Title: The Doyle Effect

Pairing: Primarily Cordy/Doyle, with lots of Angel/Doyle friendship and hints of Cordy/Angel

Summary: Cordelia is sent a vision of Doyle over two years after his death. Begins during the opening scene of S3's episode "Couplet."

A/N - I stumbled across this old fic outline and I decided it's never the wrong time to resurrect Doyle on the page. Dedicated to Glenn Quinn and the wonderful, lovable character he created who made an indelible mark on this viewer and many others. Hope you enjoy. :)


*** PROLOGUE***

Cordelia stands in the doorway of her bedroom admiring the attractive, muscular male specimen standing before her. The Groosaluggg had arrived at her doorstep—er, at the Hyperion Hotel's doorstep anyway- just when she needed him most. The loneliness of her chosen path had been getting her down, but now things were looking up.

Very, very up.

She can feel her pulse racing as she saunters closer to him, "So... you don't miss it? You know, the power, castle, concubines, and the royal chippies."

"There was never anyone else."

There isn't a single insincere bone in his body. Cordelia is left slightly speechless. She had never been anyone's 'only' before. "Oh."

"I welcomed the overthrow. The tedium of government was too much to bear after a life on the battlefield."

Cordelia runs a finger down the side of Groo's face, letting herself enjoy the feel of him, "Your heart wasn't really in it."

He gazes at her, earnest as ever, "No. That left when you did."

He slowly leans forward and their lips meet. Cordelia could swear the room is spinning as she lifts her hands to his long, thick locks. She lets herself get lost for a moment. It feels so good to be wanted. Even more so to be adored, and there is no doubt in her mind that Groo adores her and only her.

As she pulls back, the entire world tilts on its axis. Or, at least, that's what it feels like.

Her stomach does a somersault and her eyes widen to their limit. Groo's dark eyes have been replaced with a familiar pair of twinkling pale-green ones. And attached to them is a man who has been dead for over two years.

"Princess?"

Cordelia takes a step back trying to catch her breath, not to mention her grip on reality.

"Is something wrong?" The green-eyed man asks. She vaguely registers that the voice emanating from his lips is not his own.

As her lips form the shape of his name, she breathes it out like a prayer.

"Doyle…"


*** CHAPTER 1 ***

Cordelia splashes cold water on her face and stares at her reflection in the mirror, noting the bags that had settled below her eyes. It had been a long night. And certainly not long in the way she'd thought it would be when she first brought Groo back to her apartment. Instead of com-shucking the night away, she had made up a place for him on her couch while she spent a sleepless night alone in her bed thinking about a man who'd been dead for years.

She had been tempted to call Angel right away and tell him about the vision, but the truth was she needed time to digest it herself. At first she thought she might just be feeling guilty for moving on with Groo. After all, he was the first man she was ready to give her heart to since Doyle was around. That couldn't be a coincidence. She certainly didn't want to wake up Angel and open old wounds just for that. But as she lay there staring at her ceiling, in the apartment that he had helped her find, she had to consider the more likely possibility.

The Powers That Be had sent her a vision of Allen Francis Doyle.


As Cordelia crosses the Hyperion lobby, she sees Angel and Wes are already awake and chatting in the back office. As she plops her stuff down on a chair, Angel turns toward her, seemingly surprised by her presence.

"Oh, you're here."

He notices Groo opening the cabinet in the lobby and lifting a sword admiringly.

"And so is he."

Cordelia is too focused on her most recent vision to care what Groo is doing at the moment. Truthfully, she had to bring him with her to the office, because she didn't know what else to do with him. As eclectic as L.A. might be, she couldn't exactly send Conan the Barbarian out sightseeing on his own. In any case, he wasn't her main priority and she didn't have the time to feel guilty about it. There were bigger issues at hand. Much bigger.

She snaps Angel's attention back in her direction, "Angel, let Groo play with your weapons for a minute. I need to talk to you."

When Angel sees the serious look on her face all thoughts of his weapons are forgotten. He follows her as she moves into Wes' office. "Of course."

She stands on the far side of Wes' desk and leans her hand against one side of the bookcase, as if she's trying to brace herself for whatever she's about to say. Angel hovers in the doorway, glancing over at Connor who is fussing in his basinet. He reaches down and picks up a small rattle.

"And Wes. I need you to hear this, too. It's about a vision I had last night."

Wes looks up, but Angel is still distracted, waving the colorful toy in front of his infant son.

"It was Doyle."

Angel's attention abruptly shifts from the baby to Cordelia. She watches as his expression morphs through several phases finally landing on something closely resembling her own. Shock. Pain. And, finally, hope.

"Doyle?" Wes' voice permeates the heavy silence. "The original bearer of your visions?"

"The one and only." Cordelia replies. "One minute I was kissing Groo, and the next I was staring into Doyle's eyes. He looked really good." Her voice breaks and she clears her throat trying to regain her composure. "Did I mention how trippy the visions are nowadays? Less artsy, more 3D."

"That is very interesting." Wes remarks, grabbing a thick volume of something or another from one of his bookshelves. "What else did you see?"

Cordelia looks back over at Angel who is clearly still processing her words. She sighs and closes her eyes trying to recall every little detail. "There was a circle of stones with some kind of symbols etched into them and Doyle was standing in the middle. Outside the windows, the lights are flashing, like a storm, maybe? And it felt like someone might've been standing behind him, but I couldn't see. I don't know."

She opens her eyes and her voice softens, "I was focused on Doyle."

Wes nods, flipping through the pages of his book rapidly. "Remind me, Angel, wasn't Doyle mentioned in a prophecy once before? Pertaining to the Lister demon population?"

Angel has been silently taking this in, trying to steady himself against the onslaught of feelings that are attached to Doyle's name.

"The Promised One." He says quietly. "He was their savior."

"That's a good place to start. As both a messenger and a savior, Doyle was obviously very important to The Powers That Be. If he was mentioned in a prophecy once before, there might be more information in alternate texts. Something that might help explain why Cordelia would be sent a vision of him now."

"Cordelia." Angel's voice cuts through Wes' excitement like a dull blade. "Are you sure it was really…him?"

She swallows heavily, completely understanding Angel's hesitation. "It was him, Angel. And I know it sounds crazy after all this time, but I think he's coming back. That's what the vision was telling me."

The pain of Doyle's loss is reflected between them. Something no one else could share or understand. The memory of the first soldier down.

Angel gestures toward Wes who is already engrossed in his research. "You hit the books with Wes. I need to pay a visit to someone who knows more about this than we do."


Angel descends to Skip's chamber and finds the imposing demon kicked back, eating hot wings and licking his talons.

"Angel! Buddy. I wasn't expecting company. You really should've called ahead. I only have enough for one. But, you know what? This place guarantees speedy delivery. I can call 'em back and ask for a second order. You like your buffalo wings hot, Chernobyl or fiery-depths-of-hell?"

"Not here for wings, Skip. I need some information."

Skip sighs, putting aside his lunch. "Yeah, I get it. You hero-types are all the same. Always with the world-saving. You know, you should really consider starting a union. Might get you better benefits. Lunch breaks, vacation time. I guess Medical isn't a big priority for you, but I imagine you'd need a good Dental plan?"

Angel allows Skip to rattle on only because he needs his help, but it's hard to put up with the schtick when all he can think about is his long-lost friend.

"The Powers That Be sent Cordelia a vision of Doyle. I want to know what it means."

Skip laughs, "Cutting right to the chase. Well, bud, it doesn't really work that way, as you know. The visions are the message. Why don't you ask Cordelia what she saw?"

"I know what Cordelia saw. What I want to know is why she saw it? Why after all this time?"

Skip raises his hands in surrender, stepping back a bit. "Alright, alright. Take it down a notch, will ya? You seem tense. Are you tense? I would've thought you'd be happy to hear that your old pal Doyle is coming back from the great beyond. Weren't you guys tight? Or is it the competition you're worried about?"

Angel can barely hear the words coming out of Skip's mouth. The only phrase that matters is echoing over and over on a loop. "Doyle is coming back?"

"Yes, the messenger is being granted a second chance at life. Yadda yadda yadda. Honestly, I thought that part was obvious."

Angel lets the shock of that statement roll over him once more before his common sense takes over. "The Powers That Be aren't in the habit of randomly resurrecting the dead, no matter who they are. I should know, considering how hard I begged for his life in the first place. You don't get something for nothing."

"Angel, Angel, Angel. Always assuming that everything revolves around you. It's your mission. He's your friend. You let him die. Maybe you should think about who else might've appealed on this Doyle guy's behalf. Maybe that person is owed something. Did you think of that?"

"Cordelia?"

"Uh. Yeah. Glad you're keeping up. That young lady was accidentally saddled with Doyle's old gig, not a particularly pleasant one, I might add. And, if that wasn't enough, she agreed to keep the visions even when she had another, very tempting, offer on the table. You might say, she's the employee of the century, and The Powers That Be figured it was time to give her a little something to show their appreciation."

Angel finally allows himself to believe this is really happening, but he's still skeptical. "This is more than a little appreciation gift."

"They are feeling extremely generous. But, if you think it's too much, let me know. I could recommend that they go with option B, which I think was a commemorative watch?"


Cordelia sips nervously from her coffee cup trying to compensate for the hours of sleep she didn't have the previous night. As Wes slams a book shut, she jumps slightly, spilling a bit of coffee onto her jeans.

"I'm sorry, Cordelia. I didn't mean to close that book with such… emphasis."

She gives him a half-smile as she wipes at the wet spot in her lap. "It's fine, Wes. From the emphasis, I take it there was nothing useful?"

"Hard to say. I did find a brief passage I was able to cross-reference with the Lister texts. It concerns a messenger who returns from the higher plane to deliver a package to the Chosen One, but I can't be certain it has anything to do with Doyle. There have been so many messengers throughout the centuries. In fact, the old saying 'don't kill the messenger' seems rather ironic considering a great many of them tend to die prematurely."

Wes looks up to see Cordelia's less-than-enthusiastic expression. "I'm sure that won't be the case for you…"

"Thanks, Wes. Maybe you should just try looking in a different book."

"Yes, exactly that," he says sheepishly returning to his office to trade one dusty volume for another.

Cordelia turns her head toward the center of the lobby where Fred and Gunn are sitting close together on the circular sofa. Fred is holding Connor and Gunn is leaning over her shoulder making silly faces at the baby. To a casual observer, they could be the picture of a young family, enjoying the afternoon. It brings a genuine smile to Cordelia's face to see them so happy. Through all this chaos, they'd found each other, found love. Maybe this was a preview of their future together; maybe someday they would have a child of their own. Cordelia's smile fades as she runs the odds of ever having anything close to that for herself.

That reminds her, where did Groo wander off to?

"There always was something foggy in that lad's future." Cordelia had almost forgotten Lorne was sitting beside her, flipping through one of Wesley's books as he nurses a Sea Breeze. His comment surprises her, but her gears quickly turn back to the only topic that truly matters to her at the moment.

She glances over at Lorne questioningly, "You knew Doyle?" In all the time she'd known the former-bar owner, they'd never once discussed their apparently mutual acquaintance. It shouldn't have surprised her that Doyle had visited Caritas. There probably weren't many bars in L.A. that he hadn't visited.

"That might be overstating things. I didn't know him well, but I read him a few times. Still think of him whenever I hear Sunday Bloody Sunday." He shudders.

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, it wasn't the singing that was bad. He actually could've given Bono a run for his money. But, between all the self-loathing half-demon stuff and the literal blood I had to see in his past, present and future, let's just say, I'm glad he didn't come by more often than he did."

Cordelia sighs, "I would've loved to see that." She is smiling from ear to ear as she imagines Doyle pulling his best Bono impression. All this talk of him has brought up a lot of old memories, accompanied by bittersweet emotions. All the unfulfilled potential, all the unresolved feelings.

She lets herself reflect on a time when Angel Investigations was just Angel, Doyle and Cordelia… and maybe a few cockroaches who also occupied the place. She had no other friends in L.A., no purpose in life other than an acting career that was going nowhere. Back then, she wasn't even all that close to Angel—he was just Buffy's broody ex who had great hair and a tendency to save her life on occasion.

And Doyle…she had initially dismissed him as an older, more poorly dressed version of Xander Harris. Sexy accent aside, the rest of him was a total fixer upper. But a funny thing happened as she got to know him better. She started to see beyond the lack of money and utter lack of fashion sense. She saw what actually mattered. She saw substance: his bravery, his intellect, his heart. To say that she hadn't known he was interested in her romantically would be a downright lie. She knew he was attracted, she just never knew how deep those feelings went. Or that she possibly shared them.

Connor's cry from across the room jolts her back to the present and she realizes just how far away she'd been. As much as she'd been trying to keep her hopes in check, the thoughts of Doyle keep flooding her mind and she's more than happy to let herself drown in them.

Suddenly, the picturesque scene of Fred, Gunn and Connor turns into a terrifying tableau, featuring a hideous spiny creature. Cordelia doesn't flinch. This is what the visions are like now. She sighs heavily, reaching for a note pad sitting nearby.

A hero's work is never done.