![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
O Come All Ye Doofish (Cordelia, Wesley, & Angel)
Title: O Come All Ye Doofish
Characters: Cordelia, Wesley, & Angel
Word Count: 1,072
Spoilers: general season 1
Summary: Christmas cheer meets Angel Investigations. Kinda.
Author's Note: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
angearia's prompt. :) Man, I love these three and their banter!
+
Maybe it’s like a Christmas miracle or something.
Cordelia considers this. They’re all hanging out down in Angel’s cave of shadowy vamp pain. (She has got to get some friends who think sun is a good thing, before she winds up as pale and pasty as Angel. Or – ohGodno – Wesley.) She’s stringing up some Christmas lights, because she has nobly accepted that it is her lot in life to bring joy and sunshine – well, figurative sunshine – into Angel’s mopey broody dullsville existence. The boys were supposed to be helping her, but instead, they’re riveted by the television. So riveted that Angel doesn’t even freak out when she ‘accidentally’ knocks a battle axe off the wall and replaces it with a nice tinselly wreath.
“I suspect this bit will resonate with you especially,” Wesley is saying in a low voice to Angel like it is really serious business going down before them, like they’re watching The Power of Myth instead of a dorky claymation Christmas movie. She doesn’t really get what The Power of Myth is, but Willow and Giles had a super enthusiastic chat about it once, and that is all Cordelia needs to know.
“You see,” Wesley continues hoity-toitily, “once the Abominable Snowman’s teeth have been removed by Hermey the Misfit Elf, he no longer wishes ill upon the world around him. Not only that, but his particular skills become essential to his new group of friends. Who else would have been tall enough to put that star on top of the tree, hmm?”
“Aw,” Angel says in this small, contented voice.
Cordelia glances at him.
He is totally smiling. Not in a way with teeth, or obviousness, but the corners of his mouth are definitely pointing north. Wesley is gazing so fondly at him that if it were anybody else, she’d be tempted to ask whether she needed to give them some alone time. She’s spent enough time around Wes, though, to get that there is no homoeroticism to his desperation. That right there is just pure, platonic, friendly Please Love Me ‘Cause No One Else Has buddydom.
It’s kinda sweet. It’s all kinda sweet.
Technically, Cordelia Chase doesn’t do sweet. What are these weirdos turning her into?
Whatever it is, she’s pretty sure it’s irreversible by this point.
“You doofus,” she says for old times’ sake, and tosses a tinfoil angel at Angel’s head. ‘Cause, ha ha, get it?
“What?” He picks it up and stares down at it with befuddlement. She wishes she had a camera, because nothing has ever screamed Company Christmas Card at her more than this moment.
“You are eating this up with a spoon! Or, okay, slurping it up with a bendy straw. The point is, you’re going all sappy over the Play-Doh adventures of Freak Nose over there.” She waves her hand at the TV.
“It’s a nice story,” Angel protests.
She snorts. “Yeah, if you’re five.”
“Just because you haven’t the sensitivity required to appreciate such a poignant tale doesn’t mean you should attempt to emasculate those who do—”
“Uh, I said five, not five year old girl with pigtails and a Barbie doll. That emasculation thing was all you.”
“It was implied,” Wesley sniffs.
Cordelia rolls her eyes. “Can it, Hermey the Misfit Elf.”
Wesley gasps, affronted. God, he is the most fun person ever sometimes. “Beg pardon—”
“He says dentist, you say rogue demon hunter,” Cordelia says innocently.
“So you were paying attention too,” Angel surmises. His lips get all northward again.
“Pfft!” It’s kind of an answer. She sinks down onto the arm of Wesley’s chair. He makes a super British tut-tutting noise and pokes her in the side, but she’s pretty sure that’s just dork code for oh Cordelia, what would my life be without you?
“You know what,” she says nostalgically, “once upon a time, I actually thought the two of you were cool. I know, I know: what was wrong with me? How could I have been so misinformed? But it’s true. You, Angel, you were all tall and handsome and mysterious and silent. Do you know how hot ‘silent’ can seem when you’re dating Xander Spastic Ramble Harris? I mean, your taste in the ladies left something to be desired, and that whole murder spree didn’t exactly bring on the warm and swoony feelings, but hey. Overall, not so bad. And you.” Wesley sits up straighter. Even his glasses are glinting with expectation. “You! The suits! The actual adulthood! The accent. It physically pains me to say it now – we are talking brain-breaking, vision-level pain here – but you, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, had it going on.”
Wesley smirks. “Well, I can’t quite say I’m surprised that you felt that way—”
“Or maybe,” she speculates, because come to think of it, this explanation makes a lot more sense, “you just looked really good next to Xander.”
The smirk falters.
“Point is,” she concludes grandly, “once upon a time, I would have totally sucked face with both of you. And now it’s like, eesh. Secret doofus alert. Live and learn, huh?”
They both stare at her like they just got beat up. She would know, considering how often she sees them get beat up.
Then Angel’s expression shifts. “Not to be the bearer of bad news, Cordelia—”
“Oh, please. When are you ever not, Captain Doom ‘N Gloom?”
“—but I’m pretty sure you’ve sucked face with both of us. Technically.”
“Some of us twice,” Wesley adds, looking way too smug.
“Hey! Wait a minute here!—”
“Is that enough,” he muses, “to indoctrinate you into our doofish ranks?”
“I’d say so,” Angel says.
Ugh.
“So I guess what it all comes down to,” Angel concludes, “is that the three of us are all a team of doofuses. Doofuses? Sounds funny.”
“Doofi,” Wesley suggests.
“Doofi,” Angel considers with an approving little nod.
“Yeah,” Cordelia says, “the fact that you’re discussing the potential plural of the word ‘doofus’? That right there is a little thing I like to call proof that I am nowhere near joining your doofian ranks.”
“Doofian?” Wesley frowns. “I could’ve sworn I said ‘doofish.’”
“Doofian sounds way more impressive,” Cordelia says shortly.
Wesley smiles. So does Angel. He also reaches over and pats her on the arm, which she guesses is the repressed gloomy vampire version of a hug.
“I saw you knock down that battle axe, by the way,” he tells her. Wesley chuckles.
“Damn it!” Cordelia says.
Characters: Cordelia, Wesley, & Angel
Word Count: 1,072
Spoilers: general season 1
Summary: Christmas cheer meets Angel Investigations. Kinda.
Author's Note: For
angearia's prompt. :) Man, I love these three and their banter!+
Maybe it’s like a Christmas miracle or something.
Cordelia considers this. They’re all hanging out down in Angel’s cave of shadowy vamp pain. (She has got to get some friends who think sun is a good thing, before she winds up as pale and pasty as Angel. Or – ohGodno – Wesley.) She’s stringing up some Christmas lights, because she has nobly accepted that it is her lot in life to bring joy and sunshine – well, figurative sunshine – into Angel’s mopey broody dullsville existence. The boys were supposed to be helping her, but instead, they’re riveted by the television. So riveted that Angel doesn’t even freak out when she ‘accidentally’ knocks a battle axe off the wall and replaces it with a nice tinselly wreath.
“I suspect this bit will resonate with you especially,” Wesley is saying in a low voice to Angel like it is really serious business going down before them, like they’re watching The Power of Myth instead of a dorky claymation Christmas movie. She doesn’t really get what The Power of Myth is, but Willow and Giles had a super enthusiastic chat about it once, and that is all Cordelia needs to know.
“You see,” Wesley continues hoity-toitily, “once the Abominable Snowman’s teeth have been removed by Hermey the Misfit Elf, he no longer wishes ill upon the world around him. Not only that, but his particular skills become essential to his new group of friends. Who else would have been tall enough to put that star on top of the tree, hmm?”
“Aw,” Angel says in this small, contented voice.
Cordelia glances at him.
He is totally smiling. Not in a way with teeth, or obviousness, but the corners of his mouth are definitely pointing north. Wesley is gazing so fondly at him that if it were anybody else, she’d be tempted to ask whether she needed to give them some alone time. She’s spent enough time around Wes, though, to get that there is no homoeroticism to his desperation. That right there is just pure, platonic, friendly Please Love Me ‘Cause No One Else Has buddydom.
It’s kinda sweet. It’s all kinda sweet.
Technically, Cordelia Chase doesn’t do sweet. What are these weirdos turning her into?
Whatever it is, she’s pretty sure it’s irreversible by this point.
“You doofus,” she says for old times’ sake, and tosses a tinfoil angel at Angel’s head. ‘Cause, ha ha, get it?
“What?” He picks it up and stares down at it with befuddlement. She wishes she had a camera, because nothing has ever screamed Company Christmas Card at her more than this moment.
“You are eating this up with a spoon! Or, okay, slurping it up with a bendy straw. The point is, you’re going all sappy over the Play-Doh adventures of Freak Nose over there.” She waves her hand at the TV.
“It’s a nice story,” Angel protests.
She snorts. “Yeah, if you’re five.”
“Just because you haven’t the sensitivity required to appreciate such a poignant tale doesn’t mean you should attempt to emasculate those who do—”
“Uh, I said five, not five year old girl with pigtails and a Barbie doll. That emasculation thing was all you.”
“It was implied,” Wesley sniffs.
Cordelia rolls her eyes. “Can it, Hermey the Misfit Elf.”
Wesley gasps, affronted. God, he is the most fun person ever sometimes. “Beg pardon—”
“He says dentist, you say rogue demon hunter,” Cordelia says innocently.
“So you were paying attention too,” Angel surmises. His lips get all northward again.
“Pfft!” It’s kind of an answer. She sinks down onto the arm of Wesley’s chair. He makes a super British tut-tutting noise and pokes her in the side, but she’s pretty sure that’s just dork code for oh Cordelia, what would my life be without you?
“You know what,” she says nostalgically, “once upon a time, I actually thought the two of you were cool. I know, I know: what was wrong with me? How could I have been so misinformed? But it’s true. You, Angel, you were all tall and handsome and mysterious and silent. Do you know how hot ‘silent’ can seem when you’re dating Xander Spastic Ramble Harris? I mean, your taste in the ladies left something to be desired, and that whole murder spree didn’t exactly bring on the warm and swoony feelings, but hey. Overall, not so bad. And you.” Wesley sits up straighter. Even his glasses are glinting with expectation. “You! The suits! The actual adulthood! The accent. It physically pains me to say it now – we are talking brain-breaking, vision-level pain here – but you, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, had it going on.”
Wesley smirks. “Well, I can’t quite say I’m surprised that you felt that way—”
“Or maybe,” she speculates, because come to think of it, this explanation makes a lot more sense, “you just looked really good next to Xander.”
The smirk falters.
“Point is,” she concludes grandly, “once upon a time, I would have totally sucked face with both of you. And now it’s like, eesh. Secret doofus alert. Live and learn, huh?”
They both stare at her like they just got beat up. She would know, considering how often she sees them get beat up.
Then Angel’s expression shifts. “Not to be the bearer of bad news, Cordelia—”
“Oh, please. When are you ever not, Captain Doom ‘N Gloom?”
“—but I’m pretty sure you’ve sucked face with both of us. Technically.”
“Some of us twice,” Wesley adds, looking way too smug.
“Hey! Wait a minute here!—”
“Is that enough,” he muses, “to indoctrinate you into our doofish ranks?”
“I’d say so,” Angel says.
Ugh.
“So I guess what it all comes down to,” Angel concludes, “is that the three of us are all a team of doofuses. Doofuses? Sounds funny.”
“Doofi,” Wesley suggests.
“Doofi,” Angel considers with an approving little nod.
“Yeah,” Cordelia says, “the fact that you’re discussing the potential plural of the word ‘doofus’? That right there is a little thing I like to call proof that I am nowhere near joining your doofian ranks.”
“Doofian?” Wesley frowns. “I could’ve sworn I said ‘doofish.’”
“Doofian sounds way more impressive,” Cordelia says shortly.
Wesley smiles. So does Angel. He also reaches over and pats her on the arm, which she guesses is the repressed gloomy vampire version of a hug.
“I saw you knock down that battle axe, by the way,” he tells her. Wesley chuckles.
“Damn it!” Cordelia says.
no subject
This is the definition of happymaking fic. Thank you!
“Yeah,” Cordelia says, “the fact that you’re discussing the potential plural of the word ‘doofus’? That right there is a little thing I like to call proof that I am nowhere near joining your doofian ranks.”
*snorts* doofian...
“Doofian sounds way more impressive,” Cordelia says shortly.
Bwha!
no subject
no subject
Oh, geez, of COURSE Angel would be enthralled by Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer and the plight of the abominable snowman. PERFECTION. That line killed me.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
“Aw,” Angel says in this small, contented voice.
My eyes literally just stung a little, oh my God what have you done. No one manages IMPOSSIBLY ENDEARING quite like you do.
the repressed gloomy vampire version of a hug.
I WANT ONE.
I long to hang out and be a doofus with them. My heart weeps with every moment that they remain fictional.
no subject
My heart weeps with every moment that they remain fictional.
I am pretty sure this sentence sums up my ETERNAL PLIGHT re: life.
no subject
no subject
no subject
He is totally smiling. Not in a way with teeth, or obviousness, but the corners of his mouth are definitely pointing north. Wesley is gazing so fondly at him that if it were anybody else, she’d be tempted to ask whether she needed to give them some alone time. She’s spent enough time around Wes, though, to get that there is no homoeroticism to his desperation. That right there is just pure, platonic, friendly Please Love Me ‘Cause No One Else Has buddydom.
Ha! Ha ha ha. Not only is that delightful and hilarious, I'm prettyyyy sure it would be one of those moments on-screen that I would use as reference in my Angel/Wesley 'shipping preference. OH, THOSE TWO AND THEIR LOOKS.
I also got a thrill out of how desperately desperate ol' early season Wesley is, particularly this AMAZING line:
Wesley sits up straighter. Even his glasses are glinting with expectation.
So good! ALL OF THIS IS SO GOOD.
Basically, as per usual, you are the best and my favorite THE END.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
-- This fic was perfection, gorgeous perfection and WHERE HAS IT BEEN ALL MY LIFE!?? GAWD I miss these guys something fierce.
“You see,” Wesley continues hoity-toitily, “once the Abominable Snowman’s teeth have been removed by Hermey the Misfit Elf, he no longer wishes ill upon the world around him. Not only that, but his particular skills become essential to his new group of friends. Who else would have been tall enough to put that star on top of the tree, hmm?”
“Aw,” Angel says in this small, contented voice.
-- You know you broke my heart alot right here and then it mended all over again, like magic. I also kinda heard Coldplay's "Fix You" playing in my head when I re-read this fic for commenting purposes.
She sinks down onto the arm of Wesley’s chair. He makes a super British tut-tutting noise and pokes her in the side, but she’s pretty sure that’s just dork code for oh Cordelia, what would my life be without you?
-- *sigh*
-- If you'd thrown in Charles Gunn and his brand of macho street snark, it would have probably broken my screen.
no subject