"Judgment," Part III

He trailed his lips up the side of her neck, gave a little bite, and was greeted with a throaty giggle, which would've encouraged him further had she not leaned away to pour more wine into each of their glasses that were sitting empty on the coffee table beside them.

"Do you hear that?" Cordelia asked, pouring carefully to avoid further stains on her precious living room carpet.

"I don't hear anything." Doyle replied, his eyes still focused on the bare skin he'd been nibbling on seconds earlier, eager to pick up where he'd left off.

She turned to him with a smile that could eclipse the sun, and pushed a now full glass of wine into his waiting hand. "Exactly! Nothing. No Wesley droning on about some hideous creature he found in a book; no Angel being deafeningly stealthy. Instead, they're out helping the demon from your vision protect some pregnant chick. And we have the night off. Totally and completely alone… except for Dennis, but he doesn't count."

"I did notice that, yeah. The alone bit." Doyle chuckled, admiring the rather healthy portion of wine she'd just poured for him, and arching a skeptical brow in its direction. She wasn't generally the type to encourage his indulgence in alcohol, nor was she the type to partake in so much of it herself. But tonight she seemed to be in an overly generous mood; far be it for him to deter her. "I'm glad to see you're cutting loose, but I'm still on-call, y'know."

"It's a good thing you realized the demon was a good guy. If Angel had killed him, that would've been so embarrassing." Cordelia enthused, completely ignoring what he'd just said about being on call. He could see the glimmer of intoxication in her eyes as she tilted her head at him adoringly. "Have I ever told you how good you are at your job, Doyle?"

"Ya usually go with obsessed, can't say you've ever mentioned that I'm good at it." Doyle responded amicably, watching as she took another generous sip from her own wine glass. "Ah, maybe ya should slow it down there, Princess. Not saying I don't appreciate the celebratory mood, but if I'm gonna have my way with ya, I'd rather do it while you're sober enough to consent."

"Hello, Mr. Pot, meet Miss Kettle." She snorted, with only a mild hint of exasperation. "Do you want me to remind you how many drinks you had at the bar last night while you were supposed to be 'working'?"

"I'd really rather ya didn't." He admitted, placing his full wine glass back down untouched, as he reflected on the massive hangover he'd started the day with.

"I'm just a little tipsy." She assured him with a coy smile. She slinked closer to him on the couch, balancing her glass of wine precariously. "And I totally consent."

"Ah, you do, d'ya? Consent to what exactly?" He asked, helping her balance herself, so she and her wine wouldn't go tumbling off the couch. Admittedly, he thought her drunken seduction techniques were rather adorable, and didn't happen nearly often enough.

"Use your imagination, Doyle." She teased.

"Well, let's see, we could rehearse that scene for your acting class again—start with a little role-playing and see where it leads. Although, I'm hoping ya won't feel compelled to slap me around like last time… Hey, wait. What night is it?" He asked as a thought suddenly dawned on him. "Aren't ya supposed to be in your acting class right now?"

"I skipped it." She said with a shrug, taking another quick sip of her wine before abandoning her half-full glass on the coffee table beside his completely full one. "I decided this was more important."

She had moved so close to him, that she was practically sitting in his lap and her eyes and fingers had darted to the buttons on his shirt, signaling that she was ready for phase two of the night's activities, which didn't include much in the way of talking. "You, me. Alone… finally."

Her lips grazed his teasingly, but didn't land there, which allowed him to respond in a huskier voice than he had anticipated. "Your decision to make, love. And, for the record, I'm really glad ya made it." He mumbled, quickly becoming mesmerized by her nearness.

As her lips finally found their way to his, he encouraged her to climb the rest of the way onto his lap, which she did eagerly. His hands were in her hair, and hers were clawing at his clothes, and it was only moments later he was scooping her up and flipping her onto her back, grinding her into the couch cushions as they made out feverishly. His shirt had been tossed on the floor and hers was next on the agenda—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Doyle's lips lifted an inch away from Cordelia's, but she wasn't so easily dissuaded, keeping her hands wrapped around his head in an attempt to draw his mouth back down toward her own. "Keep kissing me." She mumbled demandingly, giving the side of his jaw a sexy nibble.

"Did ya hear that?" Doyle wondered, wrinkling his brow and wondering if there was, in fact, anything to hear after all. He was intoxicated enough by Cordelia's kisses that he was willing to believe there'd been nothing.

"It's the neighbor's door." She insisted.

But the moment he started to pick up where he'd left off—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They both froze in place this time, looking up at the front door with equal parts annoyance and bewilderment.

"They couldn't possibly be done already." Cordelia grumbled from underneath him, her lips were swollen and red from all the kissing and she was breathing heavily. "I thought finding the Tribunal would take all night."

"It's not them." Doyle answered, sensing that whoever stood on the opposite side of that door was neither vampire, nor familiar; and ignoring the fact that he shouldn't be able to do such a thing. He sighed heavily, lifting his body off Cordelia's, snatching his shirt from the floor and moving closer to the front door of the apartment. "Who's there?" He hollered, as he hastily threw his shirt back on.

"Gunn." Came the dull response through the thick wood.

Cordelia stood up from the couch and began hastily re-buttoning her blouse. "Someone with a gun?" She asked with alarm. "Should I call the police?"

"Angel sent me." The voice on the other side of the door added, sensing the hesitation from within the apartment.

"Someone named Gunn. Two Ns." Doyle cheated a glance at Cordelia to make sure she was decent and gestured to her blouse. "Missed a button." He said helpfully, before turning to the front door and opening it halfway. "Gunn is it?" Doyle asked in greeting, his disappointment at being interrupted giving way to genuine curiosity about the tall dark-skinned man standing before him to whom he'd yet to be properly introduced. "Angel's told us a lot about ya."

"I remember you." Gunn stated evenly, moving into the apartment to take in the place. He glanced over at Cordelia who had fixed her blouse and was now smoothing down her mussed hair. "Her, too. Ya'll were there the night Angel ran those vamps outta my 'hood."

"And you came all this way to thank us?" Cordelia wondered with a saccharine smile. "You really shouldn't have."

"I also saw you in the hospital. My crew guarded the place while you were out of commission." Gunn continued, turning his back on the two of them to check out the rest of the cluttered apartment, giving special note to the whiteboard, before spinning back to face them. "Glad you're not dead, bro."

"Ah… yeah, me too." Doyle agreed, closing the door and promptly realizing his belt buckle was undone. He secured the belt through its loop, and saw that the action wasn't lost on Gunn. The new arrival glanced at the wine glasses on the coffee table and came to a swift and accurate conclusion as to what he'd just walked in on.

"Angel sent me 'cause ya'll weren't answering the phone." Gunn explained. "He's out fighting for his life in some demon Tribunal and you two are getting some action. That typically how it goes 'round here?"

"Listen, bud, if Angel had called, I woulda answered." Doyle insisted more than a little defensively. "The phone hasn't rang all night."

Even as he defended himself, Doyle had a sinking feeling. He slowly turned toward his girlfriend who was smiling back at him cutely, and looking utterly guilty as charged. Suddenly her all-too-generous wine-pouring was making a lot more sense. "Okay, so I may have unplugged it." She admitted. "But, Angel wasn't supposed to be fighting tonight. He was just looking, right? That Prio Motu guy is the one who should be fighting."

"I'm guessing this Prio Motu guy is a big, ugly demon, right?" Gunn guessed. "Heavy on the ugly."

"That's the one." Doyle confirmed, still frowning in Cordelia's direction. He should've known she was up to something, pushing all that wine on him. She never did that. In fact, she generally did the opposite. The fact that he'd missed the giant red flag—or rather, had willfully ignored it—made him at least partly responsible.

"Yeah… he's dead." Gunn said bluntly. "Angel's taking his place."

"Oh, that's not good." Cordelia realized, dropping her cutesy act and promptly joining Doyle on the concerned train.

"Tell me Angel hasn't found the Tribunal yet." Doyle hoped.

"He didn't have to find it." Gunn said matter-of-factly. "It found him. Actually, it found that pregnant lady. Good thing he was with her. My truck's out front, I can take you there."

"What about Wesley? Did ya see him?" Doyle asked, grabbing his beat up leather jacket and slipping his arms into the sleeves.

"English?" Gunn asked. "Yeah, he was there. Angel sent him to some magic shop—said something about a contingency plan, if Angel loses the fight. And in case it wasn't clear, losing means dying."

"Let's go." Doyle said anxiously, heading toward the door and then stopping short as he sensed Cordelia moving along with them. "Ya don't have to come along, darlin'. Unlike me, you were actually promised the night off."

"I know, but you have to go. Angel needs you and you need me, that's how this works." She said earnestly. "Plus, I'm already missing my acting class. I might as well do something useful."

With that she marched past him with her chin held high and proceeded out the front door to Gunn's awaiting truck.

"She's drunk, isn't she?" Gunn asked as he followed her out.

"Little bit." Doyle replied, following them both and closing the door behind him.


Doyle drove up the long, winding path to the Federal Penitentiary, which currently counted one vampire slayer as part of its general population. It was too bad Doyle had a vampire in the car beside him, otherwise it'd be a lovely day to drive around with the top down. As it was, Angel remained huddled under his heavy dark coat in the passenger seat, avoiding the stray streams of light that permeated the windshield and passenger side window.

"I noticed ya took the whiteboard down." Doyle mentioned offhandedly, having watched Angel do exactly that after winning the prior night's Tribunal. It was the exact opposite of what Doyle had expected, considering the set-em-up and knock-em-down philosophy they'd been living by for the past few months.

"It's not a race." Angel answered simply, from beneath the layer of cloth. "I let myself forget that and it almost cost me. I almost lost last night."

"I'm awfully glad ya didn't. I'd be out of a job, for one thing." Doyle joked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "But, ah…being that focused on the finish line—makes it a little too easy to lose sight o' how to get there, yeah?"

"That's when mistakes get made." Angel agreed, shifting from underneath the coat as Doyle pulled into the prison parking lot, and proceeded toward the section enveloped in shade. "You've been trying to tell me that for months, I just wasn't listening."

"I think we all got caught up in the excitement of the big cosmic reward." Doyle said diplomatically as he stopped the car a few feet from the front entrance of the prison, leaving a clear, shady path for Angel to travel from the vehicle to the building without going up in flames. "All of us are willing participants in this fight, man. Or, mostly-willing in Cordy's case."

"The score-keeping has to stop." Angel clarified. "We keep fighting, one battle at a time, as they come to us."

"Leaving the score-keeping to the pros, then?" Doyle guessed, turning off the ignition and half turning to his passenger. "Sounds like there's potential for getting a night off one of these days."

Angel made no move to leave the car yet, nodding along with what Doyle had just said. "Cordelia's right—I've been working you all too hard. And you've all gone along with it, but… it's not fair. You have human lives to live; you should be living them."

"She told ya she unplugged the phone last night, didn't she?" Doyle guessed, with a small chuckle.

"She felt really bad about it." Angel replied, flashing a miniscule grin of his own. "Promised she'd work on replacing your broken cell phone."

Angel finally leaned forward and opened the door to exit the car. He paused to look questioningly at Doyle who hadn't move. "Aren't you coming?"

"You go on ahead, man. I'd better park somewhere legal, just in case they're sticklers about that sorta thing." Doyle said, leaning back in his seat and resting his arm on the back of the opposite one. Truthfully, he wanted Angel to have a few minutes alone with Faith. The two of them needed each other far more than they needed Doyle tagging along.

Angel shook his head in agreement, and shut the car door behind him as he proceeded toward the prison entrance, leaving Doyle alone in the parking lot with a rapidly forming grin. It always made his job that much easier when Angel came to epiphanies on his own; like, for instance, realizing that each soul mattered just as much now as it had when they'd first started. Doyle had been hinting as much for weeks, waiting for Angel to come down from his Shanshu-high and see the forest for the trees again. Thankfully, it hadn't cost Angel more than some rather exhausted—and in Cordelia's case, cranky—employees.

Now it was back to the mission statement—helping the hopeless; saving one soul at a time. It would be a long road ahead, but so far, Doyle felt confident that they were on the right path. He didn't need to see the future to know that. They were headed toward that distant finish line where redemption surely waited.


A/N- Just a quick note to say thank you for reading so far. And for the reviews, which are ever so fun for ME to read. ;)

Regarding the question of where Doyle will choose to go once he hits that proverbial fork in the road (or where that fork is, for that matter)... well, that's really *the* question, isn't it? For Doyle as well as us. That's going to be a big part of this story, so I don't want to give anything away. But I promise, it won't take too long for that issue to be addressed.

Also, as you've probably guessed, this story will be updated fairly regularly, but it's also really, REALLY long, so it's going to take a while to get to the end no matter how often I post chapters. Hope you will all be patient and stick with me to the very end!