"
"She's been missing you something awful. Wishes you took those visions with you though…" Dennis said.
"I don't know what to do. I want to comfort her…"
"I have an idea…" Dennis suggested, and led him over to the coffee table. "You know I can move things around and interact with Cordy, but she can't hear me? Same goes for you. Something I've always wanted to try…grab that pen and write to her…could be worth a try."
"Wouldn't that scare her? I just died and now I'm suddenly able to write to her? I think that'd upset her more…it's too soon." Doyle said sadly, watching Cordelia very slowly go through the motions of brewing a pot of coffee.
"Think about it." Dennis said and went to sit on the couch.
"I will."
[-]
Cordelia was exhausted. She badly wanted coffee, but she also wanted tea…cookies, no biscuits… She wanted sleep, but she wanted to stay up all night….to watch movies but to read a book…. She wanted Doyle.
She leaned against her kitchen counter in frustration.
"Dennis…" She whispered, "Could you please turn up the heat in here? I'm feeling….cold. I'm going to lie down…can you finish making my coffee for me…please? I can't…" She felt soft, mushy and pathetic. The world seemed to heavy right at that moment to complete the simplest of tasks.
Immediately the room got warmer and the coffee filters and grounds started moving at their own accord about the kitchen. She smiled softly and waded over to her loveseat. She lay her head on the armrest and closed her eyes.
[-]
"Fair lady beckons…" Dennis said to Doyle after her request for coffee. Doyle ran to the coffee machine while Dennis took care of the thermostat.
Doyle picked out a green coffee cup, his way of saying he was there to help…even if she didn't know it.
[ - ]
He stood in front of her then with her coffee cup in hand, and watched her fitfully doze. He softly put down her coffee and noticed the journal on the table again…
[-]
Cordelia woke up at 2AM to find her coffee beside her, and surprisingly still quite warm. Her ghostie had reheated it for her.
"Thanks Dennis." She grinned, eyes full of sleep.
She sat up with every intention of taking a sip of the beverage, when her brain was filled with graphic images. Her eyes shut and her head whipped back and made contact thankfully with the soft back of her loveseat.
Doyle watched from the chair right beside her, and cringed right along with her, frustrated with himself that he was powerless to assist her in any way.
Cordelia screamed in pain and when she finally righted herself she turned to her notebook and scribbled down the words, "Girl, blonde, Park Avenue."
She took a moment to steady her swirling brain and took a moment to silently curse Doyle.
She picked up her house phone and started dialing Angel's cell phone, when she froze.
On the notepad she had just written on, the notepad that had been blank moments before read:
Dear Cordelia,
I'm sorry.
-AFD
[-]
Authors note: Set in season 1 right after Doyle dies. Please, please review, give me some feedback, I really want to commit to this story and keep up with it. My roommate and I are currently rewatching the series, so I'm really in the vibe of the characters right now. Thank you! =]
If you read it, feed it. Please![/b]
---
You can also keep track of me & my fanfictions at www.fanfiction.net/u/631005/Fireworks8725