Ats, Cordy POV, set pre-Hero.

First line drabble. (i.e. Skyebanshee supplied the first line, I wrote the rest.)

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"Tell me again how your head became a piñata. Did some squiggly demon thing decide to use it for a punching bag?"

Cordelia glared at the bloodstains Doyle was leaving on her couch because, hello, not like she could really afford a new one on what Angel paid her! She stalked over to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out the tiny first aid kit stashed there.

As she made her way back into the living room, she shifted her 100 Megawat Cordelia Chase Queen Bitch Glare [tm] to the back of Doyle's head where, if the universe loved her even a little bit, she should be seeing something burst into flames from the power of her anger right about now. Sadly, the universe continued to care for her just as much as it always had, which was to say NOT AT ALL. Stupid universe.

The continued silence from Mr. I'm a Badly-Dressed Moron Who Thinks Cordy Will Just Florence Nighten-Whatever Me All Better's side of the couch annoyed her even more. Who did he think he was? Trying to be all Angel-ish and then coming over to bleed on HER upholstery when it didn't work out? And besides, bruised and bloody just was not a good look for him. Especially when his wounds actually clashed with his shirt.

"Hello? Earth to Captain Couragous, come in, please!" she chirped, annoyance coloring her voice, as she rounded the couch to face him, medical supplies in hand.

The only response she got was the sound of him snoring softly. He was asleep!

Cordelia rolled her eyes. So much for tending his wounds. Something he'd all but begged her for, by the way. Even when she refused to do so in any location within 10 feet of her bedroom.

Setting the first aid kit down on the coffee table, Cordelia took this opprotunity to study her companion for a moment. He looked really worn out, and not just because of the whole A Demon Used My Head As A Punching Bag thing, either. She'd thought he looked like he needed some R&R for the past week or more.

Not that he would ever listen to her, of course. He was a guy. And guys had this weird thing where they were incapable of listening to girls. She wasn't sure why, but she'd bet money (or she would if she had any), that it was something all freaky and gross at fault. Maybe a spell. If Angel wasn't such a guy, she'd tell him to look into it.

Sighing, Cordelia went and got a couple of extra blankets, gently covering her houseguest up. "If you get a crick in your neck from sleeping like that, don't come crying to me about it," she muttered as she headed towards her own bedroom.

All the same, she grabbed the Tylenol out of the bathroom and set it out for him, just in case. Not because she cared or anything. No way. She just wanted to avoid hearing him whine about his poor, sore neck come morning.

Really.

Honest.

And if she was extra quiet while getting ready for bed that night, well... it wasn't because she didn't want to wake him. No, of course not. It was because she just LIKED being quiet sometimes!

Stupid Doyle. Stupid piñata-head. Stupid Angel. Stupid universe. Without her there, Cordelia just knew the whole damn thing would fall apart, but did she ever get any thanks? Hmph. Yeah right.

So not fair.