Epilogue

"Gotta say, darlin', you've got a real talent for time management." Doyle said with an exhausted chuckle, as he wrapped his arms around hers from behind, protecting her bare flesh from the pleasantly cool breeze that was pouring through the open bedroom windows. His back was up against the headboard and she was seated in his lap, the warmth of her back pressed against his chest. "I don't think you've ever undressed me quite that fast before. Not even when I was wearing the crown."

Two piles of Doyle's clothes lay just beyond the foot of the bed. One consisted of the clothes he had actually been wearing when he arrived at the apartment, the other was comprised of the clothes Cordelia had pilfered from his drawers back at the Hyperion. And underneath the pile of fabric, wriggled the happiest feline on planet earth. To say that Clover had been overjoyed to see them would be a gross understatement. Dennis, too, seemed quite happy, as evidenced by his efforts to enhance their homecoming with romantic mood-lighting, music and climate control.

If Doyle hadn't already felt like he was home in Cordelia's arms, he would surely feel it now that they were in their own bed, surrounded by their beloved non-human companions. It seemed that everything—minus the tragedy in Sunnydale—had finally fallen into its rightful place. Even down to the smallest details, such as the delicate silver chain around Cordelia's neck, with the familiar glass heart dangling from the center. She had found—and reclaimed—her necklace. Not that it had been hard to find, considering he'd left it knotted around the broken watch he now sported on his wrist. As it so happened, those precious items were the sole articles each of them currently wore, as they sat wrapped in each other's arms, relishing in the fact that they had made it to this place.

"'Let's go home' wasn't supposed to be code for 'I demand an orgasm.'" Cordelia replied with a teasing eye roll, that he could sense without actually seeing.

"Something got lost in the translation, yeah?" Doyle noted with a satisfied chuckle. "For the record, ya never have to demand. The pleasure's all mine."

Cordelia reached up to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face. "Y'know, I have to wonder what our sex life would be like, if it wasn't for all the constant life and death stuff—it really stimulates the libido."

"And here I thought it was the dimple ya found so irresistible." He joked, chuckling softly close to her ear.

"I am well aware of your excessive dimple-usage when you're trying to get your way." Cordelia noted, giving him a gentle nudge in the ribs with her elbow. "Newsflash! It doesn't work on me—I am immune."

"Oh, I beg to differ on that point, darlin'. I recall it working on many occasions." He corrected her, giving her a light tickle, which elicited a small shriek of laughter from her.

"Name one time." She challenged him, capturing his hands so he couldn't tickle her again and squirming in his lap in a way that made his eyebrows raise with appreciation.

"Our second date." He responded easily.

She whipped her head around, giving him an accusatory glare, albeit at an awkward angle. "Um, I think you've revised history there, buddy. We didn't have sex on our second date. I hope you're not mistakenly thinking of a second date you had with some other woman?" She said with an edge of warning.

"Not a chance, love. The night I'm thinking of was you, me, a sky full o' stars—and, as you've pointed out, we weren't quite so undressed at the time." Doyle recalled, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "I wasn't implying that I had my way with ya in the physical sense. But, I definitely won ya over, with my surprisingly romantic ways—and I'm thinking that night woulda been a lot more like this one if I hadn't been such a gentleman."

"You think that, do you?" She questioned, through narrowed eyes. "So wooed was I by your dating prowess, that I could barely keep my clothes on?"

"That's the long and the short of it." Doyle reiterated. "You were way more handsy than I was, if memory serves."

"That had nothing to do with your dimple." Cordelia deflected, turning fully away from him once again, and shaking her head resolutely. He imagined a slight blush rising to her cheeks, since she hadn't exactly denied his claim.

"Ah, but it did." Doyle gently ribbed. "You'd never have climbed that hill with me in the first place if it wasn't for the dimple."

She rolled her eyes yet again, as she conceded the point. "Fine, I'll give you that one. But, as for the rest of it—no way was I going to make things that easy for you, Doyle."

"Rest assured, ya never have, darlin'." Doyle replied with a snicker. "And therein lies much of the appeal. With you as my girlfriend, I get the best o' both worlds—the constant thrill o' the chase, and the pleasure of knowing I've already won the jackpot."

He planted a kiss on the side of her neck to punctuate his words and felt her body tense suddenly. Although she said nothing in reply, he could tell there was something she was keeping to herself, which was never a good sign. He shifted his body slightly, so he could peer around her shoulder and gauge the reason for her reaction. "What?" He wondered. "That was meant to be a compliment. I'm saying you're the jackpot in this scenario. Or is it my choice o' metaphor you're objecting to—cause y'know, I haven't actually been back at the tables in a long, long time."

"I know what you meant." She replied distractedly.

"Well, I hope it's not the girlfriend part that upset ya." He said uncertainly, his eyes drifting down to the glass heart around her neck, with its four-leaf clover pressed inside. "Ya already agreed to that bit back in Pylea—no take backs, yeah?"

She leaned further into his embrace, resting the back of her head on his shoulder, which was comforting even as her voice held a decidedly somber note. "It's not that." She assured him. "There's just one topic we skipped over on the way to our happy couple-y finish line. It fits with the whole life and death theme, and well, it's kinda important…"

"I know what you're gonna say." Doyle jumped right in; he'd been waiting for the subject to be brought up, since it arguably was another part of the reason they'd been torn apart in the first place. "The future, yeah? We needa clear the air 'bout all that."

"Well…" She hesitated as she mulled over his guess, but answered noncommittally. "Yeah?"

"I'm willing to lay all the cards on the table, whether the Powers That Be like it or not." Doyle explained amiably. "So, ah… where d'ya want me to start? With the Darla stuff? Or, y'know, here's a thought, why don't I just go dig up that ol' notebook of mine. It's in one of those boxes back at the hotel."

Cordelia lifted her head and shook it vehemently, jerking herself back into a more upright—and rigid—position. "What? No, Doyle, if I never hear about Darla again it'll be too soon! That, you can keep to yourself. Unless…" She twisted herself around so she was facing him more directly, still within the confines of his lap, and still sharing his warmth. A vaguely horrified look crossed her face. "She's not coming back, is she? Wait! No, don't answer that. I meant what I said the first time—I don't even want to know."

"Ahhh, okay." Doyle replied in a state of bewilderment. "Did I miss something here? Wasn't one o' your terms for this happy reunion of ours that we not have any secrets from each other?"

"Yeah. But, when I said 'no secrets,' I wasn't exactly talking about your classified intel from the PTB." Cordelia clarified with a quick bob of her head. "I mean, geez, Doyle. If you're going against the express wishes of the higher powers, you'd better have a good reason for it. Like, if you need my help or advice, or need to warn me about something specific—for instance, how terrible I'd look with blonde hair—then, hey, I'm all ears. But, if you're just gonna start spilling all the sordid alternate-timeline details for the sake of full disclosure—don't, okay?"

"Ya don't wanna know?" He inquired dumbly, very much surprised by her about-face on an issue he'd mistakenly thought was important to her.

"It's a future. It's not our future." Cordelia answered simply. "Didn't you just finish telling me that?" She placed one of her hands over his, as she elaborated. "It's the personal stuff I don't want you to keep from me. And considering you were dead in that alternate timeline, it's fair to say that none of that stuff is personal to you."

"Well, that's not entirely accurate. Anything that involves the people I care about feels pretty personal." Doyle admitted, trying not to think about some of the more disturbing things he'd seen happen to Cordelia in that other timeline. It went without saying that he'd turn the world inside out not to let them happen to her in this reality, even if he wasn't entirely sure how some of them had happened in the first place. "Turns out I was wrong about me being an objective party in all this. When push comes to shove, I'm as invested as if it's my own future at stake—which, I suppose it is, these days."

"That's exactly why I don't need to know what will happen, because I know you'll always do what's right." Cordelia agreed. "That's who you are—it's who you've always been. It's why I love you the way that I do… and why I'll never stop."

Her voice became softer and more sincere with every word she uttered, and Doyle was moved by her heartfelt declaration of love.

"Please don't." He replied, tenderly brushing his thumb over her soft palm. They sat quietly for an extended moment, but he knew there was still something he was missing. "Guess we can probably skip all that for now—we're on the path we're meant to be on, as far as I can tell. Nothing to do but live our lives and help the helpless… But, it begs the question—what life and death topic were ya looking to talk about, if not the future bit?"

Her head didn't drop, but her eyes did, and her whispered response made it feel like she was talking to herself, rather than him. "The baby."

"Oh." He heard himself choke out a rather unremarkable reply. That wasn't what he had expected her to say, although, it made sense. It was, in fact, the only topic they'd skirted around since finding their way back to each other. He swallowed hard against the lump that had quickly risen to his throat. "Yeah, I suppose we should, ah…" He cut himself off, clearing his throat nervously; feeling very much like this was a conversation he needed to let her lead.

"I wasn't ready." Cordelia announced abruptly, taking him by surprise. She lifted her eyes, and although they were soft, they were clearly reflecting a no-nonsense truth. He knew his own face must've registered his shock at her words, but he made no attempt to interrupt her flow. "It took me a while before I could admit that to myself without feeling guilty about it… but I know it wasn't the right time. And underneath all the pain and anger, I think I was always a little bit… relieved." His mouth had completely dried out, and even if he'd had the right words to say in response, he wasn't sure they would've come. She, on the other hand, continued to speak calmly and steadily. "That's the truth. You should know that."

His mouth formed the shape of several words, believing he wouldn't be able to voice them. But, somehow, the words did come. "I understand. I do." He uttered simply, once again trying to swallow away the cotton balls that kept him from saying more—from saying what he needed to say. From saying what she needed him to say.

"But there's something else you should know." She continued hesitantly, as her eyes traveled over his face, searching for questions she hadn't yet asked. "I also realized that I will be ready. Someday."

"Oh." He said, releasing a breath he hadn't even been consciously aware he was holding.

She gave him a melancholic smile. "And, the thing is, I know you don't want that..."

Doyle found himself blinking at her in confusion, and suddenly the words he couldn't speak, came unbidden. "Y'think I didn't want the baby?!" He asked incredulously.

"I wasn't sure." Cordelia admitted with a shrug. "I know you used to want kids before you found out you were a demon. But, we'd never talked about it—we weren't really there yet." Her eyes opened wide, as a wave of realization and hope crashed over her. "Are you saying you would've wanted it? I mean, if you'd known about the pregnancy before—you would've been happy about it?"

"I wanted the baby." Doyle said earnestly, letting a bittersweet smile of his own surface on his face. He reached out to take her hand, and give it a squeeze. "Maybe I wasn't always so sure o' that before, but the instant I knew it was a possibility—there wasn't a doubt in my mind."

"Really?" She asked, reflexively scooting closer to him as her eyes lit up. "You would have loved it, demon parts and all?"

"How could I not when it was half you?" He confirmed, stroking her hand tenderly with one hand and lifting the other to caress her cheek. "And, y'know, with only a quarter demon, I'm thinking the kids might never even have to know…" He saw her eyes narrow and he quickly amended his statement. "That's probably a discussion for another time, yeah?"

"I think for now we should just focus on surviving the impending apocalypse." She agreed with a crooked grin. "Then we can talk about how we should raise our kids."

"And somewhere in between I should probably make an honest woman outta ya." Doyle teased. "My mother would disown me otherwise."

"Your mother. Imagine what mine would say." Cordelia huffed, brushing away the more serious vestiges of their conversation and letting her trademark sassiness take over. "Actually, let's not. If you think I've been tough on your vertical challenges, lack of finances, and eye-scorching wardrobe—better leave my family off the guest list, should the need for any guest lists arise."

Doyle found himself grinning broadly at her carefree remarks concerning their future together—as if it was a foregone conclusion. And from where he was currently sitting, it certainly seemed to be. "Gotta say, Princess, I like the thought of us getting there." He admitted. "I'm not saying I have any specific knowledge in that regard, but let's just say, I'd put money on it—if I had any."

"Continuing with your whole glass-is-half-full outlook, I see." She replied laughingly, as she shifted herself back into her original position, fully sitting in his lap; she encouraged him to wrap his arms around her once more as her head rested against his shoulder. "How long do you think you can keep it up?"

"Ah, at least until my next vision. Then, I may have to empty the glass." Doyle said with a dry chuckle, earning a derisive snort from the woman in his arms. He, too, leaned back and peered out the open window to the clear night sky beyond, complete with twinkling stars.

"Raaaar!" Clover's mighty mew interrupted the moment, followed closely by a set of tiny claws landing on the bare skin of Cordelia's shoulder. The rambunctious ball of fur had leapt up onto the bed and launched herself at the two occupants.

"Whoa, girl!" Doyle chuckled, catching Clover before she could leave any angry red marks on Cordelia's sensitive flesh. "I think someone's feeling a little left out of the reunion activities. Maybe we should do something a little more inclusive for a little while, yeah?"

Cordelia laughed heartily as she scratched Clover's small head. "How about sleep?" She suggested, moving out of Doyle's lap, and rearranging the covers that had been tossed aside during their recent activities.

"That happens to be one o' my favorite pass times." Doyle agreed, sliding over to his own side of the bed, and placing Clover down on the edge of his pillow. "Definitely in the top five."

"I think I know what the first one is." She said, maneuvering into her own spot and yanking the covers up over both their bare bodies. "Actually, pretty sure I know what all of them are—three of which I do not approve of."

"Is that right?" He asked with a chuckle, extending his right arm so Cordelia could roll into his side, and nestle against him the way she preferred. So too, Clover walked in a small circle across his pillow, settling herself against Doyle's left shoulder in a tiny ball. "I may surprise ya."

"You always do." She mumbled her reply, accompanied by a throaty laugh. "Especially in the morning…"

He chuckled once again as he caught her meaning. "Pancakes or French toast?"

"Pancakes. Duh!" She replied, her breath tickling the side of his neck. He felt her arm snake across his chest, and her hand come to its resting place over his heart. "It's good to have you home, Doyle."

"It's good to be home, Princess." He answered, placing a tender kiss on the top of her head and letting his body settle into the familiar feeling of love and warmth enveloping him from both sides. "There's no other place like it… Hey, Dennis, man—could you get the light?"

Click.

THE END

In loving memory of Glenn Quinn. Fourteen years gone, but never forgotten.