Merry sits down in a seat across from them; and then she pours some tea into a tea cup.
"Qurden may not like half-breeds." Merry notes of her husband’s flaws. She hands tea to Doyle, who shook his hand. She hands the tea to Wesley instead. "And can be a cranky medical examiner, but…” Merry closes her eyes, her left hand grabs tightly on the arm of living room chair.
Wesley takes a sip from the tea.
“He's got a golden heart underneath it all.” Merry finally said. “And a big, fuzzy,bear."
Wesley shaky hand puts down the tea cup on the dinning coffee table.
"Never...heard of him described this way." Wesley said, his hands are slightly trembling.
Doyle leans forward from the couch with a smile on his face.
"Ya should have heard him when I hooked up his assistant Ralph ta this cat demon." Doyle explains, putting his hands together. “Why are ya off work so early?”
Merry taps her fingers on her legs, smiling brightly enough she could have been made into a Christmas tree.
“We...had a…” Her right hand twirls some hair into knots. “A bit of an argument…over who gets to do the mass autopsy’s today. There was an explosion at the bar.”
Doyle shyly laughs as Wesley looks at him.
“It was the liquor.” Doyle said, in self-defense his hands raise up.
Merry raises an eyebrow at Doyle's odd reaction.
"Don't look at me," The Irish half demon said, waving his hands back and forth. "I was there;but it is not my fault."
Merry’s eyes light up, his voice sounded familiar. Doyle’s voice rang a bell in her memory. It sounds just a dead call I got last month. The rolling ‘R’. Maybe that number is Doyle’s. The way he pronounced liquor convinced her that he could be one.
She knew Doyle's name by his reputation (That also failed to mention him being half-demon) that's shaky at best.
“Doyle, Is your phone number 213-555-6189?” Merry asks.
Doyle does a fake cough.
“Some-one probably used my phone ta prank ya,” Doyle said, followed by a fake cough. He picked this act up from Cordelia. “Never called ya phone.”
Wesley leans back into the couch, clearing his throat.
“So are your arguments typical?” Wesley asks her.
Merry snorts.
“No, we just argue who uses the telly at night and who gets to walk our dog Spot; I love The Chew.” Merry goes off topic, making hand movements in different directions. It seems strange to know this a demon who acts like a British lady. “Qurden says he wants the old British, garbage cans shrieking a really rude phrase again on the old telly.”
Doyle and Wesley both nod, pretending to be going on with what she is saying.
“Do you boys know what that is?” Merry asks, all wide-eyed. If she wore old fashioned glasses and a muletiple colored dress, with white bumpy hair, and perhaps was older than Wesley...Merry would have fit the old Grandma quizzical look. “Those high pitched garbage cans.”
Doyle and Wesley exchange a glance.
“No.” Doyle and Wesley shook their heads.
A few hours go by. Waiting for things to cool down outside apparently wasn’t Doyle’s thing. He didn’t like being cooped up in a building waiting (Which ironically is what he does at Angel Investigations) and wanted to be out there in on the action; Helping The Helpless. Or getting help from The Helpless instead of him helping them. But, that didn’t mean Doyle couldn’t do a little searching around the house.
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Angel - City of Fear
FanfictionDoyle didn't have much with him, even after death. If he even decided to make something else as a neat reminder of him it probably would have been gone in a night. An Irish, half-bred demon who received visions from The Powers That Be. Angel and Cor...
