He's looking at me again.

I think I'm going to scream.

Whipping my head up quickly, I just barely manage to catch his eyes as he turns around. Nearly got him this time.

God, I remember when I used to have a life. And from what I recall, it was a hell of a lot more fun that playing childish cat and mouse games with my best friend.

Whoa...did I just call Angel my best friend? I need to get out of here.

"Where are you going?"

Startled, I glance up again. I must've said that last part out loud. Gotta be careful about that.

"Out...for a walk, actually. I might go and get some coffee. Want me to bring you back anything?"

"No, I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." Picking up my jacket, I pray that he can't tell how the look he's giving me is making my hands shake, "I'll be back in a few."

"Be careful."

Rolling my eyes, I sigh, "It's broad daylight, Angel. No vampires, no demons, you don't need to worry."

"Vampires and demons aren't the only kind of evil in L.A., Cordy." He responds quietly.

"Yeah, I know. I'll watch out."

"Just be careful."

"Will do. See you later." And I'm out the door before he can respond.

Once outside, I try to calm my racing thoughts as well as the rapid beating of my heart which I know for a fact he can hear like a sledgehammer. The knowledge doesn't do much for my nerves. It's weird how we do this little dance day in and day out. Ever since Buffy's birthday, things have been so blatantly weird between us. Life around the office seems so...superficial. I mean, we talk to eachother but not like the way we used to before. We just don't seem to be connecting on the same level. It's so...surreal. It's almost like we're sleepwalking through our lives. There's a part of me that wants to be the mature one and just sit him down and call him out on it. Then there's that other part of me which thinks that the first part is insane and realizes that confrontation means putting myself on the line. I did that once with Xander and once with Willow and all it's gotten me is an ugly white scar on my stomach and a severely strained relationship with my employer.

Well, employer and friend. I should at least give him that much.

I suddenly realize that I'm chewing on my lip which is a nervous reaction I have at times and is probably going to deform my face so I stop.

Okay, so this whole mess bothers me, but then there's the different but equally weird "be careful" thing we've been saying to each other for the past 3 months. It's kind of like in that movie The Princess Bride where Wesley keeps saying ‘as you wish' to Buttercup which is code for ‘I love you'. Not that I'm trying to say that Angel's telling me he loves me every time he tells me to be careful, but sometimes I feel like he's trying to say something else.

Maybe that's because I'm trying to say something else.

Have I mentioned the fact that this whole situation is a glaring first for me? Like, most of the guys I've had a thing for have either been so arrogant that they automatically assume that I like them or so aggressive that they pursue me to begin with. This whole ‘pining away for someone who may or may not like you back and may or may not know that you like him' thing is not something that looks good on me.

Lame. That's what it is. Lame.

Especially because I'm so bad at it.

"Delia? Wait up!"

Great, just what I need.

"Where are you off to, Princess?"

Doyle.

"I'm getting coffee and you're not invited, so why don't you go back to the office and keep Angel company?" I know that my words came off sounding harsh but I really need to be alone. Besides, Doyle won't take it to heart.

He's too slow.

"Why does Angel need company?"

See? What did I tell you?

"He's been acting kind of mopey lately."

"So you've noticed it too?" He gives me one of his patented Doyle looks that never really mean anything to me even though I know they're supposed to. In the end, he always ends up having to explain anyway.

This time, though, I don't have patience for explanations. "Yes, I have noticed that he's been in ultra-brood mode. He isn't talking to me so it's up to you to go find out what's wrong. Now go."

Doyle throws his hands in the air and shakes his head.

This is usually my cue that he's come to some kind of a decision and that I'm in trouble.

He takes a deep breath, "Now, I swore I wouldn't get involved in this...."

Suppressing the urge to scream, I start walking again, "Then please don't."

He hurries to catch up, "...but being friends with BOTH of you...."

"Doyle..." I hope he hears the warning in my voice.

"...I just can't let things go on like this."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I pick up speed but he matches me step for step.

"The two of you need to discuss this. You need to air things out."

"We are discussing things and I get enough air for the both of us, thank you."

"What the two of you have been doing for the past few months doesn't constitute talking. Fer the love of God, lass, you can't even make eye contact with one another!"

"I'm not hearing this...," Speeding along, I clamp my hands over my ears. Juvenile, I know, but effective in muffling annoying sounds. Like Doyle's voice.

He isn't having any of it, though, and instead he grabs my arm (kind of hard, might I add) and yanks one of my hands down, "Your feelings, Cordelia, you need to talk about your feelings."

"Feelings?" My voice comes out like in a high pitched shriek but I can't help it. I'm just so burnt out, "What do you mean feelings? You've lived with me for nearly two years, Doyle. Don't you know by now that I don't have feelings? I'm Cordelia, the stuck up, ignorant, self-involved former rich girl whose only strengths are whining to her friends and looking good. Feelings aren't a part of my resume."

He pauses, mildly shocked at my outburst, "Delia, you can't honestly think that that's how we see y-,"

"No, no of course not." I place a halting hand on his shoulder. "I don't. I know that you guys love me. But you know what, Doyle? Sometimes that's how I see myself."

Damn, this whole ‘opening up' thing is addictive. Not to mention inconvenient. I glance around the busy street and catch the eyes of a few startled passerbys who have, no doubt, caught most of the conversation. My outburst was humiliating and embarrassing and, oh Lord, Doyle is trying to hug me in public and that is so not going to happen.

"Listen, I'll talk to you about this later. I really need to get a cup of coffee now."

He looks at me seriously, "You know that I'm here for you, Delia. Always."

I nod, unable to meet his eyes, "Yeah. I do. As much as I don't deserve it."

"I'll take that as a compliment." His face breaks out into a grin and I can't help but a laugh a bit myself.

Pulling away, I continue on in the direction of the café, "See ya, Doyle."

"Later, Princess."

I'm halfway across the street when I hear him yell my name again.

"Oh, and Delia?"

"Yeah?" I yell back without turning around.

"Be careful!"

It's closing in on sunset as I walk slowly up the stairs to the office after my lovely three hour coffee break. I thought a lot and it was nice. Cleansing. Kind of refreshing in a way. Self-analysis can sometimes be very rewarding.

Too bad I haven't thought of a damn thing to actually do.

"Hey Angel."

I walk past the spot where he's standing in the shadows with his mouth open and hand him my coat.

I love freaking him out sometimes. He has this weird male pride thing going about being an expert lurker and sometimes it's just fun to use my powers to mess with his mind. I don't quite understand it, but when it comes to Angel, it's like I've become this little pointer dog. I can usually pinpoint his location within visual confirmation and I always know when he's in the same room as I am.

"Cordelia." He returns my greeting and attempts to look unfazed as he turns to go hang my coat up.

Smiling to myself, I walk into the kitchen and greet Doyle.

"What's for dinner?"

"Well, Angel whipped up a rather wicked pasta and I took care of the salad and garlic bread which we're having only on the condition that we are careful not getting it on our neighborhood friendly vampire."

Nodding, I move to the cupboard, "I'll get the plates-,"

"No need, Princess, the table is set, the wine is uncorked and dinner is served. You got back just in time."

"Wine? Why are we doing wine?" I glare at him, "What are you doing, Doyle?"

"Me?" He smiles innocently, "Nothing. I'm not doing a darn thing."

He guides me into the dining room, "That's your Cheshire cat smile, Doyle, and you know how much I hate your Cheshire cat smile..."

"Not a clue what you're talking about, Princess, now sit."

Reluctantly I oblige and soon we're all eating in companionable silence.

Even while trying to focus on my food, there's still a part of me that is dissecting how Angel is carefully sipping his blood while taking notes on one of our current cases. He gets this very concentrated look whenever he's reading and I can tell that he's in his own little universe. The softer light casts shadows against the back wall and I can see the outlines of Angel's spikey hair which is just so cute.

And yes, thank you, I am now officially the single most pathetic human being alive.

"So, I have something to say."

Leave it to Doyle to pick the most awkward way to break a perfectly decent silence.

"Hmmm?" Angel responds, not even glancing up from his notepad.

"There's been stuff going on here that I just don't like."

That got his attention, "What do you mean?"

I try shooting mental daggers at that damn Irish demon but it doesn't seem to be working.

"What do you mean, what do I mean? You know darn well what I mean!!" He pokes an irate finger at Angel, "The tension here, man. Day in and day out. It's so thick I can taste it. It's enough to make a man bust from the pressure."

Angel stares at him blankly (a look he seems to have perfected over time), "Tension?"

"Ever since Buffy's birthday."

"Buffy's birthday?"

"The two of you have been acting strange."

"Strange?"

"The least you can do is TRY to come up with a more creative response than just repeating the end of Doyle's sentences." I know I shouldn't get annoyed at Angel, but it's nearly impossible not to. No one is this stupid and I can't believe he still insists on playing dumb. On the other hand, I'm desperately afraid he'll STOP playing dumb and we'll actually have to address this whole thing.

I'm also afraid of the outraged look Angel is giving me right now.

Thankfully, Doyle's gotten it into his head that he's the mediator so he stops things. "Okay now, let's all calm down. All I'm trying to say is that we've all been avoiding each other for whatever reasons and it hurts me since you two are my best mates and I don't get to see you anymore. I think we need to spend more time together."

Can this GET any more disgustingly touchy feely? I think not.

"Doyle, are you drunk?"

The delivery is so serious, especially coming from Angel that I can't help but giggle. Especially when he follows the comment up by removing the bottle of wine from within the demon's reach.

Both men pause to look at me and I shrug, "Sorry."

"No, ‘Delia, I'm glad you're laughing. I haven't seen you smile in months."

I look back down at the table cloth, "Doyle, this is so stupid."

"Stupid or not, humor me. I really want to see the two of you more often. What about a movie?"

Angel and I are dying from unresolved sexual tension and Doyle wants to do group field trips as therapy.

When did my life turn into Oprah?

Then again, I guess it's better than the B grade horror movie it's been for the past 5 years.

Hah. If Doyle really wants Angel and I to resolve our issues I know exactly what we can do. Just give me an empty hotel room, some candles, a few bottles of champagne and one glorious night and Angel and I will most definitely be talking.

I laugh sarcastically to myself but look up when I hear an odd gurgling noise.

Doyle's nose is bleeding. Oh, how gross. I hope this isn't a side effect of the migraine thing.

Wait...not it's not. The red liquid pouring out of his nose isn't blood but red wine...why has Doyle snarfed red wine out of his nose? And why the hell is he looking at me like I have a huge zit on my chin or something? Food stuck in my teeth? What? What the hell is going on?

Suddenly, a slow and utterly disgusting feeling invades my body causing my stomach embark on a slow descent to my toes. My face flaming, I painfully look up and make eye contact with Angel.

Sure enough he's staring at me in pretty much the same way.

Oh my God.

I said it out loud.

Oh my God.

I SAID THAT OUT LOUD!!

OH MY GOD!!!

I'm pretty sure that my face is the color of Willow's hair at this point.

Ignoring the sensation of Angel's eyes boring into my head, I keep my own fixed firmly on my plate.

"So, uhm yeah." Clearing my throat, I compose my features before casually glancing back up, "Kidding aside, I've heard that the new Tom Cruise flick is pretty good. I say we go see that."

Darting a not-so-covert look at Angel, Doyle nods while stammering his agreement but all I can see is the way that Angel simply shrugs before going back to his work.

"Whatever you guys choose is fine."

I watch him for a few more moments before looking back down and blinking away the tears that attempt to cloud my vision.

Suddenly, I'm not so hungry anymore.

Stuff like that tends to happen when you've just lost your best friend.
 

End