Emilio Estevez, Pacey Witter, And Canadian Geese
by Voleuse

Connor's just about finished his bottle when Cordelia appears in the doorway.


"Cordelia." Angel gently places the baby in his cradle, and sets the bottle on the nightstand. "What's up?"

"Can Lorne babysit tomorrow night?" She looks nervous, and her fingers are twitching against the doorway.

"Sure." Angel shrugs. "Why? Big evil?"

"No," and Cordelia smiles like the sun. "It's a surprise."

"Good surprise?"

"Of course, silly." Cordelia steps back, bouncing in her toes. "Just be ready to go at sunset."

He calls after her, as her footsteps echo down the hallway. "Should I dress up?"

"Dress warm."

And she's gone.


Angel ends up dressed as usual, and Cordelia's wearing a sweater fluffy enough to have come from Willow's old closet. He almost comments, but thinks better of it.

The trip to wherever-they're-going would have been easier if Cordelia would just have told him where they were going, but things weren't that simple. Cordelia wants to surprise him, but there isn't a chance in any hell that he would let her drive his car, so they end up making last minute turns and switchbacks in and about Los Angeles.

Three blown red lights, a near-car accident, and a mini-car chase later, they pull into a brightly-lit parking lot and pay an exorbitant fee. Angel looks up at the stadium across the street, and notes the banners and T-shirts of the people walking towards it.

"We're going to a hockey game?"

"Yeah," Cordelia punches him in the arm as she walks past him, "Duh. Where else would we go?"

"Cordelia," and he lopes forward to catch up with her, "I don't even like hockey."

"Have you ever watched hockey?"

"No, but--"

"See!" They pass through the turnstiles, and Cordelia hands their tickets over with a grin. "Can't knock it until you try it."

"Do you like hockey?"

"Dunno," she shrugs, scanning the auditorium for their seats. "I've never been to a game."



They find their seats fairly quickly, although they end up stepping on the feet of several surly-looking men.

Angel looks down at the rink. Squints. "I wonder if this is what the Romans felt like."

"Shut up." She throws a piece of her pretzel at him, and he catches it, whip-quick. "If you paid me more, we could have gotten better seats."

"I thought you wanted me to concentrate on the mission, Cordy." He pops the pretzel into his mouth, wasted calories.

"Yeah, but we still get paying clients once in a while." She bites into the remainder of her pretzel with a scowl. "I just propose that we spend less money on industrial strength cleaner, and more on, say, loyal employees."

He shifts in his seat. "It's really up to Wes--"

"And," she continues, "if someone would stop blowing things up in the middle of the lobby, we wouldn't have to make heart-breaking decisions like that."

"Right." He hunches back in his seat, winces at the carnival piping of the organ. "Sorry."


Everyone leaps to their feet again, and Angel and Cordelia do likewise, slowly.

The stadium is roaring, and Cordelia claps limply. "I swear, even sports in Sunnydale made more sense than this. What are we cheering for?"

"I think they just made a goal, Cordelia."


"The team."

"Which team?"

"Our team."

"Who's our team?"

The people around them sit down, abruptly, and they're left standing in confusion for a minute before they take their seats again.

Angel looks at the people around them. "I'm guessing our team is the Kings."

"Oh. Okay."

"I mean, they all have--Hey!"

Someone in a red uniform slams another player into the plastic barrier, and Angel leaps to his feet, this time ahead of the crowd.

Cordelia leaps up, cups her hands around her mouth. "Out of line!"

Angel looks around at the booing fans. "Out of line?"

Cordelia shrugs, plops back into her seat. "Seemed like a thing to say."


There's some sort of complex negotiation happening on the ice, and Angel's bored. Judging from the wandering members of the crowd, and the vehement discussions among those still seated, it seems like boredom might be catching. Cordelia's drinking a cup of coffee, which she seems to have bought more for the heat than the quality.

"Cordy?" Angel leans against her, pressing their shoulders together. "Why are we here?"

She pauses, mid-sip and mid-grimace. "Why not?"

"Cordy." He gives her a Look.

"I--" She sputters defensively, spilling a few drops of coffee on his hands. "You could use a break. You've been taking care of Connor 24/7, not to mention still fighting the evil. I thought you'd like a night off."

He smiles. "Thanks, but," and he gestures at the ice, which is still devoid of players, "hockey?"

"It's a sport." She stands, tosses her empty cup in the trash, and sits back down. "Guys like sports, you're a guy, ergo hockey."

"Why this sport? Why not baseball?"

"First of all," and she starts ticking off on her fingers, "baseball is usually played during the day, and second of all, it's outdoors. Hockey, on the other hand," and she forgoes counting to point at the rink, where a large vehicle has started driving around in circles, "is played at night, indoors."


"Plus," she continues, "did you ever see that movie with that guy from Dawson's Creek?"

"Dawson's Creek?"

"It was cute," she continues, "and Emilio Estevez was in it, and it was about hockey. Something about a big V, I think."

"That's why you chose a hockey game?"

"Well, duh! It's not like I've seen any hockey anywhere else, aside from that skating movie with that guy that looks like that guy from Clueless."


The players spill onto the ice again, and they settle back into the rhythm of guessing why people keep cheering.


It's long past midnight, so Angel opts to walk Cordelia to her door. Her neighborhood is safe, for the most part, but they're still a little paranoid about vampire cults and the like.

They pause at her doorstep, and Angel feels awkward. "Well."

She smiles up at him. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah." He can't help but grin back, in reflex. "I'm not sure what happened, but it was fun."

She unlocks her door and, hand on doorknob, she tiptoes. "We should do this again sometime." Kisses his cheek, swiftly, and he feels like he's been electrocuted. "Good night."

The door clicks shut, and he stands there for several minutes, processing, before he bows his head to the door. "Good night."

And he drives back home with a smile on his face.


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