TITLE: Not My Fault, I Swear!

AUTHOR: Ragna

writinggoddess@aol.com

RATING: PG

CLASSIFICATION: Cordy/Angel friendship, Cordy/Doyle flirting.

SUMMARY: Angel regrets ever having handed Cordelia a crossbow...

SPOILERS: Set before "Heroes."

DISTRIBUTION: Any sites with my fic up; you all have unspoken permission. I write it, you can post it. Everyone else just keep my name on it and let me know.

DISCLAIMER: If you don't recognize it, chances are it's my own creation. If you do, I don't own it. Joss Whedon, Kazui Sandollar, The WB, UPN, et. al. most likely do.

FEEDBACK: Please send it offlist and let me know it's feedback; I do rapid delete on my account due to a lot of spam.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Went to Challenge In A Can (http://www.dymphna.net/challenge/) and ended up with "Cordelia," "lost" and "crossbow." Also my answer to the Cordelia/Angel Ficathon. My assignment:

For: Jess (Cookie_Dough101)

Pairing: Cordy & Angel [purely friendship!!!]

Requests: Season One (the early days) & Doyle

Restrictions: No romance between Cordy & Angel! & slash



Not My Fault, I Swear!
By Ragna
***

The door to Cordelia's apartment slammed shut. It was followed by a knock.

"You've already been invited in, you idiot!" Cordelia said, stalking into the kitchen and throwing open the refrigerator door. She grabbed a large bottle of purified water and turned back to the opening front door.

Doyle helped a limping Angel into the hallway. "Excuse me, Cordelia, but I'm in pain here. And having a door shut in my face wasn't exactly the highlight of my night, either."

"Whatever," she said, flopping down on a couch and picking up a fashion magazine. Through the corner of her eye she saw Doyle about to set Angel down on a couch. "No blood on the fabric; Dennis just cleaned it."

Angel scowled at Cordelia. "So where am I supposed to sit while we try and get this crossbow out of my thigh?"

"Try one of the stools," she said, not looking up from the magazine until she added, "but only if you put some trash bags underneath it."

"It's your fault, you know," Angel said through gritted teeth as Doyle lowered him onto a stool.

"Is not."

"Is so! You were holding onto the crossbow!"

"And you misloaded it! I shot for the vampire, and it hit you. So it's not my fault, I swear!"

"The both of you, will you *please* grow up a bit?" Doyle said, shaking his head and rolling it from side to side to adjust the kinks. "It doesn't matter who's fault it is. Right now we need to get Angel cleaned up and all get a good night's sleep."

Cordelia sighed and went over to the vampire. "You're such a big baby," she muttered.

Angel opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again after he saw the look on Doyle's face. Silently, he began cursing, not only at the pain in his thigh but at the pain in his arse named Cordelia.

"Princess, do you have bandages?"

"Yeah. I'll be right back." She left and headed towards the bathroom. Dennis set down a glass of whiskey next to Angel and he gratefully swallowed it whole.

"Look, Angel, I don't offer advice much, but she's mighty upset right now for some reason. Don't egg her on," Doyle said as he took some paper towels off the dispense near them and packed them around the crossbow bolt.

"But she shot me!"

"And it was an accident. They happen, you know?"

"Fine. Let's just get this out, get me patched up and get me home."

Doyle nodded and turned to the reentering Cordelia, flashing her a brilliant smile. "Well, lass, I think our patient won't put up too much of a fuss."

"He better not. My head hurts really bad."

"Are you okay? Doyle asked.

"Nothing a bath, a massage and a Tylenol 3 can't fix." She looked at Angel. "Sorry I almost lost it earlier."

Angel nodded. Dennis handed him another shot of whiskey.

"Is that the good stuff Doyle raids when he's here?" Cordelia asked. Dennis lifted Angel's empty glass and moved it as though he was nodding. "Could you pour two glasses for later?"

"What, both for the brooding baby?"

"No, just one. Figure you could get the other."

Doyle nodded. "Got the blood more or less stopped, but more will come out as we pull the bolt out." He took her hand and placed them on the paper towels. "Push down no matter how wet they get."

"Ew, gross," Cordelia muttered.

'Ready?"

"I guess."

"One...two...three!" Doyle yanked the bolt up and Angel howled in pain. Cordelia quickly handed him the closest cup of whisky, and then the other when he'd finished that one.

"Thought that was mine," Doyle said.

"Yeah, but Angel's almost out. We need a place for him to stay that's dark."

"How about your walk-in closet?"

"Perfect."

"Say, do I get a drink soon?"

***

The next morning, Cordelia awoke to sounds coming from the walk in closet. She ignored them, mostly because she knew it was just Angel. After ten minutes, Angel emerged, a pink silk see-though shirt draped over his shoulder.

"Be careful where you walk," Cordelia said. "You can't reach the sewer access for another twenty minutes or so."

Angel shook his head. "Why the closet?"

Cordelia shrugged. "Darkest place in the house." She pushed him towards the doors into the living room, where Dennis and Doyle had courteously drawn the windows before Doyle left. After finishing off the bottle of whisky, of course.

Angel sat down on her couch. "We need to get you lessons for the weapons. And maybe some anger management classes, too."

"Says who?"

"Me. I am your boss after all."

"And do I get paid extra for all this?"

"Maybe. Depends on how many mouths I have to keep feeding."

Cordelia nodded. "You can go to rats. Then Doyle and I would be fine."

Angel tossed a pillow at Cordelia. "Incorrigible."

"And you love me anyway, boss."


END