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slashthedrabble Dec. 12th, 2004 12:11 am)
mirasol.livejournal.com posting in slashthedrabble Dec. 12th, 2004 12:11 am)Umm, yes, that's right. I didn't write Spander.
*faints*
Set immediately after "In the dark"
Wishful thinking
“-I mean, one more hot poker and I was giving him the ring, your mom, everything… How is your mom?”
He hardly registers the question as the world spins out of focus again. A woman, a vamp, a dark alley that he recognises, next to an Irish pub that’s as genuine as Britney’s boobs. Yet another stupid victim for his dark Angel to go save.
Maybe he’d be more sympathetic if it didn’t feel like his brain was ten times its usual size, squished into his normal-sized skull. As the steel booted mice stop running about in his head Doyle realises that he’s not standing up any longer.
Gentle fingers massage his head, pulling the pain away faster and better than the pills – but he knows that he can’t ask Angel to do this every time he gets a vision. That’s touching, and that’s too near to the bone to make either of them comfortable.
Surely Angel knows that’s why he’s so obvious in his pursuit of the ice princess?
Doyle knows it’s dark – as dark as LaLa Land gets anyway, but he doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet. That must be why Angel softly murmurs, thinks Doyle’s still out of it. “How could I have kept the ring? You don’t get a choice, and I shouldn’t either. No, not gonna leave you alone.”
Not what Doyle wants to hear him say – not that Angel is ever going to whisper those words to him. A ghrá mo chroí... love of my heart... Despite everyone thinking he’s some kind of uber-slacker, Doyle is nothing if not practical and those words will keep him going. Perhaps even make him brave enough to hope for a new beginning.
His eyes flick open as Angel continues. “Cairdeas, Grá, Dílseacht”
Both faces flush.
*faints*
Set immediately after "In the dark"
Wishful thinking
“-I mean, one more hot poker and I was giving him the ring, your mom, everything… How is your mom?”
He hardly registers the question as the world spins out of focus again. A woman, a vamp, a dark alley that he recognises, next to an Irish pub that’s as genuine as Britney’s boobs. Yet another stupid victim for his dark Angel to go save.
Maybe he’d be more sympathetic if it didn’t feel like his brain was ten times its usual size, squished into his normal-sized skull. As the steel booted mice stop running about in his head Doyle realises that he’s not standing up any longer.
Gentle fingers massage his head, pulling the pain away faster and better than the pills – but he knows that he can’t ask Angel to do this every time he gets a vision. That’s touching, and that’s too near to the bone to make either of them comfortable.
Surely Angel knows that’s why he’s so obvious in his pursuit of the ice princess?
Doyle knows it’s dark – as dark as LaLa Land gets anyway, but he doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet. That must be why Angel softly murmurs, thinks Doyle’s still out of it. “How could I have kept the ring? You don’t get a choice, and I shouldn’t either. No, not gonna leave you alone.”
Not what Doyle wants to hear him say – not that Angel is ever going to whisper those words to him. A ghrá mo chroí... love of my heart... Despite everyone thinking he’s some kind of uber-slacker, Doyle is nothing if not practical and those words will keep him going. Perhaps even make him brave enough to hope for a new beginning.
His eyes flick open as Angel continues. “Cairdeas, Grá, Dílseacht”
Both faces flush.
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It means friendship, love, loyalty.
Could have been worse - Díul mó bhad is a particular one that springs to mind suck my... well, you know... *weg*
I see I scraped in just under the cut off. Promise I won't leave it so near next time.