One Life to Live

by Harriet Vane

Doyle comes back

This would have to happen not long after "Hero" and accordingly, is a major spoiler for that particular episode. There is also a spoiler for "Innocents" (A Buffy Ep.) Just so you all know I know, the characters don't belong to me, they belong to Mutant Enemy Inc. But the Plot is mine, and I'd thank you to remember that. Oh, yeah, this is dedicated to Meghan for lots of reasons. thanx Prolog:

Doyle had always come in at nine. He opened up the office, opened the mail, made the coffee. It didn't matter if he had spent the better part of the night sleeping, boozing or fighting demons, he was there at nine. Cordelia got in the habit of popping up around nine-thirty, and the two of them spent the morning, more or less, alone. Angel usually emerged around noon.

But Doyle was dead. They had seen him die, his human parts disintegrated, melted away, leaving just the demon. But he was only part demon, and that part could not survive, those particles quickly dispersed themselves, and there was nothing left.

Cordelia had started coming in an hour later after that, but Angle didn't say a thing about it. There was no real reason for her to be there, and Angel had to admit that the office was frighteningly empty, even when there were two people in it, instead of three.

Wesley had started popping up more and more, for a rogue demon hunter he was very homey. He usually stopped by around eleven and chatted with Cordy, making the empty office a little less empty. And more often than not he left before noon to hunt some rogue demon, and then stopped by again around five for dinner, under the pretense of checking to see if Cordelia had a vision. He was very predictable, hardly roguish. Of course he might have been hunting rogue demons. Angel was not quite sure which. But it made very little difference.

"Hello?" Wesley called as he stuck his head in the door to Angel Investigations around eleven. "Cordelia, I saw that you hadn't picked up your mail today so I took the liberty."

He waited for an answer. There was none. "Cordelia?"

She wasn't in the reception area or in Angel's office. He poked around a little further and opened the door to Angel's basement apartment. "Angel?" He called nervously. He trusted the vampire more than he ever thought he would, but still, he didn't want to wake a hell spawn on principle. "Cordelia?"

"Wesley?" Angel called up the stairs.

The ex-watcher smiled nervously and ventured down the first few steps. "Good morning Angel."

"Good morning," Angel said, not sounding like he really meant it. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh," Wesley chuckled nervously, daring down a few more steps. "Just checking in on my good friends. Making sure that nothing interesting happened last night . . . or was going to happen today."

"Cordelia knows more about that than I do." Angel said, "You should ask her."

"Yes, well," the Englishman muttered, coming fully down the stairs and following the sound of Angel's voice into the kitchen. "I certainly intended to, but I seem to be having some trouble finding her."

Angel put down his paper and mug of blood. "Trouble?"

"She, ah, doesn't seem to be around."

"We should check up on her." Angel said as he pushed himself away from the table.

"I'm sure she just slept in."

The Vampire didn't acknowledge Wesley's perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Where are you going?" Wesley asked from his station in the kitchen, following Angel with his eyes.

"Call her," Angel said simply. He started bounding up the stairs Wesley had come down just moments before.

"Oh, right," Wesley said more or less to himself as he stood in the empty apartment. "Of course, naturally."

Two hours and two unanswered phone calls later, Angel decided to move. He, followed eagerly by Wesley, made his way through the dark, wet, slimy, under tunnels of Los Angeles, weaving his way through the city right into the basement of Cordelia's apartment building, and accordingly to her door. Angel knocked on the thick wooden door tentatively. "Cordelia? Cordelia, are you alright?"

He waited a few seconds, there was no answer. "Alright," he said, as he took a step back and got into the position of kicking in the lock.

"You know you really ought to get a key," Wesley said, standing ready to attack whatever was in there threatening the beautiful Cordelia. "It would save money on locks."

"I'll ask her about that," Angel Said, raising his leg, ready to kick in the door. But before he got a chance the door drifted open. Angel and Wesley glanced at each other, extremely surprised, and then finally started to move again.

"Cordelia?" Wesley asked, a little baffled.

"No," angel said as he stepped into the room. "Dennis. Cordelia must be in real trouble."

"Dennis?" Wesley asked as he stuck his head into the apartment. He fully expected to see some man there, a boyfriend he had not been told about. But the only person in the unnaturally dark apartment was Cordelia, who was quite visible, lying on the floor, curled up into a ball.

"Cordelia?!" Angel said, running over to her. He knelt down and gently rolled her over so he and Wesley, who was leaning over his shoulder, could see her face.

She was extremely pale and her cheeks were stained with tears, But it was quite obvious that she was not injured, just asleep.

"Cordelia," Angel said gently as he shook her shoulder. "Cordelia, wake up."

Her eyes opened slowly. They were bloodshot and just a tad foggy. "Angel?" She asked groggily.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded and pushed herself, with Angels help, into a sitting position. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't answer your phone," Wesley supplied. "We got worried."

Cordelia blinked a couple of times. "What time is it?"

"About twelve-thirty."

All the grogginess shot out of her eyes. "Oh my God! It's that late!" She jumped to her feet and practically ran to her bedroom. Leaving both Angel and Wesley standing rather baffled.

"Well," Wesley said after a moment. "I guess she's just fine."

"I'm not so sure about that," Angel said under his breath. He had noticed something across the room and he was going to investigate.

"Oh, I imagine she's in there trying on dress after dress, coordinating her makeup with her shoes,"

"Or maybe she's trying not to cry," Angel said. He was looking at a video cassette he had pulled from Cordelia's VCR.

"What's that?" Wesley asked, walking over towards Angel so he could read the label on the tape. "'Commercial'?"

Angel handed Wesley the tape and made a Bee line to Cordelia's bedroom door. He wrapped on it gently. "Cordelia, can I ask you a few questions?"

There was a pause, "Why?" she finally asked.

Angel shrugged, even though she could not see him through the door. "I don't know, just curious."

"What about?"

"Well, what did you do last night?"

"Went clubbing with Serena," Cordy said. Through the door, her voice sounded clipped and hard. She didn't discuss how horrible the music at the club, or how nice Serena's outfit had been or how tacky this one guy's shoes were or anything that she normally would care about. In short, she didn't want to talk. And while Angel respected brooding silence more than just about anyone, he realized that too much brooding silence was bad for the soul. As much as it occasionally hurt, talking was essential to feeling, and in fact being, better.

"So," Angel pressed on casually as he leaned against the door. "What happened at the club?"

"Nothing," Cordelia said quickly. "It was a club."

"Were there any guys there?"

The door suddenly moved, making the Vampire lose his balance. Had he been any less agile he would have fallen into her room. "You know what would be great, since you're here and all, is if you could make some coffee." She had an annoyed, false smile on her face, and the mascara runs had disappeared from her cheeks, and while Angel knew that she was certainly more like herself, she was no better.

"Sure," Angel said politely. "Right."

"Thanks," she smiled and then, figuratively and literally, shut him out.

Angel wandered into the kitchen and found the coffee maker quickly, finding the coffee, on the other hand, was not so easy. He looked around the kitchen, in all the obvious places. Then he remembered this was Cordelia's kitchen and he looked in all the un-obvious places. Then he thought about asking where the coffee was, and decided that was not a good idea. Then the freezer door mysteriously floated open, revealing a bag of freeze-dried Starbucks coffee.

"Thanks," Angel said to his invisible helper. He had no idea why Cordelia kept her coffee in the freezer, but he was beyond asking her.

The coffee was half made and Angel was looking around for mugs, a second away from asking Dennis for help, when he heard a very familiar voice coming from Cordelia's livingroom.

"Is that it?," the charming Irish brogue said. "Am I done now?"

"What are you doing?" Angel said as he flew into the living room and turned off the TV before Doyle could say any more. Hearing his friend's voice had made him angry, although he didn't know why.

"That's what Cordelia was watching?"

"Yeah," Angel said as he ejected the tape from the VCR and took it with him into the kitchen.

Wesley followed. "Am I correct in assuming that that man is, er, was Doyle?"

"Yeah," Angel grumbled as he grabbed three mugs from a conveniently yet mysteriously open cupboard door.

"Why would she be watching a video tape of a dead man."

Angel knew why, but he didn't have any idea how to express it. "When Cordelia comes out, we'll all sit down and talk." Angel said softly, effectively closing the argument.

Cordelia came out about ten minutes later, prim and proper and pretty. She was her very normal self. "You look much better," Wesley said, not seeing the darkness that Angel recognized behind her eyes.

"I can't believe I fell asleep on the floor," she said as she pored several spoonfuls of sweet'n'low into her Coffee. "Talk about a recipe for a bad hair day."

"Cordelia," Angel said softly but firmly. "Why were you sleeping on the floor?"

She paused for a second, but didn't look up from her coffee at Angel, "That's were I fell asleep."

"You do have a bed," Angel pointed out.

She finished stirring her coffee and took it into the living room. "I have an audition tomorrow for a mouthwash commercial and I'm supposed to have bad breath, but I've never had bad breath, and I'm experimenting with method acting. So, Angel, what does it feel like in your mouth right after you've eaten and your breath smells all bloody?"

"You never told me about the guys last night."

"There were some," she clipped. "You know though, I heard directors didn't like working with method actors, so I think maybe . . ."

"Cordelia," Angel said. His voice hit her like a wall, she froze, realizing that there was no chance of escaping his questions. "Guys?"

"I saw" she started slowly, then amended, "Thought I saw, Doyle."

There was silence for a moment. Finally, Wesley stuttered, "But it couldn't possibly . . ."

"It wasn't at the club," she said softly. She managed to unfreeze herself and walk forward just far enough to slump into the couch. Angel came and kneeled in front of her as Wesley sat by her side. "I was walking home, and, I admit, I was thinking about him. But this wasn't my imagination. I *saw* him. He was coming out of this bar, about a block away."

"Are you sure . . ." Angel started, she didn't give him a chance to finish.

"I know what you're thinking. Yes, it was dark and, yes, I did have a little drink, but It was him. He looked right at me and there was this moment that was like 'you!' For both of us, and then. He ran the other way, he ducked into this alley and ran away. By the time I got there, he was gone. He must have caught a bus or a cab or something." She looked up from her mug, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "Angel, he ran away. He saw me and . . . he ran away."

"That wasn't Doyle."

Cordelia nodded her head. "Sure, yeah, that's what I thought. I though that I had had one too many Martinis and it was dark and he was dead. Right? So I go home, and then I got one of Doyle's brain mashing visions. And it was him too. I mean in the vision. I saw him and the evil Nazi human killing demons and . . . he said my name." The tears were leaking out of her eyes.

"Cordelia," Angel said softly but supportively.

"He was like my best friend," she said, her voice trembling. "You know? In high school it was so easy I had all my friends. God, I'd had all my friends since kindergarten. There was no loneliness, no worrying what people thought, no insecurity. I was Cordelia Chaste," she declared gradniously, but when she continued her voice was hollow. "I came to LA and I had to be charming and beautiful and perfect the whole time, or else I'd miss that chance. Doyle was my oasis, my safe haven. With him, it didn't matter. I could say anything, do anything, be anything, he didn't care. He was still my friend." She looked up, her freshly applied mascara was making rivers down her cheeks. "I don't think I've ever had that before, ever."

One Life to Live

It was eight thirty on a hot summer's evening in California. The sun was finally down but the smog still held the remnants of the sun set. Golds and pinks and oranges stayed hard as the darkness threatened to override the city. It was a valiant fight, but slivers of past sunlight couldn't hold back the dark. It would come, envelop the city and devour whatever it could before the sun came up and dispersed it in a few hours. But in those few hours, the dark had big plans.

"Beautiful young ladies shouldn't have to walk home alone," a voice from the shadows said. "Especially in L.A."

Cordy turned on the voice with a snarl on her face that she knew, from experience, could scare a demon. "Look buster I've got pepper spray, a bad attitude, and lots of experience fighting off things bigger and badder than you so get out of my way or else."

"Wow," The guy said softly, trotting behind her. He really wasn't that scary, in jeans, a wife beater, and a leather coat that looked like he got it second hand. "I'll have to stay on your good side."

"You could do that by leaving entirely."

"Ah-ha," the guy chuckled, running up to her and stopping directly in her path. "I don't think I want to do that, either." He was obviously muscular, he probably worked out in a gym, and Cordelia could see the outline of his pecks under his white t-shirt. He had hair that should have been cut yesterday and he seemed to be glowing in the pinkish-orange of the late evening light. He was the kind of man Cordelia was attracted to (but didn't want to be), sensitive eyes, but rough around the edges; a fixer-upper.

Cordelia could feel a smile creep up on her lips. She wasn't interested in this unknown man, but she had always been an incorrigible flirt. "And why is that?"

He crossed his arms across his chest and returned her smile. "Did I mention you were beautiful?"

"I think you said something about that."

"Ah, well," he looked down, when he looked up his eyes were hard and cold. But Cordy only noticed that peripherally. Mostly she noticed the gun in his hand, pointed directly at her.

"Oh my god," She said softly.

"I don't suppose you're bullet proof."

"Look," Cordelia said, taking a deep breath and remembering who she was and with whom she was acquainted. "My friends, who I think I should mention are really, really big, will find you, no matter where you run!"

"I doubt that, I'm good at hiding underground."

"Funny, that's where my friend lives," Cordelia said lightly. One of the things she had learned from Buffy was calm plus confidence equals control. "If I were you I'd leave before I memorize your face and am able to pick you out of a line up."

"I think your bluffing."

"What a coincidence, we're thinking the exact same thing."

"Give me your money."

"Let me think about that," Cordelia said dryly. "Ah, no." She moved to walk past him but he grabbed her arm.

"I said give me your money!" The man said between clenched teeth.

"Let go of me," Cordy whined. He was squeezing her arm, he definitely worked out. And quite frankly, this was more action than she had expected from the young robber. She was starting to get scared. Evil hell spawn she could deal with, she understood those. But muggers, she didn't know quite what to do.

As it happened, all she had to do was be rescued.

"You heard the lady," a soft Irish brogue, that couldn't quite become hard, said. "Let her go!"

The mugger swung around, not letting go of Cordelia, but pointing his gun at the interloper. "Who the hell are you?"

"Doyle," Cordy whispered. "Oh my God, Doyle."

"Doyle?"

"Let the lady go."

The young man could threaten a supposedly helpless girl, but once she had a defender, he was a coward. And cowards are afraid of nothing more than being caught. "Let her go, yeah, sure," He nodded.

"Doyle," Cordelia whispered again. Her mugger was totally pushed out of her mind.

"I'll let her go," He said, and immediately made good his word. He pushed her away from his body, violently into a wall. While Cordelia and her savior's attention was fully on her, the mugger leveled his gun squarely on the dazed Cordelia and fired.

She didn't see him run away. She didn't imagine Doyle saw it either because he ran straight to her and placed one hand on the spot on her abdomen that sent rivers of pain throughout her body whenever she breathed. He placed the other hand on her cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered. His large blue eyes said it a hundred times louder.

"You died," She told him.

"I promise you won't," he said as he slowly backed away.

"Don't leave," she begged. Tears that she didn't even notice started streaming down her cheeks. "Not again, don't leave again."

"I'm sorry," he said. Then he turned around and ran out of her line of sight.

Had she turned her head, she could of seen him run to a near by pay phone and call 911. But it didn't occur to her. "Don't leave, not again, please, you can't leave again."

He did come back, but not until she had passed out.

***

"Hello?" Wesley said chipperly into the telephone.

"Who is this?"

The voice with the soft Irish borough sounded familiar, but the ex-watcher couldn't place it. "Angel Investigations," Wesley said suspiciously. "Who is this?"

"What?"

"Who's calling?"

"Me?"

"What?"

"You want to know who I am?"

"Yes."

"I . . . I am . . . ah,"

"Don't you know?"

"Sure, I'm . . . ah . . . From the Blessed Virgin Hospital."

"Hospital?"

"Ah, yeah. I called to tell you Cordelia . . . ah, what's her last name . . ."

"Chaste?" Wesley prompted.

"Yeah, that's it, Cordelia Chaste is here. And she's hurt."

"Hurt how?"

"She got shot."

"Shot? By who, where, when?"

"Ah, well, um, Iiiiiiiiii, think you'd better come and talk to her yourself."

"Right-oh! Where did you say she was?"

"Blessed Virgin Hospital. On 132 north eighty-forth street."

"Tell her we'll be there before she can say 'God Bless the Queen'."

Wesley didn't wait to hear the odd clerk's response. He hung up the phone and quickly got Angel. He was so worried that he forgot to mention the familiar voice.

***

"Angel," Detective Kate Locky said. She was standing next to Cordelia's bed, watching the young girl sleep.

"Kate, what are you doing here?"

"I, ah, heard the apb on the shooting as I was driving home." Kate glanced away from the incredibly handsome man in front of her back to the hospital bed. "I didn't think it was her, but I thought I'd check it out anyway. Turns out it was."

"Do you know who did this?" Wesley asked, not taking his eyes off her frail form.

Kate shook her head. "She was unconscious when the officers got there. She did regain consciousness for a short time in the ambulance. The Medic asked her if she knew what had happened. Her only response was Doyle." She turned to Angel, "That's the name of your friend, isn't it?"

The Vampire blanched, making him even whiter than ususal. "Yeah," he rasped.

"Do you think you could give me his number? I'd like to ask him a few questions."

"He didn't do it."

"He's not a suspect," Kate assured him, "But he is the only clue we have so far."

Angel was silent, not looking at the cop, but keeping his eyes squarely on Cordelia.

"If you don't give it to me I can find it," she reminded him, she couldn't help but begin to be suspicious.

"You won't find him," Angel said, taking a big breath and turning back to Kate, "Because he's dead."

It was the police officer's turn to blanch, "Oh, Angel, I'm sorry."

Angel didn't even try to brush the apology off, he simply accepted it and moved on. "We need to find her assailant. Wesley,"

"Yes," the young man said quickly. He looked away from Cordelia's broken body, but he couldn't keep it away for long, he kept glancing back at her.

"Do you think I could have a, um," he glanced at Kate, "Private, word with you?"

Wesley glanced at Kate, quickly discovered that she was not at all happy about being kept out of Angel's conversation, through another quick glance at Cordelia, and quickly walked over to the Vampire. "Yes," he said softly.

"Doyle was a Brachen Demon," Angel said in a hushed voice as Kate looked on at him annoyed. "It's possible that one of them could have attacked Cordelia."

"Of course, she wouldn't know the proper name for that species so she would describe it as best she could, through example."

"Right," Angel said, way ahead of the Englishman. "Do you have any idea where Brachen demons hang out?"

"No," Wesley said slowly, "But, I am a rogue demon hunter." He stood up a little taller and puffed his chest out, just a little like a peacock. "I'm sure I'll find them in no time."

"Thanks," Angel said softly.

"Right," Wesley nodded, before parading out of the room, taking one last longing look at Cordelia.

"What was that all about?" Kate said, just a little baffled.

"He's, ah, going to . . . call Cordy's friends," Angel said quickly.

Kate nodded, although she obviously knew he was lying. She had learned to live with his lies, she had faith, perhaps misplaced, that when she needed to know the truth, he would tell her.

"Ah," Angel said nervously, "I know it's not official police procedure or anything, but . . ."

"You want in on the investigation," Kate said matter of factly.

"She's my responsibility."

"Who gave you that responsibility?"

"I gave it to myself when I let her work for me."

"I somehow doubt she wanted you to."

"She doesn't have a choice," Angel replied looking down at Cordelia. He had seen her a thousand times in Sunnydale, he had avoided her and fought beside her, but he had never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would care so much. "It's a dangerous world."

"Especially in your line of work?"

"Especially in my line of work."

Kate paused for a moment. "Sure, no problem. We'll have to be discrete but the guys have seen you around enough. There shouldn't be a issue."

"I don't want to get you into any trouble."

"You won't."

"Then, let's get going."

Angel turned and started to move out of the room. Kate hesitated for a moment. "Shouldn't someone stay here with her?"

Angel looked around, it was a hospital, a public building. There was a chance of attack. But on the other hand, there were nurses and doctors and a host of other people on hand who would probably be, more or less, able to protect her. "She'll be fine." Angel assured the beautiful cop beside him. "Right now it's more important to find who did this."

"Ok then, lets go."

***

Cordelia's room was empty, except, of course, for her. But she was still sound asleep, so there was no one awake to see Doyle when he snuck in with a boquet of hospital flowers. He set them gently on her bed stand, next to a pitcher of water and the machine that monitored her heart rate.

"Hey," he said softly to the sleeping beauty. "I can't stay long."

She breathed steadily and the box next to her flowers beeped steadily, so Doyle decided to continue.

"I want to say, I'm sorry," Doyle said softly, "This shouldn't have happened. And I'm never going to get another chance." He leaned over her sleeping body and kissed her softly on the forehead. "I'll never forget you." He whispered softly, hoping that implied she would never forget him.

She didn't tell him one way or the other.

Doyle sighed and stood up. "Well, I guess you could say, we'll always have L.A." He smiled without really meaning it, and turned around to leave her, and the hospital, and the city, and the life he had lived there behind forever. Unfortunately, Wesley Wyndham-Price was directly in his way.

"What do you think you are doing?" the rouge demon hunter demanded angrily as he advanced on the half-demon with a passion.

"I was just leaving," Doyle said quickly attempting to duck around the Englishman and make good his complete escape. But Wesley stopped him with a large battle ax that had been concealed beneath his jacket.

"What did you do to her, hell spawn?" Wesley demanded angrily.

"Nothing, nothing!" Doyle said holding his hands up, showing that he did not have a battle ax, or any other weapon for that matter. "I was just leaving."

"You're a Brachen demon."

"What?"

"You may be able to pass as human, but I, a rogue demon hunter, can smell your demonic scent . . ."

"Now there's no need to get personal."

"And I challenge ye to a battle to the death."

"Death?!"

"Are you afraid to die, demon?"

"Couldn't you just throw me out of town or something?"

"Evil has to be vanquished, not vanished,"

Doyle chuckled fearfully, "Try saying that one ten times, eh?"

"Prepare to descend to the hell hole from whence you came!" Wesley said, raising his ax.

"Can we just talk about this, man?!" Doyle said, panicked.

"Doyle . . ." Cordelia, who had slept through the pre-death taunting, groaned softly. She wasn't really awake, she didn't know where she was or what was happening around her, but she knew who's face she wanted to see when she opened her eyes.

The two men froze for a second. They hadn't expected her to regain consciousness, nor had they expected that word to be the one she would say.

After the initial shock wore off, Doyle didn't hesitate in running to Cordelia. For his part, Wesley finally recognized the person whom he had seen on Cordelia's commercial. His ax fell lifelessly to the floor as he tried to understand how he had been able to threaten a dead demon with death.

"I'm right here," Doyle said softly as he took Cordy's soft hand into his rough one.

"Am I dead?" she asked softly. She wasn't afraid, or sad, just very heavily sedated.

"No," he assured her.

"You got killed."

"Yes,"

"This is a dream, isn't it?"

"Some people might call it that."

"Mine or yours?"

"I don't know."

"You owe me dinner."

"I never got to finish asking you."

"Finish now."

"Do you want to, maybe, go get something to eat, once you get out of here . . . if you're not . . ."

"I'd love to," she gave him a big smile that was, perhaps, exaggerated by the drugs, but not created by it.

Doyle couldn't return the smile in any degree, because he knew that he had just lied to her. They couldn't have a romantic candlelight diner at the best restaurant in town, nor could they grab some cheap take out and take it back to the office nor could they do anything in between. Not if Doyle valued her life. "Why don't you go back to sleep," he said softly, taking her chin in his right hand and massaging her temple gently with his thumb.

"I'm so happy you're here."

"Close your eyes."

"Promise me you'll be here when I open them."

"Shhhhhhhh,"

"Promise me."

"Go to sleep," he whispered. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Goodbye was quick and easy last time, he hadn't had time to think about it. He realized that he was a fool to come back, and be tempted. It was cruel to him, and cruel to Cordelia.

"I love you," she said softly as she closed her eyes.

Doyle didn't know what to say, how to respond to that. "I," he choked. "I'm sorry."

She didn't answer, she was asleep. Doyle stayed looking at her for a few minutes more, she was so beautiful and so good. The last thing she wanted to do was leave her. But death had given the young man a sense of duty far beyond anything he had when he was alive the first time. He let go of her hand and brushed her cheek softly as he removed his hand from her face.

"Goodbye Cor," he said as he stood up. "I wish things were different." He turned to slip out the door and out of that part of his life forever, but Wesley was in his way, battle ax not raised for battle, but at the ready.

"Who and what are you?" He asked harshly.

"I just came to say goodbye," Doyle explained. "Just let me leave, and you'll never see me again."

"Are you the real Alan Francies Doyle, the one that found Angel here in LA, and was his connection to the Powers That Be until you died a month ago helping a group of demon half-breeds flee the Scourge?"

"Yeah, that's me. Look, I don't know who you are," he glanced at the battle ax, "but you're obviously a friend a Angel and Cordelia's, so could you do us all a favor and pretend you never saw me."

"What about Cordelia?"

"Tell her it was a dream brought on by the loss of blood and the medicine and all that kind a stuff."

"You, sir, are not going anywhere until I know exactly who and what you are."

"You can't keep me here."

"Oh, can't I?" Wesley said, lifting his ax to strike.

As far as he could see, Doyle only had one option. Something he didn't particularly relish doing, but he had to leave, and he had to leave a minute ago. He shook his head, throwing off the human form and brandishing his green skin and black spikes. "Remember our deal," he said, before turning and throwing himself out the open window on the other side of the room.

Wesley ran to the window and stuck his head out. Four floors down he could see a Brachen demon shakily push himself to his feet and shake his head. Then Wesley watched as a young Irishman stumbled away.

***

"I'll let you off here," Kate said as she drove up to the front of the hospital. They had been working the case for hours, it was well past midnight, but Angel had insisted on coming back to the hospital instead of his apartment. "Then I'll go park the car."

"Thanks," Angel said as he climbed out of the passenger seat. All in all, it had been a less than fruitful night. They had no leads whatsoever. Nothing was stolen, no one saw a thing, and the benevolent 911 caller was no where to be found. Until Cordy woke up the investigation was dead. And Angel figured he might as well wait in the hospital room until she woke up.

Kate parked the car and locked it behind her. She should have gone home, she knew that three hours ago. She had work tomorrow and, as much as she personally wanted to finish this case, she had other things to focus on. But she couldn't leave, and it was hell of a lot more than Angel's deep brown eyes. Something about this case didn't fit. Cordelia was too perfect of a victim, and the lack of evidence was too complete. There was something very wrong about the case and Kate knew that she would not be able to sleep until she figured out just what that was. So going home seemed rather futile.

She didn't dare yawn as she walked through the parking lot, although she wanted to. That sort of thing was a tell tail sign to muggers that you would be an easy target. She kept her head up glancing around her constantly. Her body language intentionally oozed awareness. She was nobody's victim.

A man approached her slowly. He was walking a bit uneasily away from the hospital. Kate assumed he was drunk. He looked like a drunk, shabby clothes, unkept hair, and he was holding his head. She assumed, without really thinking that he was heading towards the bus stop, which was all the way across the parking lot. She didn't know why he was walking away from the hospital, but she accepted that he had a good reason. At least in his intoxicated mind.

She walked past him, deducing all that in one thought and fully intending not to give him as second when she heard him utter, "damn!"

That voice. It had been on her mind all night. Doyle, the one clue that they almost had, she had been contemplating everything she knew about the man, which wasn't much, in hopes of finding Cordelia's assailant. To hear his voice, marked distinctively with an Irish brogue, here, outside of the hospital was much to much of a coincidence.

She swung around to see him picking himself up off the ground. He had, apparently tripped on a pothole. She took a step closer, reaching for her gun. "Doyle?" she asked pensively.

He looked up, which Kate knew any person would, and it was him. "Damn," he said again and then broke into a sprint. Kate didn't hesitate a second. She started after him drawing her gun as she ran. "Stop in the name of the law!"

He didn't even consider it.

"Stop or I'll shoot!" she yelled, firing a warning shot into the air to prove her point.

That instruction he followed. He slowed his sprint into a dead stop, and stood still obediently, while she caught up. His hands were harmlessly at his side and his head was bowed. When Kate came up to him he wouldn't look her in the eye.

"What the hell are you doing?" She demanded angrily, mostly because she didn't know what else to say. She had, after all, believed that he was dead.

"Look, I can't explain. I've just got to go."

"Go?"

"Yeah."

"Like skip town?"

"Exactly."

"Why?"

"I said I can't explain."

"How about because you shot Cordelia Chase."

Doyle looked up on that one, "I didn't," he said. His voice wasn't passionate, it was actually a little fearful, but for some reason, Kate believed him.

"Angel thinks you're dead."

"Don't tell him I'm not."

"Why?"

"Because If you do, he'll come after me."

"You afraid he'll hurt you?"

"We'll all get hurt," Doyle said cryptically. "That's why I have to leave town."

"I need a better story than that for me to let you go."

"That's all I can say."

Kate took out her handcuffs. "It's not enough."

***

"Excuse me Mr. Angel?" The nurse said as she stuck her head into Cordelia's room.

"Yes?"

"There's a Detective Lockly on the phone, she said it was urgent."

"Kate," Angel said, suddenly realizing that he had forgotten all about her. "She was supposed to come up after she parked the car."

"How long ago was that?" Wesley asked.

"Nearly a hour ago." He said as he ducked out of the room and practically ran to the phone. "Kate! Where are you?"

"The station, Listen, Angel, I need you to come down here and identify a suspect."

"Suspect."

"I think I've got Cordelia's shooter."

"Really? How?"

"All I need is a positive ID."

"But Kate, I wasn't there."

"Just come down," she said. It wasn't like Kate to be secretive. He lived in a world of dark secrets, she was a straight out kind of girl, and he loved that. He had to assume that her secrets were well warranted.

"Right, I'll be there as soon as I can be."

"Good."

***

"Hey," Kate said, grabbing Angel's attention as soon as he walked into the bullpen. She waited a moment, shifting through files as he waded his way to her desk. Once he was there, she looked up at him and their eyes caught. The dept of his eyes sent chills down her spine, but by this time she was used to it, so she didn't give it a second thought.

"I've got our guy in a line up, all you have to do is pick him out."

"I told you Kate, I didn't see him."

She ignored that comment, and continued with her train of thought. "But before you see the suspects I have to ask you one thing?" She stopped in her tracks outside of the line up room and asked quietly, but with intensity. "How did Doyle die?"

Angel was taken aback, "I don't see how that has . . ."

"If I tried to find a grave, or a coroners report, or even a certificate of death, would I be wasting my time?"

Angel glanced at the floor. "It wasn't the kind of death you report."

Kate nodded, obviously not understanding. "And what kind of death is that."

"The kind of death were there is nothing left for the coroner to examine."

"Gangland?"

"And there is no scientific explanation."

"The kind of deaths you deal with all the time?"

"More often than I should."

"Did you see him die?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

Angel shook his head, "I wish I hadn't."

Kate sighed and opened the door. "Come on in," she said softly. Once Angel was inside and the door was closed behind them she added. "This just might be your lucky day."

Before he could ask her what she meant by that the suspects started filing in. When the third man in the line up came in, looking down, clenching and unclenching his fist nervously, he understood.

"But tha . . ." Angel Stuttered. "That's, I mean . . . He's . . . I saw . . ."

Kate nodded, "That's what I thought." She walked up to the intercom. "Jake can you take Number three to the interrogation room?"

"Sure detective," one of the uniformed officers said from the other end of the intercom. Then he walked over to Doyle and grabbed the young man harshly on the arm and dragged him through a door. Angel had to fight the urge to break through the glass and rescue is newly found friend from the manhandling police officer. But he realized he couldn't. Instead he turned on Kate with just one question, "How?"

"You can ask him," she said kindly, putting her hand on his arm. "Let's go."

***

"Your wound is healing very nicely," the doctor told Cordelia. She was awake and alert and unusually quiet. Wesley continued to try and engage her in conversation, still she was despondent. Her mind was on Doyle, Wesley surmised as much, still he couldn't find it in himself to tell her who, or what, he had seen.

"You should be able to leave here by this afternoon."

"This afternoon!" Wesley protested. "That's absolutely ludicrous, she won't have been in the hospital for a day."

"Her wounds are not serious," the doctor said. "She lost some blood, which we replenished. Her body is quickly healing. She'll have to stay off her feet for a while, but there is really no more we can do."

"I can't believe this," Wesley muttered, Cordelia didn't seem to care one way or another. She looked at the doctor intently, but her eyes were far, far off.

The doctor sighed, "you're right, Mr. Price, she probably shouldn't be sent out, but my understanding is that she does not have insurance, and can't pay for continued care."

"But she needs it!" Wesley insisted.

"If she has any problems, you can come back. Your check out time is three-thirty, a nurse will be here to help you."

"But . . ." Wesley started.

"Thank you Doctor," Cordelia said, cutting Wesley off.

The doctor smiled kindly, "You're welcome, young lady. God Bless." He turned around and walked out of the room.

"These bloody Capitalist systems," Wesley muttered. "I should have stayed in England."

"Right," Cordy muttered, "You should have stayed in England."

Wesley sighed and turned to the dazed girl next to him. "Cor, what's troubling you?"

She turned to him, for the first time her eyes looked clear and intent. "I . . ." she licked her lips, but couldn't find the words to actually say what she wanted to, so she slipped into the role she could play most convincingly. "I'm bored, would you mind getting me a magazine or something from the gift shop?"

"Right," Wesley nodded sadly. "Of course." He pushed himself off of his chair and went to the door. He didn't have to ask what kind of magazine she wanted, he knew. Fashion magazine with lots of pictures of celebrities.

When the door closed behind Wesley, Cordelia managed to take a shaky breath. He was gone, she was alone. Tears started streaming down her cheeks, but no one was there to see them, and there was no mascara on her eye lashes to betray her.

***

"Hello Angel," Doyle said, lifting his eyes nervously to see how his friend reacted to his resurrection. The Vampire seemed to be reacting with shock, which, Doyle supposed, was about the best reaction he could have hoped for.

Angel stood there, frozen for a moment, Kate looked at him nervously. She was starting to think she had chosen the wrong way to reveal this to him.

Finally, Angel managed to take a step forward and speak. "You died," he said shakily.

Doyle didn't respond.

"How?" Angel demanded.

Doyle cleared his throat and nodded to Kate, making it clear that he thought this should be a guy's only meeting.

"I'm not leaving," Kate said solidly.

"She can stay."

Doyle looked more than surprised, "We're going to have to talk . . . you know . . . about business."

"I know all about it." Kate replied solidly.

"Not quite all," Angel corrected, "but she stays."

Doyle's eye's shot between Angel and Kate, but he trusted his employer and the officer standing next to him. "You might want to take a seat," he warned them. "It's a long story."

Kate and Angel complied, and Doyle set into his story with a sort of muted passion.

"Where should I start?" Doyle asked a little uncomfortably.

"Your alleged death would be a good place." Kate informed him rather harshly.

Doyle tilted his head slightly to the right. "There was nothing alleged about it. I died."

"But you're here."

"The funny thing about death," Doyle started. "Is that everyone thinks it's so permanent, and so inevitable. When actually nothing could be furder from the truth. Death is a law, like "what goes up must come down" or "Thou shall not murder" or "no right turns on red."

"You're saying they can be broken?" Kate, who was not used to thinking about the supernatural, asked.

The question gave Doyle pause. It was hard for him, after seeing who he'd seen and being where he'd been, to talk to explain the nature of the Powers That Be to ordinary people. He reached back into his past and remembered how he had explained the mysteries of the solar system to his third grade students a (literal) lifetime ago.

"Yes," he said slowly. "But not without consequences. Angel's proof a that."

"What?"

"No soul," Angel supplied, "Well, not normally."

"So," Kate said, grasping at the idea she thought he was trying to communicate. "You're saying that you somehow broke the law of death?"

Doyle couldn't help but smile, "No, what else do laws have in common?"

Angel understood. "Loopholes."

"Exactly," Doyle said excitedly. "According to the Powers that Be, if a other worldly person sacrifices themselves to save a group of people, they can't stay dead. Naturally, with any law, there are clauses and exceptions, like you can't be a martyr, and you'd a had to have had the option of surviving. It was a big long mess that took weeks to figure out." Doyle turned to Angel and smiled. "That's why you came back when you did."

Kate turned to Angel as well, "came back?"

Angel ignored her question, "What are you talking about?"

"When you decided to seal the door to hell," Doyle explained eagerly. "You gave your life for all of humanity, they figured you deserved to live for that."

"But Buffy killed me, I didn't go to my death willingly."

"Well sure," Doyle shrugged, "But you would have."

"So," Kate said uncertainly. "You're saying that God sent you back because you died to save others."

Doyle's brow wrinkled as he weighed the inaccuracies of that statement. Finally he nodded. "More or less, probably a little less than more."

"I don't believe this," She said, pushing her chair away from the table. "Angel can you please tell your friend that unless he starts making some sense he's going to find himself on trial for assault."

"He is telling the truth," Angel said with confidence.

Kate shook her head, "That is impossible."

"So are vampires," Angel pointed out.

Kate had to secede that point. She took a deep breath and leaned in again. "You were dead."

"Right."

"And you came back."

"Right."

"And you shot Cordelia Chaste?"

"No!"

"He didn't shoot her," Angel interjected.

"She identified him by name."

"I didn't do it, I couldn't."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know."

"Convenient."

"He was a street punk," Doyle continued, not letting Kate's tone bother him. "About six one with big muscles and blond hair. He was wearing jeans and an undershirt with a black leather coat over it. He was trying to mug her, but I got in the way."

"Why'd he shoot her?" Kate asked dryly.

"He panicked. He didn't want us to follow him."

Kate nodded, apart from the whole coming-back-to-life thing, it made a lot of sense. She remembered how much Doyle had cared about Cordelia, when he was alive the first time, and he just didn't seem like the type that could heart a fly, not to mention an innocent girl. "Fine," Kate said. "I'll get a composite artist in here, hopefully we can have an APB out in an hour."

***

"You're sure that you're feeling good enough to go back to work?" Wesley asked nervously.

"Work?" Cordelia muttered. "If I know Angel he'll be walking on eggshells around me for a week. He won't even let me get up from the desk to file anything."

"I could just as easily drive you home."

"No, I, ah, don't really want to be alone."

"Oh," Wesley said softly. "I can understand that." They sat in silence for a while. Finally the uneasiness wore Wesley down. "Radio?" he asked nervously.

"Sure," Cordy said with mild enthusiasm, but she didn't move to turn it on.

They hit a red light and Wesley leaned forward and turned the radio. The dial was placed nicely between two stations so they heard nothing but static.

"Big surprise," Cordy grumbled. "Mr. Brooding doesn't listen to the radio."

"Well we'll just see what we can find," Wesley muttered, turning the dial.

"This is QVC130," A crisp, British accent said over the radio. "And you have just listened to Brahms fourth symphony. Lovely little piece that it is."

"Well, this sounds lovely," Wesley smiled.

"Next we'll be hearing Brahm's fifth symphony, continuing our all Brahm weekend."

"I don't think so." Cordelia said, leaning forward and changing the Chanel.

There was a moment of static and then the radio burst into song again. "Kiss me, Beneath the milky twilight." Static, "Hold me, thrill me, Kiss me, Kill Meeeeee" static, "All my lovin all my Kissin, you don't know what you've been a missin" static, "A Taste of Honey, tasting much sweeter than wine, I dream of your first kiss and," static "This Kiss, this Kiss." She snapped the radio off.

"No good songs," She explained as Wesley looked at her with concern. He nodded and didn't argue. They finished the ride in silence.

Once they got to the office Cordelia couldn't wait to get inside. She didn't wait for Wesley to fulfill his chivalrous duties of opening the car door, or the building door for that matter. She barged into the office unannounced to find it . . . empty. Cordelia's heart sank, she understood Angel not coming to the hospital to see her leave, he wouldn't make it to the car. But she had kind of expected Angel to be waiting for her, maybe with flowers, or open arms, or one of those smiles his brooding couldn't quite smother. But he wasn't there, she was standing alone in the office, and the empty straw like feeling was just getting worse.

"Well," Wesley said a little too chipperly as he closed the door behind them. "We should probably go downstairs."

"Why?" Cordy asked numbly.

"You'll be more comfortable down there."

"In the dank and the dark?"

"I was thinking cool and privacy, but . . ."

"No," Cordelia said, walking towards the stairs. "Fine, whatever."

"You seem awful despondent," Wesley said sadly.

Cordy pivoted and forced a smile. "Drugs," she said simply. "I'll be fine I'm just a little . . . ah," *depressed*.

"Drowsy?"

"Exactly."

"Come on," Wesley said softly, "I'll make you some tea with honey."

Cordy nodded, "Tea, Right."

She plodded down the stairs like a zombie, her mind was a world away. But when she reached the first landing she heard Angel's voice and she felt a little better, but when she reached the second landing she heard another voice and her heart rate doubled.

"Cordelia," Wesley asked as he bumped into her where she was frozen on the stairs. "Are you alright?"

She turned to look at him. He was a little disturbed with the excitement in her eyes. He hadn't seen it for two days, and he had truly believed that the pain killers the doctors had given her were keeping her from it. But her eyes were alive and there was a genuine smile on her face. Wesley wasn't sure if he was glad to see her smile, or disappointed that she hadn't smiled that way for him.

"It's him," she whispered intently, "Isn't it?"

"I should think so," he answered softly.

Cordelia felt like she had died and gone to heaven. She didn't think twice before pivoting and running down the stairs. The men she had heard talking must have heard her approach and stood up, or just have had the good fortune to be caught standing when Cordy burst in.

Angel was the only person who had any perspective on the events that followed, Wesley's angle from the stairwell was confusing and Cordelia and Doyle were too involved to have a clear perspective. As far as Angel could figure, it happened fast so he wasn't totally sure, Cordelia had run down the stairs and embraced Doyle, who had not been expecting it. She hit him with such force that they fell onto Angel's bed, but sort of over the corner, so Doyle fell on the floor on the other side, and Cordelia was on top of him.

"When did she get out of the hospital?" Angel asked surprised.

"About a half an hour ago," Wesley supplied as he walked up. "I tried to call but. . ."

"I was kinda busy, I guess I didn't hear the phone."

"Maybe we should leave," Wesley said, a little two loudly. Cordelia pushed herself off of the stunned Doyle and sat up.

Doyle followed suite but he couldn't seem to catch his breath. Finally he managed to stutter, "What was that for?"

"Being alive," Cordy said. And then she slapped him.

"Cordelia?" Wesley interjected as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

"That's for not being dead!" she yelled.

Angel reached down and helped Doyle to his feet, still the half demon and Cordelia's eyes never broke away from each other.

"Oh," Cordelia interjected. "And for giving me those vision things and for running away that other night! And for being gone for a month! A month! You couldn't have stopped in once! Where were you?"

Her lower lip was trembling and she was almost as pale as Angel, despite her tan.

"Cordelia," Angel said softly. "Why don't we all sit down and talk about it."

"You missed him too," She pointed out, "He abandoned us. He saw an out and he took it." She turned back to Doyle angrily. "Was it so bad with us that you had to fake death to get out?"

"Cordelia," Angel said with a fatherly tone he didn't know he had. "You need to listen for a moment."

"Listen?" She said. Her whole body was shaking and all three men were fighting the impulse to reach out and hug her. Wesley was the closest to the goal, he was holding her arms, in part to hold her back; keep her from attacking Doyle, offensively or amorously, but also, he was supporting her, keeping her from collapsing on the floor.

"You're not yourself," Angel said solidly. "You've just gotten out of the hospital only to come here and be shocked. You need to calm down."

"Calm down?"

Angel decided to stop talking to Cordelia, she was far too emotional to think things through. She would have to ride the tide of those emotions until they left her at a place where she could accept Doyle and appreciate what he had done, and understand why he'd done it. "Wesley," Angel ordered. "Take Cordelia over to the couch until she's calmed down a little."

"I'm perfectly calm!"

"Come on Cor," Wesley said, leading her to the couth. "The doctor told you to keep off your feet."

Angel and Doyle watched him lead her away for a second. Then Angel turned and walked into the kitchen to set tea to boil. Doyle waited for a moment, and then followed.

"I'm not angry at you," Angel said as he turned on the faucet and started filling the teapot with water.

"There's a good start to a conversation."

"But Cordelia's at least partially right," he said as he turned off the faucet and set the full pot on the stove. "You did hide."

Angel turned to look at his friend, he didn't ask any questions, but if he knew Doyle, he would crumble under a piercing glare. He did.

"I hid, for about a week." He admitted, his head down. "I die, I hobnob with the Powers That Be for . . . I don't know how long, and then pow, I wake up in my apartment." His eyebrows shot up to emphasize his point. "You can imagine that Ramen Noodles was a bit of a disappointment after ambrosia."

Angel almost smiled, but his eyes still demanded an answer.

Doyle sobered up a little and continued. "I wanted to come over right away, but I was dead, I figured you'd a moved on. So I snooped around a little."

"You snooped around."

"I saw that you were all fine, and you had Mr. Rogue-demon-hunter helping you out."

"We didn't replace you," Angel said softly. "Wesley is an old friend, he just showed up."

Doyle nodded, believing his friend, but not feeling any better about the situation. "I was working up the courage to come back," he said, glancing up. "Then I started to hear rumors."

"Rumors?"

"The scourge is on the move again."

"They're regrouping?"

"Yeah, only this time they're not after a clan or a family," he said softly.

"They're after you?"

"I don't know how they found out about me," Doyle said, Angel could hear fear in the young man's voice. "But they're out there, man, looking for a time."

Angel examined the half demon very carefully. Doyle had a tendency to get people angry with him, but he had learned how to weasel out of most situations. However, the scourge was solid and determined and pure evil. Doyle didn't have a chance. "We're going to help you."

"No," Doyle said solidly. "Angel, man, you can't."

"The Powers That Be didn't bring you back to be killed by an evil hoard of demons."

"I have no intention of being killed."

"What are you going to do?" Angel demanded. "Skip town?"

"I was seriously considering it."

"That's not a way to fight a war."

"I'm not fighten a war!" Doyle insisted. "I'm trying to stay alive. I was dead once and as bright and shiny and wonderful as that may be, its nothing like being down here, making that connection, man."

"So your plan to make that connection is to run away and stay underground."

"I figured I'd go someplace where the demon to human population was low, you know, some place the scourge wouldn't think to look."

"Where would that be?"

"I heard there are some nice little farm towns up in Wisconsin."

"Wisconsin?"

"Have you ever heard of a demon from Wisconsin?"

Angel thought for a moment, then blinked, "No."

"My point exactly."

The tea pot whistled, Angel took a deep breath and turned around, taking the boiling water off of the flame. "Would you get me the mugs?"

Doyle did as he was asked. He got them out of the cupboard, setting them down on the counter next to the vampire. As the two were standing, shoulder to shoulder, Angel turned and caught Doyle's eyes with his. "I'm not going to let you go. I just got you back, I'm not ready to lose you again."

"I can't hide here."

"We'll come up with a battle plan."

"I've never been that great of a fighter."

Angel smiled. "I'll fight for you."

Doyle wanted to argue, to say 'no' that his life wasn't worth fighting for. But he didn't believe that as much as he had. He wanted very much to believe what he had been told, that he had just slipped through a loophole in the magic that held the world together, but he knew the powers that be, and he had seen the ancient scripts that the magic was written on. Loopholes seemed improbable. And the implications of those facts were very frightening.

Besides, arguing with Angel about that sort of thing rarely was worth it. "Thanks man."

***

"So you died," Cordy said, staring Doyle straight in the eyes.

"Yeah,"

"But because you saved a whole bunch of peoples lives the PTB's . . ."

"PTB's?" Doyle asked.

"Powers That Be." Angel supplied.

"Just decided that you dying was really a bad thing, so they brought you back?"

"More or less," Doyle said.

"A little less," Angel abridged.

"But you decided that you weren't going to stop by and tell us about this completely wonderful thing . . ."

"You think it was wonderful?"

"Because those big bad evil demons are out to get you, considering you destroyed their weapon of mass destruction and all."

Doyle nodded, "I think you got the general idea."

"That's not such a big deal." Cordy said casually.

"What!" Doyle said, having just lived through it he thought it was a very big deal.

"I mean, its nothing that anybody should be running away from their friends for."

"I won't make that mistake again," Doyle promised her softly.

"Yes but the burden of having a second chance at life must be perfectly crushing," Wesley said with wonder.

"I never thought of it as a burden," Doyle said just a tad resentfully, "But now that you bring it up . . ."

"Yeah," Cordy said pointing to Wesley, but keeping her eyes on Doyle. "Now you have to do something big . . . and good."

The half demon chuckled nervously, "It's not like they brought me back for a reason," He argued. "They were contractually obligated, if you know what I mean."

"This whole thing can't be pointless," Cordy asked the whole room, but she turned to Angel, expecting the answer to come from him. "Can it?"

The vampire could do no more than shrug.

They sat in silence for a second, Cordelia's question hanging in the air, then Doyle licked his lips and did something no one expected him to do, he started reciting poetry.

"O, yet we trust that somehow good

Will be the final goal of ill,

To pangs of nature, sins of will,

Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;"

His eyes were focused on a spot on the ceiling, roughly over Cordelia's head, and his soft Irish brogue was tainted with emotion. It was almost if he was casting some sort of enchantment, no one dared disturb him.

"That nothing walks whit aimless feet;

That not one life shall be destroy'd,

Or cast as rubbish to the void,

When God hath made the pile complete;

"That not a worm is cloven in vain;

That not a moth with vain desire

Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,

Or but subserves another's gain."

His voice faded away and his eyes shifted down to his captivated audience. He smiled softly, as if saying that explained everything. Wesley was confused, Cordelia was totally lost, but Angel understood perfectly.

"Behold, we know not anything;

I can but trust that good shall fall

At last - far off - at last, to all

And every winter change to spring."

Angel's heavy voice had as much emotion in it as Doyle's, but he seemed to be more convicted, and less enchanted, by the words he was saying.

"So runs my dream' but what am I?

An infant crying in the night;

An infant crying for the light,

And with no language but a cry."

"Tennyson," Angel said after a pause, letting every person in the room absorb the poem. "'In Memoriam', Lyric 54."

"You read poetry?" Cordelia asked in amazement, looking at the two men she had thought she had figured out. "Both of you, read *and memorize* poetry?"

"While I have to admit that I'm more found of Edward Fitzgerald's 'Rubaiyate' You can't deny Tennyson's a wonderful poet," Doyle explained, "even if he was English."

"And what is that supposed to infer?" Wesley demanded.

Angel ignored the fight between the Irish and English men all together. "I read 'In Memoriam' when it was first published. I didn't like it much then. But I picked it up again when . . . a few weeks ago." Doyle smiled. "And I found it very moving." Angel blinked as he contemplated his different reactions. "You know, poetry is a lot more enjoyable when you have a soul."

"I bet," Cordy said, not quite sarcastically. "Now will someone tell me what it means?"

"It means that no matter how much we look for a purpose, we're not going to find one," Doyle explained sadly.

Cordelia turned to Angel, obviously disbelieving the half-demon. "Really, what does it mean?"

"That's a pretty good summery," Angel admitted.

She sighed with frustration, men were so thick. "Well, there are ways around that."

"What are you talking about?" Wesley asked.

"You're right," Angel said softly. "There are."

***

"Angel, man," Doyle said softly. He was trailing far behind his friend, obviously nervous about where he was being dragged. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean the fates don't like being bothered."

"Don't you want to know why you were sent back?"

"I know why, cause there's this clause in the rules of life and death."

"I have to think they have a higher purpose."

"If they do, they didn't tell me anything about it."

"That doesn't surprise me," Angel said. "I have a feeling that they like to keep us mere mortals guessing. Makes um feel big."

"Yeah, I guess you could say they have a god complex," Doyle chuckled, "But in their defense, they are gods."

"Ok," Angel said as they approached the door to the mystic realm of the fates. "Do you have the gift?"

"Oh," Doyle said as he dug though his pockets. "Yeah, right here."

"M & M's?"

"Crunchy M & M's thank you very much."

"I thought you said that human food was horrible after ambrosia."

"I believe I was talking about Ramen Noodles," Doyle pointed out. "Chocolate is an entirely different thing."

"Right," Angel said uncomfortably. He had tasted chocolate once, and it had overwhelmed him. He was almost happy that his senses had become numb and he would never taste it again . . . almost. "Are you ready?"

"No,"

Angel paused, "Will you ever be?"

"Probably not."

He slapped Doyle sportively on the shoulder, and the half demon took a deep breath and stepped out of the physical world.

"Ah," Doyle gasped. "I, ah, didn't expect that."

"It's the demon child that defeated the scourge," the masculine fate said. He sounded surprised, but it might have just been amusement.

"What have you brought us, Human Child?" demanded the feminine fate.

"Um, ah, here," he fumbled as he clumsily tossed the bag to the fates. The masculine one caught it, examined the bright blue packaging and the almost grotesque characters on it, and then handed it to the feminine one.

"What manner of gift is this?" she demanded.

"It's candy," Doyle stuttered, "Chocolate, you, ah, eat it."

"It does not appear eatable." The masculine fate observed dryly.

"Well, you gotta take it out of the bag."

The feminine fate managed to rip the bag open and several of the candies cascaded onto the floor. "Oh, colors." She said looking down at the scattering of candy at her feet.

"Yeah, try the green ones, there the best."

"Divine!" The feminine fate cooed. "Whatever is your wish I grant it!"

"You have pleased us," the masculine fate said, with a little more restraint. "What is your desire?"

"I, ah, I want to know what I'm doing here."

"Vague question," the Feminine Fate mused. She was still focused on the M&M's which she popped into her mouth one at a time, savoring every moment.

"The Demon child wants to know why he was braught back to life," The masculine fate said.

"Yeah, can you tell me?"

"He wants to know the future," The Feminine fate said, annoyed. "Human Child, you have known the future."

"Your future sight was taken when you died, to protect it."

"You gave it to Cordelia."

"If you wish to seek the future you should consult with her."

"I don't need specifics," Doyle insisted, feeling the meeting draw to an end with his question unaddressed. "I just need to know if there was a purpose to me coming back, or if it was just an accident."

"Accident?" The feminine fate turned to the masculine one, "What does the demon child mean by that word?"

"Human Child," the Masculine fate said turning to Doyle, "Accidents do not exist."

There was a bright flash of light, and the next thing he knew he was on his back, in the sewers, under the post office.

"Doyle!" Angel said excitedly, running towards his friend. "Wow, that was quick." He helped his friend back to his feet, "Did you see the fates?"

"Yeah," Doyle muttered as he hit the grime off of his not-quite-vintage 1970's leather coat. "And a helpful lot they are too."

"What did they tell you?"

"That if I want to know the future, I should talk to Cordelia."

"Anything else?"

"And that there are no accidents."

***

It was five o'clock and Kate was officially off work. Still, she found herself on the doorstep of Angel Investigations. She told herself that it was business, that she was just going to update Cordelia on the search for her assailant. She should probably also let Angel know, he had been very helpful last night. And it wouldn't hurt to, discreetly, apologize to Doyle.

The door was open. Wide open. And it looked like it had been clawed open by something big, like a bear. Kate drew her gun and entered with caution.

She knew, empirically, that she should call for backup. The probability that the bad guys were still inside was high. And if the state of the door was any indication, they would not be duly impressed by one badge and one handgun. But there was a little voice inside of her that reminded her, "this involves Angel, the Vampire, and Doyle, who came back to life. Keep the secrets." She obeyed the second voice.

The top half of the building was empty. Whoever had broken in had not meant to steal anything. The computer, the only thing in the office with anything, was untouched. She knew that, beyond an interesting collection of exotic weapons, there was nothing of value in the apartment either. She realized that whoever had broken in was not set on thievery, but on, for some reason, hurting whoever was inside. This made them a thousand times more dangerous, and it made it a thousand times more likely that they would be someone who went around in Angel's circles, not Kate's.

She cautiously made her way down stairs, her gun at ready in case anyone or thing would come towards her. She could hear the sound of a struggle, and a grunting voice speaking a language that Kate was totally unfamiliar with. Her first thought was terrorists. She quickly dismissed that and adopted, what she considered a much more reasonable theory. Gangs. Probably minor ones, some sort of Asian or Middle Eastern group that had yet to assimilate into the rich gang culture of LA. But when she turned the corner on the stairway and saw something she couldn't have even imagined.

The room was more or less destroyed, the sparse furniture had been wrecked and there was a lot of blood, everywhere. Kate had to assume that the blood had belonged either to Wesley, who was lying unconscious on the floor, or Cordelia, who was lying unconscious in the arms of . . . something.

There were two of them in the apartment and they seemed like things form those scary movies Kate had gone to see with her friends in her teen years, and laughed all the way through. Gray, with wrinkles and red eyes and claws that had pried the door open and a smell that Made Kate sick. "My god," she whispered despite herself. Unfortunately, that gave her position away.

The one that was not holding Cordelia turned and started walking towards her with a frightening determination. "Your god will not help you," he said in a deep voice with a heavy accent.

Kate was a good cop, she kept her cool and she could play off of people. But this thing was a world beyond anything she had ever experienced, she panicked. She lowered her gun and fired six rounds into the approaching demon. That was all she could get out before it reached out, grabbed her gun, and her hand, with one of its. "You will tell the half-breed that he has hidden long enough, now he must come to us."

Kate only heard those words peripherally. He was squeezing her hand inside of his. It felt like she was in a vice, the pressure was constant and crushing, she herd things snap, she wasn't sure if it was her bones or the plastic of the gun casing, or most likely both.

She couldn't think, or breath. Her eyesight was blurry as tears of pain filled her eyes. She fell to her knees, but she didn't even notice. The pain was so intense, so overwhelming that when he let her go, she hardly noticed. She didn't try to stop them, she couldn't have. All she could do was cower on the stairs, clutching her broken bloody hand and focus on staying conscious.

***

"So they liked the M&M's?" Angel asked casually as they walked through the tunnels home.

"Oh, yeah," Doyle said. "Girl especially."

"I kinda assumed that they wanted special, unusual things. You know, sacred artifacts and stuff."

"Do you have any idea how many sacred artifacts they have in the great beyond. It's old hat for the Powers that Be. The wonders of our world, candy, ice cream . . . superballs."

"Wrist watches."

"Exactly!" Doyle said, as Angel climbed up the iron ladder that led to his apartment. "It's the little things in life that make it grand."

Angel smiled down on his friend. He had never been one for warm feelings, but there was no other way he could describe the emotion that was centered in his chest. He had felt that way before, once, and that had ended badly for him, and for everyone he had loved. Angel was flirting with perfect happiness again having the one friend he had made since Buffy. Ever since he had gotten his soul he had all but pushed those who would be his friends away. He wanted to be miserable, he wanted to earn his redemption. He knew about forgiveness but he couldn't accept it. But two people, Buffy and Doyle, had forgiven him despite his objections. They had sought him out and said he was good, they had trusted him and fought for him. Buffy had not been able to kill him, and Doyle had died for him. Angel had felt like Buffy had proved he was ready to be forgiven that night, and he had lost his soul. Now that Doyle was back Angel started to believe that he might just have earned that forgiveness, he was dangerously close to happiness. Luckily, he remembered the last time he had been happy. And that fear kept even a split second of pure happiness away.

Of course when he saw his apartment, all happiness flew away.

"Angel," Doyle said nervously, somehow sensing what Angel saw. "Angel, man, what's wrong?"

The Vampire couldn't answer. He managed to find the strength to pull himself up from the sewer tunnels and into the entirety of his nightmare. Doyle was on his heels and quickly saw what Angel had.

"They were here," Doyle said, his voice filled with horror. "I lead them here."

Angel shook his head, shaking off the shock and Doyle's guilt in one motion. "No, If they wanted you, they would have come here eventually."

"Angel?"

"Kate?" Angel said, slight fear in his voice as he turned towards the kitchen.

"What's Kate doing here?" Doyle said, following Angel into the kitchen.

She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the cupboards. Wesley was lying next to her, still unconscious. "I can't wake him up," she said, her eye's were huge and unfocused.

"Doyle, boil some water," Angel said as he rushed over to Kate and Wesley.

"Aye, man."

Angel kneeled down and put a reassuring hand on Kate's shoulder as he checked Wesley's pulse. He was breathing, and his heart was beating, he just had a huge bump on his head. "I'm going to put him on the bed. Doyle, do you think you could help Kate to the table."

Doyle turned away from the stove, where the tea pot was set to boil. Angel had picked up the ex-watcher as if he were a rag doll and carried him effortlessly into the next room. Kate was not so undemanding.

"Is he going to be ok?" She asked breathlessly.

Doyle nodded, "I'm sure."

"How about Cordelia will she be ok?"

"Cor . . ." Doyle swallowed, "Cordelia?"

"Angel'll rescue her, won't he?" Kate asked as Doyle gently took her by her elbows and pulled her into a standing position. "He wouldn't let those . . . things . . ."

He eased her into the chair right as Angel came back into the kitchen. He slid effortlessly into the chair kiddy-corner to Kate's, Doyle stood next to the stove, prepared to pour the tea whenever it was needed. "Kate," Angel said softly, but intently. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"No," She said, shaking her head. "When I got here they were leaving . . ."

"Who are they?"

"Monsters . . . Goblins . . ."

"Demons?" Angel prompted.

"The scourge," Doyle said, feeling they should be specific.

"I tried to shoot them, I emptied my gun. That didn't even slow it down."

"I've been doing some research," Doyle supplied from the side lines, "They're impervious to all man made weapons."

"He grabbed my hand," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "I was so afraid."

"Did they hurt you?" Angel said urgently even though he already knew the answer in part.

"He grabbed my hand."

"Show me."

Kate looked at him very carefully, as if she were analyzing his ability to be trusted with something so vulnerable. Finally, she unfolded her arm's revealing her right hand for the first time.

"God," Doyle said under his breath.

It was hardly distinguishable as a hand, it looked more like a jagged ball of blood and flesh. Tentatively, he reached out and took her hand. "Does it hurt?" He asked, glancing up to meet her eyes.

"No," she whispered.

"It ought to," Angel said, carefully examining her hand, counting fingers and broken bones. "Kate, you need to go to a hospital."

"No, no," she said, shaking her head numbly. "There isn't time. They have her."

"Her?"

"Cordelia," Doyle said softly.

"They took Cordelia?"

"They'll kill her," Kate said softly. "And we were worried about muggers."

"Why would they take Cordelia?" Angel asked himself softly. She was human, not demon, or part demon. She shouldn't have been worth their time.

"They're after me," Doyle said simply. "They know I'll come for her."

"We'll come for her."

"There you would be mistaken," Doyle said solidly. "You're not going anywhere."

"What are you talking about?"

"What time is it?"

Angel shruged, "I don't know."

"Six o'clock," Doyle informed him.

"So?"

"So that means in these fine summer months the sun will be up and shining for another two hours."

"I can get around in tunnels."

"It takes a lot longer than the city streets though," Doyle pointed out. "Add to the fact that they know you, who and what you are. They'll be keeping her in sunlight, I can assure you." Angel didn't say anything, because Doyle was right. "They made it so I have to go alone. There's no way out of it, man."

After a long time, Angel found the strength to nod. "Do you know where to go?"

"I have a feeling that if I make myself shown they'll find me."

Angel sighed, "Good Luck."

Doyle managed to smile down on his friend. "In case I don't get the chance . . ."

"You'll get the chance."

"In case I don't, thanks."

"For what?"

Doyle shrugged, "Everything."

***

"Hey! . . ." A voice yelled as Doyle walked down the street. There were hundreds of other voices on the LA street that early morning, so Doyle ignored it.

"Hey, Allen, Frances, Doyle!"

Doyle stopped for a second, glanced around and realized that he didn't know anyone on the street, he kept walking.

"Brachen Demon!"

That stopped Doyle dead in his tracks. He stood right where he was, as if he were fixed in the pavement and waited for whoever knew so damn much. Finally, a familiar face appeared out of the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Doyle asked the mugger from last night dryly. Doyle had expected never to see the punk again, at least never without the young man sporting handcuffs and a police escort.

"I'm here for you."

"How do you know who I am?"

"I work for friends of yours."

Doyle's eyebrows shot up, "Friends? Really, I doubt that."

The mugger was not used to the banter that was common place among the super natural. He was getting bored, "Look, they just told me to bring you to them. So can we come on?"

"Why did you shoot Cordelia?"

"That girl last night, damn she was pretty."

Doyle was getting very angry. "Why did you shoot her man?!"

"Look, I don't know, they told me to."

"They did?" he asked, his voice getting caught in his throat. He had firmly believed that his rescuing of Cordelia was the end result of luck, and a little obsession on his part. But he was being told that it had been a carefully planed out trap. A trap he had walked into and gone along with step by step. And now they had Cordelia and he was alone. He had to do something spontaneous and turn the tables on them.

"Yes, and now they got her and they'll kill her unless you come now."

Doyle licked his lips. "No," he said uncertainly, "They'll kill her anyway."

"They said they wouldn't."

"You're willing to take demons at their word."

"I'm just saying what they said," the punk said, exasperated. He reached into his coat and pulled out the same handgun he had used to shoot Cordelia last night. "Now why don't you just be a nice little demon and come along or else . . ."

"You'll shoot me in the light of day with a crowd full of witnesses?"

"Shut up, I've got a gun"

"You do know what Brachen demons can do, don't you?" Doyle asked. His mind was racing to think of something believable he could tell the punk that would scare him into changing sides.

"You have special powers?"

"Yeah, yeah man, um . . . I can, ah melt your brains!"

"No you can't."

"I'm a demon, you know that for sure, you don't know what all I can do."

"Melt my brains, I'm willing to bet you can't do that."

Doyle tilted his head, silently confessing his lie. "You got me man," he said, and in that split second where the punk was reveling in his achievement, Doyle grabbed the muzzle of the gun and quickly twisted it out of the punks hands.

"What the hell?!" the young man yelled, panicking as the gun was leveled squarely at his chest.

"You're under arrest." Doyle said squarely. "I know a detective who's been looking for you."

"God, the cops, you've got to be joking!"

"Do I look like I'm laughing?"

"I'll tell them everything. I'll tell them what you are!"

"And you think they'll believe you?"

"I can't be in jail, I have an audition tomorrow!"

"An actor are you?"

"Damn good one too, the producer told me that I would have been the marderio man if I were five years older."

"Mordiero man," Doyle said, under impressed, and it showed in his voice. "Complicated character, that."

"You can't turn me in!"

"You lead me to their nest and show me how to rescue my friend and, while I'm occupied you just might be able to slip away."

"Are you crazy, they'd kill me!"

"You think they'd let you live after you've done everything they needed you to do?"

"They said the would."

"You're taking a demon on their word?"

"You expect me to take you on your word."

"We're different," Doyle said, looking the punk in the eyes. "You know that."

The guy considered it for a while. He looked at the sky, the gun and the determination in the half demons eyes. Finally he said, "You swear you'll let me go?"

"I'll be to busy to keep an eye on you."

"Yeah, ok," he finally sighed. "Follow me."

A smile flickered across Doyle's face for a second, then he took a deep breath and reset his expression before the punk noticed the change.

***

It was cold. Night was quickly approaching and, while the sun was not down yet, Cordelia could still feel the chill that night would bring. She curled up into a tighter ball. Unfortunately, that had consequences, the bullet wound that was just about a day old sent rivers of fire through her body every time she moved. But that kept her awake, so she could watch and listen two the evil-Nazi-demons. Sure they weren't speaking English, but she figured that as soon as Angel saved her she could probably remember some of it and then Wesley might be able to figure out what they said.

There was a lot of grunting and what appeared to be arguing. Cordelia had the distinct impression that these demons, as clever as they may be when it came to genocide, had no idea what they were doing in the field of subterfuge.

Cordy looked around for the umpteenth time, to see if there was any means of escape. Again she had to conclude that there was not. She was on a roof, at least eight stories up, and there was not a fire escape or a canopy or a fruit stand in sight. They had her in a corner leaning against a wall, with one guard that didn't appear too clever, yet was approximately three times her size so Cordelia didn't feel that she could take him. Of course those two facts were above and beyond the way that her vision blurred every time she moved her head or the flecks of blood that came when she coughed. She wanted to sleep, more than anything, but she was too cold, and she was in too much pain.

She heard a whistle, it was high pitched, and at first she thought that it was just in her head, but when she heard a muffled, "Damn, is she deaf?" she recognized the voice.

She, very carefully and slowly, turned herself around so she could peer over the edge of the building. What she saw quickened her heartbeat, and made her slightly lightheaded. It was Doyle, looking up at her with blue eyes that were more worried than she had ever seen them.

"Doyle," she breathed, so softly she barely heard it.

"Jump," Doyle mouthed clearly.

"Are you crazy?!" Cor demanded, just a little louder than she should have.

"Hush!" Doyle said, just a little louder than he should have. "Jump now!" She glanced over her shoulder and tried to figure out if death by horrible demon would be worse than death by falling from the top of a building. She looked at the demons and realized that it wasn't even a choice.

"You'd better catch me, Doyle," she muttered. And then in a motion that was so quick it made her head swim, she through herself over the edge of the building with more faith than she ever knew she had. "Catch me, catch me, catch me, catch me," She muttered to herself as she fell, and was caught, and was hauled roughly but with tenderness, into the window.

"You can open your eyes now," Doyle said softly. "Do you think you can stand?"

"Oh my god, you caught me."

"Wha'd'ja think, I wouldn't?" Doyle asked, more than mildly offended. "Now come on, we gotta get out a here."

Cordy nodded. "Right," she said, as Doyle carefully set her down, keeping his hand on her shoulder so that she would not lose her balance. "Where are we going?" She asked. She felt nauseous, even though the most solid food she had consumed for over twenty-four hours was tea, and light headed, and standing made her lose her breath, and the room wouldn't stop swaying. But she had just taken a literal leap of faith, she had to believe that she could take a figurative one as well.

"Out," he clipped as he half-lead, half-carried her to the door.

The pair started down the stairs, Doyle supporting most of Cordy's weight while she struggled to keep the rapid pace he set.

"Be careful now," he whispered as they started going down a steep, rickety stair well. They were only about one third of the way down the stairs when Cordelia's head took a break from swimming so it could be assaulted by rivers of pain.

"Damn you, Doyle!" She said, but the vision had started before she could hear his defensive 'what?'

She saw dark rooms and dark figures, she heard Doyle scream, a sad scream, the kind of scream that accompanies pain. She heard a priest chanting and saw children playing. The kids laughter still in her ears when she opened her eyes to find herself sitting at the bottom of the stairs with Doyle looking over her with concern. "What'd you see?" He asked. There was an odd look in his eyes, something between fear, wonder, and pity. It didn't occur to Cordelia, but this was the first time he had ever seen someone else have a vision, it fascinated him.

"I know how to kill them," Cordelia said breathlessly.

Doyle nodded and would have smiled if he didn't have such a sense of urgency, her screams of pain had to have alerted the scourge to their location. "We'd better go tell Angel," He said as he stood up, dragging her to her feet along with him. "Come on."

"He should be back by now," Angel said, pacing the floor like a man possessed. "We should go find them."

"And how, exactly, do you propose to do that?" Wesley asked. He had an ice pack on his head and a black eye that would only get worse before it got better, but other than that he was back to his old self. "He didn't exactly leave an itinerary for the evening."

"I could put out an APB on him," Kate offered. She was slowly stiring her coffee with her left hand as her right hand, tightly bandaged, was lying in her lap. Angel had insisted she go to the hospital, she had insisted she stay, and because he couldn't take her and Wesley probably should have been committed to the hospital himself, so he was in no condition to force Kate. With a couple of the pain killers that the hospital had given Cordelia and a lot of coffee she was, more or less, herself.

Angel shook his head, "No, the police can't get involved in this."

"Why not?" Kate demanded. "We need all the help we can get."

"The police can't fight them," Angel said. "Your world's rules and laws don't apply once the sun sets."

"Well, what do you suggest?"

"Super soakers!"

If Angel had a heart, it would have stopped. He swung around to see a much-the-worse-for-the-wear Cordelia Chase standing behind him. In the blink of an eye he was next to her, and Wesley and Kate was right on his heels.

"Cordelia," Angel said as he put his hands on her shoulders. Her skin was cold to the touch and she was trembling ever so slightly. Her eyes were huge but not all together focused, and Angel knew she was surviving on pure adrenalin.

"Holy water," she gasped, looking Angel right in the eyes. "A lot of it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Cordelia," Wesley said, voice filled with concern. "You need to rest."

"Not yet," She said, shaking her head. "We have to go back now."

"Back?" Angel asked, "Back where?"

"To save Doyle."

"Cordelia, what happened."

"He pushed me out of the window," She said. "Right into a trash bin. I waited for him . . . but he didn't come." Her trembles were almost violent, she would have been crying but she had run out of tears. "We have to go back. They'll kill him . . . again!"

"Calm down," Angel said, his own voice filled with alarm. "That won't happen."

"I was sitting in the trash bin, waiting, and I heard him scream." She shut her eyes and took shaky breaths, "It wasn't one of those frightened screams or attack screams. They hurt him."

"We will get him back," Angel promised her. "But first we need a plan of attack."

Cordelia's eyes shot open, "I told you!" she said passionately. "Super Soakers!"

"Cordelia," Wesley scoffed, not unkindly.

"With holy water in them!" The three people looked at her skeptically.

"You're tired," Angel's voice was low and soft and kind and horribly patronizing. "And you've had a . . ."

"NO!" she yelled, backing away from the group of them. "I know what I saw! The PTB told me! They don't want him to die again, you have to listen!"

"Time out," Kate said. "You're saying we should attack these guys with water guns filled with holy water?"

Cordelia was oblivious to how bizarre her claim was. "Exactly!"

"But I thought the scourge was made up of Harrgid demons."

"It is," Angel said distantly as he set Cordelia gently down on the couch and turned to his book shelf.

"But any Tom Dick or Harry knows that Harggid demons can't be killed by any weapon forged by man," Wesley said. Kate wondered which Toms, Dicks, and Harrys he knew. "And unless I'm mistaken, water pistols are forged by man."

Angel pulled down a very worn volume of an old book. It was the kind of book Kate expected to be covered with dust. However, Angel's volume seemed to be frequently used.

"You're right Wesley," Angel said as he flipped through the old book. "Featured word, weapon."

Finally, he found the page he was looking for. He turned the book around, presumably so Kate, Wesley, and Cordelia, who pushed herself off of the couch, could read the text. However, the words on the text were Greek, or more correctly medieval Latin, to the two women.

Wesley, however, read it with considerably less trouble than he usually read Dilbert.

"Of course," Wesley said, Cordelia could practically see the light go on behind the ex-watchers eyes. "The story of Father Tailbath."

"Father Tailbath?" Kate asked.

"An Orthodox Priest in a small town just outside of Byzantium," Wesley explained. "Either during the second or the fourth crusade, we're not entirely sure."

"A Harggid demon was leading the attack on his church, where most of the town was hiding," Angel explained. "The demons finally broke into the church and massacred the people. Legend has it that Father Tailbath, in desperation, threw a bowl filled with holy water at the demon." Angel supplied. "It killed him."

"Burned off his flesh," Wesley supplied, before Kate could ask how. "Similar to how acid would affect us, I'd imagine."

"So your saying a squirt gun filled with holy water will do what my (gun) couldn't?"

"Essentially,"

"Yeah"

"Duh!" Cordy said. "I told you that. Now we have to save Doyle!"

Angel snapped the book shut with a thud, Kate thought that it would crumble, but it didn't. The frivolous thought skipped through her mind that maybe magic was holding it together. She dismissed it instantly, but upon second thought she had to admit that magic was as plausible an answer as any.

"Alright," Angel said. "Wesley, get holy water, I'll get the water guns, Kate," He glanced tentatively at the two women who looked so eager to help. "Take Cordelia to the hospital, and have someone look at your hand while your there."

"NO!" Kate and Cor said simultaneously.

"I'm going with you," Kate said matter of factly.

"You don't want to be part of this," Angel said.

"The hell I don't," Kate said. "You expect me to let you just go in there."

"I know what I'm fighting."

"Really," Kate said, tilting her head. "And do you know what you're fighting with? I've done my reading, Angel, if you get caught in the cross fire you're not going to fair that much better then the demons you're fighting."

"I'm a very carefull person."

"Your not much good to anybody dead."

"Fine," Angel sighed, "We can drop Cordelia off at the hospitail on the way . . ."

"No," Cordelia said. "I'm going with you."

"Cordelia," Angel said with the pacients of a father. "You're in no condition to fight."

"And you're in no condition to find the place where the scourge is keeping him," Cordelia insisted. "I was there, I can take you." Angel opened his mouth to say something, but Cordy didn't give him the chance. "We don't have time to argue!" she insisted. "Doyle's dying."

Angel nodded, seceding the young girls point, but not saying anything about it. "Alright, lets go."

The funny thing about pain, Doyle thought, was it was a lot like temperature. There was light pain, like a slight chill, and there was sharp pain, like cold winter winds, and there was aching pain, like days worth of cold, and there was absolute pain, which was similar to absolute zero, no matter how much cold (or pain) was added, it couldn't go beyond a certain point. That's were Doyle was. His hands, tied so tightly to the chair in which he was slumped, should have ached or tingled, but he didn't feel a thing. As the leader of the scourge slapped him he knew that it should have hurt, but it didn't. Of course the sounds coming out of the leaders mouth should have made sense, (they had at the beginning of his interrogation) but they didn't. He was only loosely connected to the material world, and he could have quite easily floated away at any minute. But he didn't want to. He was not entirely conscious, and he was in a great deal of pain, but he knew that Cordelia had escaped and that she would get Angel and that if he could just live long enough he would be rescued. In short, he had hope, and that kept him alive.

The leader of the scourge grabbed his face and forced Doyle to look at him. The Irishman wouldn't have noticed except his eyes had been taped open. The demon started screaming things, Doyle only caught about a third of it, "Half-breed . . . pain . . . fear . . . clan . . . hide . . . death . . . impurity . . . disgust."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Doyle slurred. Had he been not so numbed by pain he would have kept himself from muttering it out loud, but the part of his brain that conforms what he thought into what he said had turned itself off.

The leader did not like his apparent insolence. He backhanded Doyle, again, but this time with as much force as his demonic form could generate. It would have knocked Doyle out of the chair, only he was tied to it, so he brought the chair down with him.

The world exploded into white light when his head hit the floor, and then the only color he could see was green, which was curious. He wanted to blink in hopes of regaining his normal spectrum of vision, but his eyes had been taped open and so he didn't have the option. Of course, neither did he have the option of closing his eyes for what happened next.

The leader of the scourge was leaning over Doyle with a devilish grin on his face. His mouth opened, most likely to make more indistinguishable comments, but that's not what came out. He screamed, a horrible scream not because it awakened pity, but because it didn't. Even if Doyle hadn't known what the demon had done, he, with his huge heart, wouldn't have felt pity for that scream. It was a scream that somehow communicated that the screamer deserved whatever horrible thing was happening to them. To accent the scream, the leaders face contorted in a horrible expression of pain and surprise. Not surprise in the fact that he was in pain, although that was there too, but surprised by what pain felt like, as if he had never felt it before.

The demon's face contorted, and then appeared to dissolve, right in front of Doyle's eyes. The skin melted away, then the muscle, then the bone, then there was nothing. Doyle would have closed his eyes, if he could have, and he would have been horrified if he had had the energy. So as he watched his torturer melt in front of him, the only emotion he could find was mild disbelief.

The demon was still dissolving, and his scream, or perhaps the screams of all the other scourge demons, were still echoing in his ears when he saw Cordelia run up to him and kneel, her face in almost the exact position the demons had been in seconds before. He should have been surprised or relived or elated, or something. But he was numb and even the sensation of her cool hands on his face felt distant and unreal.

"Oh my god, Doyle," she sobbed as she fumbled with knot on his gag. Doyle started to notice that he was getting wet. He simply accepted it, without wondering where it was coming

from. The gag fell off and he could have closed his mouth, but it didn't occur to him. However, when Cor ripped the tape off of his eye lids, his eyes slid shut instantly. The blackness was warm and welcoming and he fell into it without hesitation. He would have slipped totally into the void, forgetting everything, but Cordelia's voice somehow transcended to his dark empty oasis. "Doyle, don't die," her voice was heaving and he could feel her hands gently stroking his forehead. "Please," she begged, "Don't die again."

"No worries Darlin'," he muttered, not really realizing that he was making any noise. "You're here, they're gone, no worries."

***

He smelled eggs. Then he heard noise, which eventually developed into voices, and then a conversation.

". . . and you know, I saw it, but I didn't realize how truly gross melty demons would be," Cordelia's not quite melodic voice said.

"Orange juice?" Angel asked.

"Yes please," Wesley said.

"Cordelia?"

"Sure," she said. "I mean, why do demons always have to die in icky ways?"

"Icky?" Wesley asked.

"Yeah," Cor chimed. "I mean demons in general tend to be icky, with the notable exception," she added softly. "But their deaths . . . ugh! Like that one demon, with the arm!" There was a pause.

"The arm?" Wesley asked, his voice was hesitant, as if he wasn't quite sure if he wanted the whole story.

"Yeah," Cordy said excitedly. "You remember, don't you Angel. That one that Spike and Dru put together like a puzzle, what was his name?"

"The Judge," Angel said softly.

"Yeah! Do you remember how gross it was when he died?"

"Is this really breakfast conversation?" Wesley asked, he was ignored.

"He had this whole thing," she lowered her voice, to comically imitate the demon. "'No weapon made by man can kill me!' and so then Xander and I had to sneak into an army base, in the middle of the night, when it was raining! And then he told the guard that we were going to have sex, as if!"

"I thought the two of you had a fairly physical relationship at that time," Angel said, eager to change the subject.

"I don't remember that ever being any of your business," Cordy said, obviously offended.

"And the Judge?" Wesley asked, not letting Angel get away with his sly subject change.

"We stole this bazooka and Buffy blew him into like a million pieces! And then, we had to pick all the pieces up! I thought I was going to puke."

"That does sound unpleasant."

"It was horrible, just ask Angel."

"Don't ask me," Angel warned softly.

"But it did have it's upsides," Cordy mused. "You should have seen the look on his face right before he exploded. Do you remember that Angel?"

"I . . . ah, was looking elsewhere?"

"Like where?" Cordy asked innocently.

"Down the barrel of the bazooka," Angel said softly.

"But that would," she started, then she remembered the whole even more clearly, and who had been on which side. "Oh," she relented softly.

There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, finally the silence drove Wesley nuts. "What?!" he asked.

"Umm, it was really icky," Cordelia said, glancing towards Angel.

"Yeah," Angle agreed.

"Okay. Angel do you have any syrup?" the crisp British accent asked.

"Syrup?" Cordelia asked, obviously disgusted. "On eggs?"

"Yes," Wesley said, sounding as if there was food in his mouth. "It's quite good."

"Quite disgusting more like it," Cordy said. "What is it with you English and food?"

There was a pause, "Kidney pie, Marmalade, Haggis, blood pudding."

"I've had blood pudding," Doyle muttered from his place on Angel's bed as he opened his eyes and propped himself up on his shoulders. "It's not as bad as all that."

"DOYLE!" Angel and Cordelia yelled in nearly perfect unison. Angel set down his frying pan and ran over to his bed. Cordelia was on his heels. However, every time she stood up she had a dizzy spell, and that slowed her down just a tad. By the time she got to the bed Angel had pushed Doyle back down to a full reclining position.

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, not bad, considering," he tried to smile, but his jaw had been broken and his smile brought him more pain so it was quickly replaced by a wince.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Room service, oh, this is nice. I should be kidnaped by humanity hating demons more often."

"If you ever put us through anything even remotely like this ever again," Cordy said with passion, "I swear I'm going to kill you myself!"

"Ah, gee, thanks Cordelia," Doyle said, actively forcing himself not to smile. "It's great to know you care."

"It's good to have you back," Angel said, meaning it with all of his hard-won soul.

"It's good to be back, man." Doyle replied with equal fervor. "I'm never gonna leave again, I can promise you that."

Doyle's vision was blurred, and the lighting in Angels apartment wasn't that great, so he didn't quite see the tears of joy that rimed Cordelia's eyes, or the way that Angel blinked to keep his eye's from watering too much. But still, Doyle knew. "So," he asked, trying to break the sentimental mood. "Is that eggs I smell?"

"I'll help you to the table." Angel said reaching down to take his friend's hands. "We were just starting breakfast."

The End.