10. That Old Gang of Mine, Part III
Angel came. He saw. He kicked some ass… with a little help from his friends, The Furies, who Cordelia must have convinced to lift the sanctuary spell on Caritas, allowing demon violence to take place, just in the nick of time.
Even more surprising, Fred, of all people, kicked some serious ass of her own. Hers wasn't literal, but she had stepped up in the clinch, using her fragile appearance to her advantage and affording them the crucial extra seconds needed for the Furies to undo the Caritas mojo.
Gunn had guessed what Rondell and Gio's objective was in bringing Angel to the club—they hadn't wanted to kill the vampire; they had wanted Gunn to kill him. And despite any misgivings Gunn may have about Angel's status as a demon—or Doyle's, for that matter—he had stood steadfast. He was unwilling to kill his allies.
But, Fred—she had stepped up; claimed she was willing to do what Gunn would not. She'd taken the crossbow from Gio and had pointed it right at Angel, insisting she didn't want to die in this place. Angel had understood—no one could blame her for feeling that way. After all she'd been through, she was a natural survivor. She'd do what needed to be done… which, in this case, was turning the bow on Gio and telling him in no uncertain terms just how long it would take him to bleed to death after Fred punctured his carotid artery.
No one had seen that coming, least of all Doyle.
For a few seconds there, they were all certain she was going to do it. Maybe she would have, if Gio hadn't yanked the bow from her hand and aimed it at Angel himself. There was no question he would have shot, if a bright light hadn't exploded throughout the room, putting an end to the sanctuary spell and allowing Angel to spring into action along with Doyle, Gunn, Wesley and all other able-bodied demons left standing in the club. Doyle had slugged a few guys, knocking their guns to the floor—he was making his way toward Gio, when the man's head was suddenly eclipsed—and removed—by an enormous insect-like demon, who was subsequently gunned down by the man named Rondell.
Now it was done. A ceasefire had kept there from being further bloodshed or loss of life, human or demon. All things considered, it was the best possible outcome that could've been expected.
"Gotta say, love. You're one hell of an actress. I believed you'd do the deed." Doyle commented to Fred as he held a cab door open for her. "Maybe Cordy should hook ya up with her old talent manager."
Fred was beaming proudly as she ducked into the cab and slid over so he could climb in beside her. "It was nothing." She demurred, a rosy blush creeping into her cheeks. "Just a standard reversal of expectations, that's all."
From the corner of his eye, Doyle could see Penny lingering on the sidewalk, a few steps removed from the rapidly thinning crowd of demons and gangbangers. The man was straightening his fedora and smoothing down his suit jacket. He had no reason to hang around, unless, of course, his business with Doyle wasn't quite finished yet.
Sticking his head into the cab, Doyle addressed Fred and the driver simultaneously. "It'll just be another minute, yeah?"
As Doyle approached Penny, the other demon stuck out a hand. Although, Doyle was taken aback by the gesture, he took the hand that was offered and shook it firmly.
"I always knew you was good half-people, Doyle." Penny said amicably, silently adding his thanks for Doyle's protection during the traumatic events. He reached for his jacket, opening it so he could access his breast pocket. From there he procured a small rectangular piece of paper and held it out between two fingers. "Looks like I owe you that favor you asked for."
Doyle stared down at the nondescript piece of paper, which featured the letters I.O.U. and a phone number in tiny print. Grinning down at the card and flipping it over in his hands, Doyle looked up to see that Penny had begun to walk away.
Holding up the card to Penny's back, Doyle called out. "Will I be left holding a joker after you're gone?"
Penny paused, and turned back to Doyle, giving his fedora a little tip. "Hope to see you back at the tables." He answered with an impish grin. "Consider yourself welcome at mine."
Turning away once more, Penny disappeared into the night.
Doyle shoved the card into the pocket of his beat-up leather jacket, and turned back to the rest of the action. Mostly everyone had left the premises by now, but Angel and Gunn still lingered a few feet away, looking as if they were clearing the air. As Doyle made his way closer to the two men, he could overhear the tale end of what passed for Gunn's version of an apology. "No matter what else, I think I proved that you can trust me when I could have killed you and I didn't."
"No." Angel objected, momentarily catching Doyle's eye over Gunn's shoulder. "You'll prove that I can trust you when day comes that you have to kill me, and you do."
Letting those words land, Angel turned away from Gunn and proceeded toward Doyle.
"Y'know, I really wish you'd stop telling all your friends to kill ya." Doyle said with a reproachful shake of his head. "Kind of a buzzkill."
Angel's hands slid easily into his pockets and he gave a little shrug. "Doesn't mean we can't get along."
"I'd like to think he didn't mean all that business 'bout not being friends." Doyle confessed. "I mean, the fact that I don't currently have a bullet in my brain and you don't have a stake through the heart—that's gotta mean something."
"It means he's got priorities." Angel allowed. "And right now, those priorities include us."
"Well, let's keep it that way, yeah? If anything should keep ya from getting too happy, it's the thought of getting on Gunn's bad side." Doyle replied, nodding toward the cab that was waiting to take him back to the hotel along with Fred. "Wanna ride with us?"
"Think I could use the walk." Angel answered distractedly, moving off in the same direction Penny had disappeared earlier.
Doyle looked after him, mumbling under his breath. "Yeah, bud. I know the feeling."
The cab pulled up to the familiar wrought iron gates of the Hyperion Hotel and Doyle could see a slender, dark-haired figure pacing nervously behind them. He was eager to scoop her into his arms and kiss her senseless. After a brush with death, there was nothing Doyle wanted more than her. She was his solace—able to cleanse away all the bad and replace it with good.
Fred got out of the cab first and Doyle slid out behind her, only pausing to hand some cash to the driver. He hopped out onto the sidewalk, and was instantly tackled by the torpedo that was his girlfriend. He caught her just as both his feet hit the ground, and nearly tottered backward into the street. The cab drove off behind him. Over Cordelia's shoulder, he could see Fred dart inconspicuously through the front gates, leaving the two lovers to their happy reunion.
"I was so worried." Cordelia breathed into his ear, squeezing him tightly against her bosom.
He chuckled heartily as he held her close, "Ya already knew I was coming back in one piece, darlin'." He was able move back just enough to see her face, affectionately brushing his thumb against the side of her cheek. "We all survived thanks to you. How did ya convince those Furies to remove their spell anyway?"
"The magic word was Angel." She informed him, wrinkling up her face in disgust for a moment. "Those three mystical floozies are big fans of his equipment. I was just the messenger."
Stepping out of her embrace, he offered her the crook of his arm instead. "Care to tell me about it over a slice o' pie?"
She considered his offer, as she slid her arm around his elbow. "Not exactly the type of dessert I had in mind."
"We can have the other kind when we get home, yeah?" He promised, as they began to leisurely stroll away from the hotel. "I know how all the life-or-death stuff works ya up."
Cordelia laughed, "You know me so well."
He winked down at her flirtatiously—and then she abruptly stopped walking. Frozen in place, the smile fell from her lips and her eyes widened, fixed on some unknown spot in the distance.
"Cordy? What is it?" He asked, searching the darkness ahead and seeing nothing of interest. Nor did he sense anything around them that would give her pause.
Then he realized, it wasn't something she had seen… it was something she was about to see!
A split second before her body rocked forward, he caught her. What followed was a blood-curdling scream as the first vision she'd ever experienced tore through her brain. Doyle clung to her, easing her down to the sidewalk as she writhed and thrashed against him.
He knew it was going to be hard to watch her go through this. He just didn't realize how hard.
The seconds ticked by—it felt like she was having the longest vision ever sent, when in fact, it probably was shorter than the vast majority of visions he'd experienced. Still, he was insanely relieved when the life came back into her eyes and she was released from the Higher Powers' latest message. As the invisible horrors ebbed away, he felt her body shudder.
She immediately reached up, placing her hands against her neck. "I saw… oh God." She mumbled incoherently as tears began to roll down over her cheeks. "No."
"It's okay." Doyle soothed, rocking her gently against his chest. He had the oddest sense of reverse Déjà vu. Countless times he'd come out of the haze of a vision to find himself lying in Cordelia's arms, blubbering into her clothing. He'd heard her say the exact same meaningless words he was now uttering to her. Knowing that they were completely untrue, because nothing about a vision was ever okay. "Just breathe… and tell me what ya saw."
"Her head. It came off." She choked, her tearful eyes finally landing on his, which were filled with concern. "She was so young."
A decapitation. Why did her first vision have to be so brutal? Couldn't she have been eased in with something simple, like a vampire bite or a werewolf mauling?
"I can taste the blood." She sniffled, still keeping her hands wrapped around her throat—he knew what that was about. She was making sure it wasn't her own head that had been removed from her body. For a few seconds there, it was probably hard to tell.
"Cordy." He whispered, cradling her as close to his chest as humanly possible. "We're gonna stop it—whatever ya saw. It's not gonna happen. Ya hear me?"
That seemed to do the trick. She let go of her neck and began furiously wiping away her tears. She nodded and sat up a little straighter, allowing him to help her back to her feet. Once they were both standing, he eased his arm around her back and ushered her toward the entrance of the hotel.
Doyle may not have experienced the vision personally, but he felt the same sense of rapidly building urgency he always did. The sense of urgency that was undoubtedly now building inside of Cordelia, and would keep growing until the mission was over.
Once inside, they would call the others and figure out how to save the girl.
They had to—they were the only ones who could.
A/N- Just popping in to say thanks for the continued readership and feedback. Ever since I started writing these Doyle-centric rewrites, I knew I wanted to explore a Cordy/Doyle role reversal at some point, and season 3 (being so very vision-centric) seemed like the right time to do it. So, yes, belated warning... I am going to be putting Cordy through hell on a regular basis, compliments of the PTB. There will be some ups and downs for both she and Doyle as they adjust to their new dynamic, but, I worked hard to keep them both in-character (as I see them) and highlight their strengths and weaknesses throughout the entire journey (because that's what makes it interesting). Hope you will keep an open mind and most of all, hope you will enjoy the fun! xx