Title: ANOTHER HERO: Season One

Summary: A Doyle-centric retelling of the first season. That means, all Doyle, all the time.

Pairing: Cordy/Doyle, of course! Getting all the things they never got onscreen. If you love them, then this is the fic you're looking for.

A/N: This story continues directly after the events of Another Hero, in which You're Welcome-era Cordelia was given one day to set things right, and using that day, she saved Doyle from the Beacon, but first she kissed him and gave him a vision of the future. It isn't absolutely necessary to read that story in order to read this one, but it adds some nice flavor. Naturally, I recommend it. ;)

Okay, enough babbling from me. Now I give you Doyle. Lots and lots of Doyle...

"From the Ashes," Part I

Her inhuman scream still lingered in the air.

Doyle had been standing, briefly, before falling back down to his knees. Or, at least, he would have fallen to his knees, if Angel hadn't gotten there in time to catch him.

Cordelia was dead. She had died to save him. He couldn't figure out what had possessed her to do it. She must have seen that he couldn't get up—the vision had paralyzed him, making it impossible for him to do what he'd been intending to do. And in that moment, she had opted to sacrifice herself, rather than let them all die. Which made it his fault that she was dead. He felt his stomach roll over at that revelation, certain that he would lose whatever limited contents it contained.

Doyle didn't care that he was firmly embraced in the arms of a vampire, with absolutely zero ability to stand on his own. He also didn't care that tears had been streaming down his face, even before he'd seen Cordelia incinerated. The vision had been especially brutal. Longer than most other visions, it had been intense and much too confusing for him to decipher in his current despondent state. Right now he was simply trying to remember how to breathe properly.

"It's my fault, man." He heard an unfamiliar voice croak, and was barely able to identify it as his own.

Angel said nothing, he just held his friend there, sharing his grief, but knowing it wasn't comparable. Angel had been fond of Cordelia, but it was Doyle that had loved her. There were no words to help someone through that kind of loss. Which is why he offered his arms rather than his voice.

Instead, words came from an unexpected source.

"Excuse me…"

Angel looked up to see Rieff's father standing before them, having ascended the stairs from the lower level. "I don't mean to…" He looked nervous and apologetic as he saw the broken man whom Angel was holding upright. "It's just… your friend, Cordelia. She's alive."

Doyle's head snapped up at the demon's words, and he suddenly had plenty of strength to step away from Angel and scan the floor below with his eyes. "Where?" He demanded, his voice ragged with a despair that went bone deep. "Where is she?"

Angel hadn't moved, staring disbelievingly at the small demon before him. "She couldn't have survived that." Angel said, keeping his voice muted.

"Did you see her?" Doyle asked, whirling around from the edge of the platform and stepping close to Rieff's father. "Did she fall?!" The desperation in his voice had to have been heartbreaking to anyone within earshot. Angel could barely take it.

"She's not in here." The demon replied. "The Promised One..." He pointed to the now burnt out husk of the Beacon, where a woman who looked like Cordelia had recently perished. "She took Cordelia's place just a little while ago."

Angel shook his head in confusion, his voice breaking slightly. "The Promised…that was Cordelia." He insisted, starting to get angry at the thought of this demon giving them false hope, only to have it crushed so quickly.

"Not my Cordy." Doyle mumbled from behind Angel, causing the vampire to turn and give his friend a quizzical look. Doyle clenched his fists, meeting Angel's eyes. "She told me that." Uncertainty crept into his features as he added, "I think."

"That was the truth." The demon confirmed. "Your friend is still outside."

And with that, Doyle took off toward one of the hatches, slamming his fists against it frantically. Angel joined him there, holding him back so he wouldn't break any bones doing something pointless that would get them no closer to discovering if the demon's words were true. Doyle pulled away from Angel's grip almost violently. "I need to get out there." He cried in frustration.

"Then we'll have to climb." Angel replied, pointing to the only opening within the cargo bay—the top, where the Beacon had been lowered inside.

Doyle followed Angel's gaze upward, and gave him an understanding nod, immediately morphing into his demon form. Side-by-side, the two men returned to the platform, each leaping to the Beacon, still dangling in the center of the room. They climbed the thick chain that held it in place. Once they reached the deck of the ship, Doyle led the way down the ramp, heading to the dock below.

"Cordelia!" Doyle shouted into the brisk, night air. He was still wearing his demon face, which was why he didn't need her to answer to know she was, in fact, out there somewhere. He could smell her scent in the air. She was close. He sensed Angel on his heels as he made a beeline for the stack of crates off to the side of the pier. He morphed back into his human visage as he rounded the corner…

And there she was. His Cordy. Bound and gagged and looking mightily pissed off.

He had never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.

"Oh, thank God!" He dropped to his knees at her side, reaching to ungag her first and then, pulling her to his body tightly, not bothering to untie the rest of her restraints. "Thought I'd lost ya." He choked into her hair.

"Well, you're gonna lose something, if you don't untie me!" She cried shrilly in his ear. She had been tied up in a very uncomfortable position and both her wrists as well as her head were killing her. Not to mention the fact that she'd been sitting out on the dock freezing for the better part of an hour. Her foul mood didn't seem to deter him from his crushing hold on her. She must've sensed the desperate waves coming off him, because she toned down her annoyance and tried again. "Doyle… I'm okay. Can you let go now and get this stinky fishnet stuff off me?"

He sat back as if just realizing she was still tied at the wrists and ankles. "O'course. Sorry, love, it's just…"

"You thought you'd lost me. I get it." She cut him off, holding out her wrists in offering. He carefully worked on the knot, trying not to chafe her skin. His eyes darted worriedly up to the nasty bump on her forehead.

"What happened, Cordelia?" Angel asked, kneeling down beside Doyle to untie the rope around her ankles. "Who did this to you?"

"I have no idea." She huffed, retracting her hands as Doyle finally pulled the knot free. She rubbed at the irritated skin around her wrists. "I was standing on the dock waiting for Doyle and that demon kid and WHAM! Lights out. I woke up like this."

Doyle reached out his hand and lightly brushed his thumb across the knot on her head. "Ah… ya took a good hit there, Princess." She inhaled sharply and he pulled away, but her reaction had not been caused by pain. His hug had already done things to her that she'd rather not acknowledge, and now his light caress combined with the concern in his eyes had her stomach floating out to the sea beside her. This was neither the time nor the place for her to be feeling these things, especially not when she still had a bone to pick with him.

As Doyle reached out a hand to help Cordelia to her feet, she swatted it away, pushing herself up on her own. "Why didn't you tell me you were half-demon?!" She demanded, letting her nearly forgotten anger bubble to the surface. He had been lying to her since the day they met.

Angel backpedaled a bit, gesturing toward the Quintessa. "I'll tell the Captain to shove off." He disappeared without further word, leaving Doyle to fend for himself with an outraged Cordelia.

Doyle had choked on the question, thinking he'd already been through this once tonight, but realizing the person he'd had that conversation with wasn't the girl currently standing in front of him. He found himself saying much the same thing he'd said earlier. He had no better explanation than that. "I wanted to tell ya…I was afraid. I thought you'd reject me if y'knew."

She leveled him with a disapproving frown. "Hello! I've rejected you every day since I first met you, Doyle. I've rejected you for your clothes and your empty bank account, not to mention the vertical challenges you face. So what if you're half-demon?! I can't believe you thought I'd care about that."

He shook his head in wonderment. This conversation was giving him a strange feeling of Déjà vu, and it made him hopeful that he knew how it was going to end. He started to open his mouth, thinking of what he should say next, but she continued. "Is there anything else you're hiding from me? Any other Doyle-related revelations I should know before…?" She trailed off, and he could see that her eyes were hard. She wasn't nearly as lighthearted as the other Cordelia had been when this conversation took place.

"Before what, darlin'?" He asked encouragingly, willing her to say the words the other Cordelia had said. To tell him that she wanted him anyway, despite knowing what he truly was. He needed her to say it, more than he'd realized the first time.

"Before I freeze to death out here." She gritted through clenched teeth. "Just tell me everything, right now. Secrets are bad, remember?"

He sighed with a hint of disappointment, but gave her a smile all the same. "The half-demon thing is pretty much my big secret."

"Good." She replied, stepping closer to him, but only so she could continue walking past. "It's out. That's done."

He held his breath, hoping she would deliver that one last line, but she was already several steps away and when she finally turned back to face him, she gave him a puzzled look. "Are you coming? I was serious about the freezing to death thing. I need something warm to drink. Stat!"

She turned and headed toward the truck and he wished he wasn't quite as disappointed as he felt. He should've known better—the Cordelia who had accepted him and wanted to date him and who had kissed him willingly and eagerly, wasn't his Cordelia at all.

But, who was she? And why had she been so eager to sacrifice herself for him?

Cordelia watched as Doyle stared vacantly out the window of the truck as they drove back to the office. She could tell he was a million miles away, and as much as she'd been through that evening, it seemed he'd been through far more. Exhaustion was evident in his features, but there was something else. Something that she couldn't readily identify. She'd heard Angel ask him about a vision, but Doyle had mumbled something about it not making any sense. She could tell that it was better to stay silent in the seat beside Doyle, rather than immediately starting an inquisition. And, truthfully, she wasn't ready for the inquisition to take place. She didn't even know where to start. She had so many questions, about him, about them, about why he'd nearly suffocated her upon finding her tied up outside the Quintessa, about what actually happened on the Quintessa.

As they all shuffled tiredly into the small office space, Cordelia noticed that Doyle hovered by the front door, still visibly in his funk. "I'll take the truck tonight. Bring it back to the rental place in the morning." He didn't wait for a reply, instead disappearing back out the door he'd just entered. Cordelia stared at the door that closed behind him, wondering what exactly she'd missed earlier that evening.

She followed Angel into his office and watched as he took off his coat, hanging it on the rack in the corner. "What's wrong with Doyle?" She asked. "Why's he acting so weird?"

Angel sat down heavily behind his desk. "It was a weird night."

She took the seat across from him, as he placed his elbows on the desk and rubbed at his brow. He was going to have to give her a little more than that. "I want to know what happened on the ship. Everything."

Angel sighed, leaning back in his chair and trying to give her the simplest overview possible. Although, there was no simple way to explain certain circumstances that had occurred. "We were trapped. The Scourge had this doomsday device they lowered into the cargo hold—it would've incinerated everyone with human DNA for half a mile. Somebody had to disarm it, but it was a suicide mission."

"Oh, God." Cordelia reacted. "Someone died on the ship? Was it that demon kid? Doyle tried really hard to help him. Maybe that's why he's taking it so hard."

"It wasn't Rieff." Angel replied eying her thoughtfully. "I had intended for it to be me, but Doyle stopped me." He paused momentarily, perhaps wondering how honest he should be with her. "He punched me, knocked me to the lower level of the ship so he'd be clear to disarm it himself without me being able to stop him."

Cordelia's stomach churned at that admission. Doyle had intended to complete a suicide mission, which meant… "He was willing to die to save everyone?" Her voice came out sounding much smaller than she'd intended.

Angel nodded, confirming that they'd come extremely close to losing him that night.

"What stopped him?" She asked, a delayed panic creeping into her chest. "Did the doomsday thingie malfunction?"

"You stopped him." Angel said simply. Her face was a mask of confusion as he clarified. "Someone that looked like you was on that boat with us. She stopped Doyle from sacrificing himself and she died in his place."

Cordelia's eyes went very wide at that revelation. She couldn't wrap her mind around all the details just yet. "I don't understand."

"I don't understand it myself." Angel admitted, meeting her perplexed gaze with a similar one of his own. "We thought you were dead, Cordelia. We both watched you die."

"Oh." She replied, at a loss for anything more profound. That certainly explained why Doyle was so happy to see her all tied up outside the boat, and why he'd been so touchy-feely for that matter. Another thought occurred to her. "What did the other me do? I mean... how did she stop Doyle from sacrificing himself?"

Angel's jaw unhinged slightly and he took too long of a pause for it to be natural. He shifted a bit as he answered. "I didn't have a great view, to be honest."

"You were evil for over a century and you are still the worst liar I know." Cordelia scoffed. "Just tell me what happened."

"I didn't have a great view." He insisted defensively. "But, it looked like she might have... kissed him."

This time Cordelia's mouth formed the O that her voice didn't bother to speak.

"That wasn't the only thing that stopped him." Angel continued, now wishing he'd skipped that part. "It delayed him, and then he had a vision. By the time he recovered, you—the other you—was too far gone to save."

"Sounds like we should be thankful for the other me." She said wistfully, for lack of any other suitable response. She could feel the shivers that had been unleashed within her body at the thought of having to leave that dock without Doyle. The thought of never seeing him again. She didn't even realize she was going to speak aloud, and when she did her voice was barely a whisper. "We almost lost him tonight."

"It was close." Angel admitted. "Too close. It shouldn't have happened." He shook his head in frustration, remembering the powerless feeling of knowing that if Doyle had jumped in his place, there was nothing he could have done to stop it. Whoever that person wearing Cordelia's face was, he would have liked to kiss her himself. She saved his best friend. She saved them all.

Cordelia sat chewing her lip, trying to keep herself from losing it completely. Doyle had almost died. Her Doyle. If that had happened, he would've never even had a chance to become her Doyle. Not really. And then she felt a wave of anger break over her. He was willing to do it! He was willing to get himself killed without ever having a chance to see what could've happened between them. She knew it was irrational to be angry, when his act was selfless—he had been willing to save Angel and a boat full of others, including someone he thought was her.

That's right, there was another Cordelia on that boat. She wasn't sure whether she should be flattered that he'd kissed someone who looked like her or jealous that it had happened at all. She landed somewhere halfway in between.

"Cordelia?" Angel might have been calling her name for several seconds for all she knew. She had been so deep in her own thoughts, she'd forgotten he was there staring at her. "You should go home. Get some sleep."

She nodded absently, slowly standing from her chair. "Yeah, okay… Goodnight, Angel."

With that she headed home, feeling like she was hitting the entire emotional spectrum in one night; finally understanding why Doyle had looked the way he did earlier that evening.

Doyle sat in his dim and cluttered studio apartment, scribbling furiously in a marble-covered notebook he had found on his bookshelf. A remnant of his past as a grade school teacher, the book was mostly empty when he'd picked it up. Now several pages were filled with random words and crude drawings—an attempt to download the massive vision he had received in the belly of the Quintessa. A vision he had received directly from her. The other Cordelia.

Now that he'd had time to digest the vision and analyze it, one thing was clear. It wasn't a message from the Powers That Be, not directly anyway. It wasn't meant for Angel. And while the majority of sights and sounds from the vision didn't make sense to Doyle, there was one image that stood out rather vividly. Cordelia and Angel, standing on the platform in the Quintessa, mourning his death. It stood to reason that the death in question had been caused when he'd disarmed the Beacon, leaving them with nothing but a memory. It was unsettling, how clear that portion of the vision had been—he had died; he was supposed to be dead. And he wasn't dead because she had saved him. The other Cordelia who had proclaimed that she wasn't "his Cordy," had saved him. She was the product of losing him and living years without him. For whatever reason and through whatever unusual means, she had been able to travel through time, save his life and leave him with a visionary set of breadcrumbs to follow. Therefore, all the meaningless mumbo jumbo he was scratching across the formerly blank white note pages, would eventually become very meaningful. The notes would eventually save lives and alter a future that had somehow gone off-track—assuming he could interpret everything properly, which he wasn't entirely sure he could.

He knew he could follow the boldest order of business: stay by Angel's side and keep fighting the good fight; no matter what. Considering that was already Doyle's plan, those weren't exactly earth-shattering instructions. What was earth-shattering was the implication that he could somehow change things for the better. Since he couldn't readily tell what had gone wrong in the first place—aside from his untimely death, which let's face it, probably wasn't that catastrophic in the grand scheme—it was all too much for him to accept. He paused from his scribbling to lift the half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey sitting on the floor beside him. He'd been nursing it slowly, trying to keep his brain clear while he downloaded the dense material from it, but now that he'd gotten most of it on the page, he chugged deeply, welcoming the numbness that accompanied the burning liquid.

The warmth he felt inside his body from the alcohol, reminded him of the warmth he'd felt earlier that evening. The kiss he'd shared with the other Cordelia. It had been every bit as intoxicating as the whiskey. She had anticipated that he would kiss her, and had kissed him back willingly. Doyle had always believed you could tell a lot about a person by kissing them. Which is why he'd instilled that kiss with everything he'd had, believing it would be the last time he'd ever have human contact. And wanting, more than anything, for that last bit of contact to be filled with all the love he had to give. If he could leave Cordelia with that, dying wouldn't be so bad. What he'd never expected, was to feel the same coming from her. That other Cordelia—she had loved him? Was that possible? Assuming he had died on that boat in her reality, she wouldn't have had much more reason to love him than his own Cordelia currently did. That would mean his Cordelia was capable of loving him, assuming his death wasn't the only reason she ever had loved him in the first place.

He took another deep chug, at that complex thought. It occurred to him how selfish it was to be sitting there obsessing over the love of one woman, when he'd just had the fate of the world dropped into his lap. Talk about priorities. But, as he flipped backwards through all the pages he'd scribbled nonsense across, he had to focus on something that didn't paralyze him completely. There weren't many things he'd ever wanted to focus on more than his Cordy—and the possibility that she'd become his in every sense of the word. Paralysis was not an option, where she was concerned.

Another sip from his bottle and he felt the effects of the alcohol take a firm hold. The notebook on his lap slid to the floor, landing with a dull thud. He'd be lucky if he could get to his bed at this point, which was why he didn't bother. He was no stranger to passing out drunk on his couch, and at least this time, he had a really good reason for doing so. Granted, he'd always thought he had good reason. As far as he could tell, he was now on borrowed time. He no longer belonged to himself, he belonged to her and her legacy. The time she had given him would be used to keep the odds in Angel's favor. With every remaining breath he had. No compromises.

He would fight the good fight with his friends. And he intended for them to win.