More to This
Author: Dolores Labouchere
E-mail: dolores_l@hotmail.com

Summary: The ‘Angel’ gang go to see the Dingoes in LA, and drinking occurs.

Spoilers: Early Angel, season 1, especially the episode “In the Dark” and some of season 4 of BtVS.

Rating: Um, PG-13?

Distribution: UCSL, devonluv, otherwise just ask

Disclaimer: The characters are, but of course, the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Productions, 18th Century Fox, WB Network, etc. etc. etc. and I have no wish to in any way impinge upon that copyright.

Notes: In an effort to get over my writers’ block for my ‘Driftwood’ series I decided to expand an idea that’s been floating around in my head for a while now. And, dammit, it looks like I’ve got another series to get writers’ block about. I have no name for it yet, so suggestions would be most gratefully accepted.

Dedicated to Faithtastic for putting Joyce in a leather basque, and to Niccy. Oh, and this is set the night immediately following the events of “In the Dark”.

***

Cordelia smoothed the front of the black micro-dress she wore, then pushed her bosom upwards. She pulled her neckline down to reveal more cleavage, and finally pursed her lips to give them a wet sheen. After a final check of her make-up in the mirror of a silver compact, she nodded at her companions, and they turned the corner. As they approached the burly doorman, he grunted at them to provide ID. Cordy batted her eyelids at him as Angel showed him their faked IDs, and, distracted by Cordelia's shameless hussy impersonation, the bouncer only gave the IDs a cursory glance, before opening the door.

"I hope you're grateful for the sacrifices I make," Cordy grumbled as they went in.

"Tink of it as acting practice," Doyle countered, cheerfully. She shot him a glare for his troubles.

Angel sighed. “Well, until you’re 21, and Doyle and I can get the authorities to believe what it says on our birth certificates, it’s sacrifice you’re going to have to make.”

The cool air of the evening gave way to a hot, sticky atmosphere as Angel, Cordelia and Doyle descended the stairs to the converted cellar. The room was packed with people, condensation slick on the stone walls. A band played on stage, singing a passable cover of the Beatles' "Revolution". There was a musty smell in the air, and Cordelia wrinkled her nose in disgust. Above the din of music and conversation, Angel asked if anyone wanted a drink.

Cordelia pondered for a second then said, "Uh, a strawberry daiquiri." Angel rolled his eyes, but nodded to Cordelia's request.

Doyle had the more sensible order of, "A bottle o' beer." Angel nodded again, and turned toward the bar.

As the vampire queued patiently, Doyle and Cordelia moved towards the rear of the club and stood watching the band.

"So tha' little red-headed fellow? This is his band we're here ta see?"

"Yeah, the Dingoes."

"Any good?"

"Oh, they're OK. For a band from Sunnydale. I used to date the lead singer."

"Is any man safe from your clutches?" Cordelia gave a long-suffering sigh. The half-demon grinned, and they lapsed into companiable silence as they watched the group on stage. A few moments later Angel joined them. He handed Doyle his bottle, and Cordy a glass filled with a pink-red liquid and adorned with a paper umbrella. She sipped daintily through the straw, ignoring the mocking looks of Doyle. Angel, meanwhile, had bought himself a Bloody Mary, given that that would be as close as he could get to his normal poison in this bar.

The band on stage finished their set to healthy, if not ecstatic, applause. Doyle turned to his companions and asked, “Is this when they comes on, then?” Cordelia nodded in response, though she wasn’t really sure; she just wanted Doyle to shut up for a change. As it turned out, she was correct - she recognised Devon as soon as he wandered onto the stage, despite the fact that the lights were down and he was only a shadowy profile. She smiled to herself as she remembered just how good-looking the guy was. /Pity he’s such a doofus,/ she thought. A small figure moved to the left of Devon, and picked up a guitar. Oz ran his fingers along the strings, tuning the instrument, and Cordy was taken back to a time when she and Harmony and the rest had been at the Bronze most nights, waiting for the Dingoes, or some other local band, to pick up their guitars and sing some songs. She rubbed her eyes with her spare hand. /God, do I feel old./

A few minutes later the stage was once again illuminated and the Dingoes began to play. It was “Pain”, one of their signature tunes, and a song Cordelia had heard more times than she could remember. But nostalgia was nice, and seeing as the Dingoes seemingly hadn’t written anything new since the last time she heard them, that was just as well.

***

"Watch where yer goin'" Doyle barked at the blonde girl who battered in to him, sending the beer in his bottle sloshing to the floor. The live bands had given way to a DJ, and the patrons of the club had got that much more inebriated. Not that Angel or Cordelia or Doyle had stayed sober; they were merely less drunk than those around them, and growing more impatient. The Dingoes had finished their performance and then disappeared off stage. The three friends had stayed, waiting in amongst the dancing patrons, for Oz to meet them for a drink, though he seemed to be taking forever to get to them.

Just as Cordy began to mutter dark threats about leaving, they finally saw the diminutive werewolf push his way through the crowd to meet them. Following him was Devon, and though Oz’s expression was as calm as ever, Devon looked a mite pissed off.

“Sorry about the wait,” Oz said as he got to where Angel and the rest were standing.

“Manager of the place was trying to do us out of half of our fee,” Devon grumbled.

“Ye’ve got to watch these management types, they’ll diddle ya out of yer wages as soon as look at ya.” Even Cordy smiled at this gentle ribbing of Angel, who shot Doyle a glare for his troubles.

Ignoring the jibes thrust in his direction Angel asked, “And did they?”

“Do us out of the cash? Nah. Me and Oz – we knows how to deal with that sort.”

“We threatened them with Cordelia,” said Oz, smiling at the woman. She huffed as the four guys chuckled at that.

“Humph, well, that’s the last time I try to be nice and come to support my friends’ pathetic efforts at reaching stardom.”

Devon couldn’t resist. “Speaking of pathetic attempts at stardom, how goes your search for fame?”

“I’ll have you know I have an audition for a commercial tomorrow morning. I could be the face of Femsheer lingerie.”

“Are ye sure it’d be your face they’d be looking at?” Doyle offered, to the barely disguised mirth of the rest.

“That’s it. Goodnight, everybody.” Cordelia stormed off towards the exit. Angel sighed, and hurried after her, proffering banknotes so that Cordy could get a cab.

He came back a few moments later. “I’m going to suffer for this tomorrow. Thanks everyone.”

Oz smiled again. “Sorry, but I’ve missed that in Sunnydale. Apologise for me when you see her. Oh, and I forgot – Doyle, this is Devon. Devon, Doyle. I think you and Angel know each other.”

“Yeah, you used to date Buffy, didn’t you?” Angel nodded, whilst Doyle stuck out a hand.

“Pleased to meet ya.” Devon took it and the two shook hands for what seemed to Oz and Angel just a fraction too long.

“So where’s the rest of the band?” Angel asked, once they had finished the greetings.

Oz smiled again. “Devon let them have the cast-off groupies.”

Doyle laughed. “I hope we’re not getting’ in the way of your enjoyment, Devon.”

Devon shook his head. “I’m getting bored of groupies, y’know.” Off Oz’s raised eyebrow he continued, “Hey, can’t I be even a little deep?”

“Sure, Dev. I guess it just wasn’t what I expected to hear.” A look was exchanged between the two that was a conversation in itself. For a moment no-one said anything.

In the awkward silence, Doyle decided alcohol was the way ahead. “Well, looks like it’s just us lads, then. Who’s up for a beer?”

***

A few hours later the four ended up in Angel’s apartment block, at the door to the office.

“I’ve left a bottle of Scotch in t’office for just such an occasion,” said Doyle, swaying slightly as Angel pushed open the door.

“I don’t think you really need to drink any more,” remarked Angel as he helped the half-demon in. Oz, who was doing the same favour to Devon, followed him. They reached the elevator and made the slow descent to Angel’s apartment.

The night had gone fairly well, despite Doyle and Devon appearing intent on outdoing each other in the drinking stakes. Meanwhile, Oz and Angel, accustomed to the role of looking after the two, had remained relatively sober. Whilst they had talked about Buffy and Willow and the rest of the gang, college, LA, Cordy and how good the band had been, Doyle and Devon had told bad jokes, and exchanged drinking stories. Oz had accepted Angel’s generous offer of a place to sleep for the night that wasn’t Oz’s van on behalf of both himself and Devon, and they all left before Doyle and Devon’s increasing levels of intoxication got them thrown out.

Oz and Angel deposited their companions on the sofa. “Coffee?” Angel asked to the room.

Oz nodded, “I’ll help,” and followed the vampire into the kitchen.

On the sofa, Doyle turned to his new-found friend. “So, Dev, why’d ya give up the chance to go wit’ those groupies? Surely it’d have been a better night than with us.”

“Hey, I enjoyed myself. I don’t *need* groupies to do that.”

Doyle smiled. “Sorry, I just thought a young thing like you wouldn’t be able to get enough of the girls.”

“It gets boring. Most of the time they just blow me backstage and I go home. There isn’t any emotion in it. Not exactly what I want from life.” The singer seemed to be getting melancholy. Then, “Hey, what’s with the,” he adopted a bad Irish accent at this point, “young thing?” He reverted back to his own voice again, “Not as if you’re that old.”

“Sorry, point taken. But you are quite baby-faced.” Doyle swiped Devon’s cheek with the finger of one hand. Devon reached up to touch his face where the finger had passed, but said nothing. Doyle continued, “What do ya want from life then?”

“I wish I knew. Oz, he’s got his Willow, an’ much as I wish he was more involved with the band, at least he seems happy, y’know. I guess I want some of that. But I don’t know who, or…” he trailed off, and stared at his feet.

“I know whatcha mean.” Doyle turned to face Devon. “Sometimes, all I want is to be held tight by someone who I want to hold back. Y’know?” Devon looked back into the green eyes of the man next to him.

“Yeah, I know exactly. ‘Zactly.” There was a moment where the two just looked at each other saying nothing, Devon unconsciously licking his bottom lip.

“I…” Doyle started to say something, and Devon moved his head forward. Then Doyle grunted, and his hands flew to clutch his head. “Oh, no…”

***

In the kitchen Oz and Angel stood watching the coffee maker putter away.

“Thanks again for what you did earlier on.” Angel said, as he grabbed some cups from a cupboard.

“It was no biggy. Glad to have been of help.”

“Thanks all the same.”

“Angel, what did you do with that Amarra ring? I noticed you weren’t wearing it earlier.”

“I destroyed it.”

“Cool.”

“No, you see, it was too easy a… cool? You’re not going to tell me I was an idiot?”

“Hey, you had your reasons. I’m not going to question them.”

Angel smiled a little, “Will’s lucky.”

“Really? I’m beginning to wonder.”

“Why? Oz, you’re a great guy…”

“But the wolf thing… I…” Oz was interrupted by a scream from the other room. He and Angel raced through to find Doyle writhing on the floor, and a clearly distressed Devon on his knees trying to steady the half-demon.

“Oz, man, I didn’t do anything, he just started screaming and…” Angel pushed Devon out of the way and started muttering calming words.

Eventually Doyle’s screaming stopped and he said something Devon couldn’t hear, but Oz’s lupine hearing picked up as an address. Angel helped the smaller man to his feet, and they made for the lift.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry, I…” Devon said to the retreating Doyle.

Doyle turned and gave a flash of a smile, “Not your fault.”

Oz and Angel exchanged a look, and the werewolf nodded. Angel pulled shut the grate, and he and Doyle were lifted out of sight.

***

“What was all that about?” asked Devon, as Oz handed him a mug of coffee.

“He’s epileptic. Angel’s taking him to the ER.” /and those gangs in Sunnydale are just on PCP/ Oz thought, hating lying to his best friend.

“Oh. Shit.”

“Like he said – not your fault. Drink that and then we should hit the hay. We’ve got to drive back to Sunnydale tomorrow, remember.”

“Don’t remind me.”

***

The sun had almost risen on LA when Angel and Doyle finally made it back to the apartment. Doyle needed to collect the keys to his own place, which he’d left behind in the commotion. Angel disappeared into his bedroom, whispering a goodnight to Doyle. Stepping over the dozing Oz, on the floor and wrapped in blanket, Doyle reached over to the coffee table where his keys lay, and paused to look at the sleeping figure of Devon on the sofa. He reached across to brush the youth’s cheek again. “I know whatcha mean,” he whispered, then left for home.

Continued in 'A Little Bit of Knowledge'