A/N - slight AU timeline in this chapter

Cordelia stared into the pool that was her window to the outside world. She was watching Angel - naturally - watching him grieve. For Fred. For Wes. He and Spike were on their Wolfram and Hart jet, returning to Los Angeles, after their failure at the deeper well. Spike was attempting to get drunk from the tiny bottles of Jack Daniels on board the plane. After trying - and failing - he put the bottle down. 'Thousands would have died if we'd saved her.'

'Yeah,' Angel's voice was heavy. He knew. But it was little consolation.

'She wouldn't have wanted that.'

Her champion sighed. 'Yeah.' Cordelia's eyes filled with tears. 'I tried calling Wesley,' Angel told the other vampire, 'there was no answer.'

'I guess she's gone then.' Spike went back to contemplating the unfairness that was a miniature bottle of alcohol. But Angel's mind still dwelt on Fred. 'What does that even mean?' he asked.

'Let it go, sweetie,' the higher power whispered - but of course, down on the lower planes, Angel could not hear her.

'Gone,' he said to Spike - repeating his own words back at him, 'what does it mean that she's gone?'

'Well…' Spike creased his forehead, as he considered the question. It was just the kind of platitude one said in this situation. A euphemism for dead. 'In the world of men, a person dies, they stay that way.'

'Unless you're a vampire,' Angel pointed out.

'Or the ghost of one that saved the world,' Spike said - his brow lifting, as he finally caught Angel's drift.

'Or Buffy,' Angel finished up. 'Death doesn't have to be the end, not in our world. Rules can be broken. All you have to do is … push hard enough.' They both looked hopeful.

Up in the heavenly planes, Cordelia closed her eyes, 'no, sweetie - you have to leave it alone,' she said. But the two vampires couldn't hear. And even if they could, they were not yet ready to listen.

'Cordelia, Princess,' she felt someone tugging at her arm - and knew it was Doyle. She opened her eyes again and looked at the half demon. 'Y' gotta come away from there,' he told her. 'We did what we could - and they'll be OK, in time. But there's no point torturin' yourself watchin' their grief. Y' can't help them with that. Y' gotta follow your own advice - leave it alone.'

'I'm a higher power,' she protested, though she allowed herself to be pulled away, 'I'm supposed to help them through this.'

'No,' he said to her simply. 'Grief - that's part of the normal world, and people have to deal with that alone. The higher powers are there for the big picture stuff - balancing the scales.'

'Well right now the scales are off balance!' she retorted. 'Fred is dead, an old one walks the earth, and the champions who serve us are grief stricken - and they're going to waste their time searching for solutions that don't exist. This is a big win for the other side. We have to help. I have to help. It's what I'm here for.'

Although her words had started out snappish, by the end of her sentence, her voice had taken on a pleading note. Doyle stared at her, looking into her brown eyes - and seeing the way they were practically imploring him to agree with her; beseeching him to tell her that she was right, and that there was something she could do to help. She might be the higher power - but she wanted his support. He took a deep breath. He worked for Cordelia, was her servant. And he loved her - more than he ever loved anybody in his life. He couldn't refuse to be there for when she needed him, couldn't bear to not give her what she wanted. Even if he feared it would be ultimately fruitless. Even if it might hurt her later - he had to help her now. He wasn't strong enough to resist.

He nodded, slowly. 'OK,' he said. 'I guess the women and me could start looking up … somethin' - that might help him. We'll hit the books.' He gestured towards the library that stood in her throne room. 'I can't promise anythin', though,' he warned, 'y' know that … there really might not be anythin' we can do for him.'

But Cordelia beamed at him - her brightest, ten thousand kilowatt smile. She was confident there was something they could do, if they just put their heads together. She wasn't going to listen to negativity. Doyle's heart thundered in his chest, as she smiled at him. He hoped he wouldn't end up disappointing her, but he was glad to have given her a reason to look at him like that. It reminded him of how things had been in the old days. Before he had died. Before she had fallen in love with Angel...

'So, what are we supposed to be looking for?' Anya asked, her tone had a note of irritation in it, she had been studying the books for hours and was none the wiser as to what exactly was expected of her.

'Something that will help Angel,' Cordelia reminded her, 'help him come to terms with his grief.' She turned a page of her own book. 'This would be so much easier if Wes was here to do this,' she muttered.

'Well if that's all that's needed he can just pop on down to the nearest magic shop and buy himself a potion to quell his grief,' the former vengeance demon pointed out, 'that doesn't require the time and concentration of a higher power and three heroes.'

'The big man needs somethin' a bit more concrete than a potion,' Doyle said, 'besides, broodin's pretty much the entirety of his personality. If he took somethin' to take the pain away … he might just disappear altogether.'

Anya laughed. Cordelia threw a cushion from her throne at the half demon and hit him in the head. 'Ow!' he protested. 'Don't be rude,' she chided. Tara wrinkled her nose up, and smiled. 'Maybe we should just give him something he can fight?' she suggested. 'That's how he deals with his emotions best - and it would help take his mind of things.'

'Angel does love hittin' stuff,' Doyle nodded, he looked up at Cordelia, 'what about it? Just conjure up a big enemy for him to fight?'

'I don't just want to distract Angel,' Cordelia sighed, 'I want to give him something with purpose. Show him that his life, the world, still has meaning - even though this awful thing has happened.'

'So somethin' purposeful for him to hit…' Doyle shook his head, 'y'know, it's a shame the visions didn't get passed onto someone else. We always gave him purpose - a sense that he was fightin' for somethin' bigger.'

'Can't you just send him a vision?' Anya asked. 'You are a higher power.'

'I don't know,' the higher power in question frowned. 'When I got the visions I got them by …' she glanced over at Doyle. The half demon had flushed red, and was staring down at his book. He still felt more than a little guilty for indirectly causing her premature death, no matter how much she assured him that his visions had been an honour to bear. And then there was the way he had passed them on. He hadn't meant to. He hadn't realised his feelings for Cordelia would have such an effect, and he certainly hadn't meant to reveal the depth of just how much she meant to him. They hadn't even had a first date, yet.

'How did you get the visions?' Anya asked, 'I thought you had to be part demon - and you were still human when you got them, right?'

Tara glanced between Cordy and Doyle, and noticed the blush on the back of Doyle's neck - and the way he was avoiding the conversation. 'It was an accident,' she guessed, her voice gentle. 'When Doyle died…'

'He kissed me,' Cordelia explained, 'and it turns out the little leprechaun is one heck of a kisser. He saddled me with the visions.'

'But that doesn't make sense,' Anya sounded outright annoyed at this, 'a lower being can't just decide to pass on the visions. The PTB would stop that.'

Doyle turned the page in his book, refusing to look up. The blood was pounding in his ears. Tara smiled softly, as she watched the redness creep up his neck and over his earlobes - and sensed his mortification. 'He loved her, sweetie,' she whispered to Anya, 'The Powers didn't take into account what he felt for her. They dropped the ball.'

Doyle cleared his throat. 'I didn't get my visions by kissin' anyone,' he said, a little too loudly. 'I was in my apartment, all alone when BAM! I just hit the deck. I thought I was havin' a stroke. I'd never heard of anythin' like it ever happenin' before - never mind thought it might happen to me.'

'So, what are you saying?' Cordelia asked. He took a deep breath, but before he could answer, Anya had cut in. 'He's saying that you don't need an extended make out session to pass on the visions,' she told the higher power. Doyle blushed an even darker red, and began to squirm. But Tara was nodding, 'right,' she said, 'the powers - that's you now, Cordelia, - can send visions to any demon they deem worthy.'

'It wasn't because I was worthy,' Doyle muttered.

'Then why?' Anya asked.

He squirmed some more, 'they were - they were … my atonement. For the bad thing I did.'

'Pfft!' Anya blew a raspberry. 'Angel's done a ton of bad stuff through the centuries, he qualifies.'

'I think she's right,' Tara said, 'you could give him the visions - let him know he's still working for you, that you're still with him.'

But Cordelia looked unsure. She had seen what happened to Angel when he had the visions - in the alternate timeline that had put her on her path to higher powerdom in the first place. He had done so much wrong in the past - so much bloodshed, so much evil. His conscience could not withstand the onslaught of the visions, he was not strong enough to bear them. She told her friends as much, and they all looked down in defeat.

Then Anya raised her head again. 'Well - do you have to send him every vision? Could you not just send him one important one - to help him get through his grief?'

Everyone looked back up again - hope written on their faces. That could maybe be a compromise. But what vision should Cordelia send? If she was only to send him one message from the higher realms - what was the most important thing she could tell him? What was the best way to give him the purpose and meaning that would let him go on fighting?

'Damsel in distress?' Anya suggested, 'a big strapping hero just can't resist a little woman in danger down a dark alleyway.'

'Too obvious,' Cordelia dismissed the idea, 'besides - he'd kill the demon in two minutes and we'd all be back at square one.'

'Some kind of quest?' was Tara's suggestion, 'the holy grail or the golden fleece…?'

'Y'know, I heard the foreskin of Christ got stolen,' Doyle offered, 'he could go look for that.'

Cordelia gave him a disgusted but amused look, and then shook her head. 'He isn't gonna want to leave L.A. Not with Illyria on the rampage and Wolfram and Hart and… everything.'

'Well - what about Wolfram and Hart?' Doyle suggested, everyone turned to look at him. 'They've always been the big bad - as long as Angel's been in town, he's been fightin' them. He went to work for them to shake things up, change it from the inside,' the half demon shook his head, 'it's not workin',' he concluded, 'they've lost you, Princess - now they've lost Fred. Sooner or later, they'll lose themselves. But … Y' said it y'self, Fred's dyin' is a big win for the forces of darkness. Maybe we could send him a vision that would y'know,' he whistled, 'even the score - take out someone for the other side, like.'

'A champion for the Senior Partners, you mean?' Cordelia asked him. He nodded. She began to smile. 'That's perfect,' she said, her eyes lighting up. Doyle began to smile too - pleased to have been able to help her. 'We just need to locate someone who works closely for the Senior Partners - someone it will hurt them if Angel takes them out…' She glanced across at her mystical pool.

'Will that show you the darker realms?' Tara asked, 'will it identify people working on the other side?'

Cordelia shrugged. 'There's only one way to find out.'

...

The group crossed over to the pool, and stared down into its swirling surface. 'Show me the champions of the forces of darkness,' Cordelia commanded, 'show me the instruments of the Senior Partners.' The mist began to stir and ripple - and then the images began to form on the water. The team stared down at the images of the information they sought.

'Are you ready to do this?' Doyle asked. Tara and Anya had left them alone, and now it was just the two of them in the throne room. Cordelia bit her lip - and then nodded. 'It's a big step,' the half demon warned, 'once you give them to Angel - they won't be yours anymore, Princess. You've had them a long time - they're a part of you.'

'You gave them to me.'

'I didn't mean to.'

'Well, I'm glad you did. And now it's time - to move on. You gave them to me because you love me. And I love Angel. He is the right person to bear this gift - for now, at least.'

Doyle nodded, and looked down at his shoes. He knew he shouldn't let it bother him - that he had no right to expect or ask for her love after all this time. But it still hurt that she loved Angel, now.

Cordelia saw him look down, and bit her lip again. She reached out and took his hand. He looked up at her - and their eyes met. 'Hold onto me?' she asked him, 'whilst I do this. Stay with me?' He nodded - and she squeezed his hand tighter - and then channelled all her thoughts down to Angel.

Lying in his bed, in his penthouse suite, Angel was dreaming. BAM! He was suddenly woken by painful images streaming into his mind. He sat up in bed gasping - as the fire and death in his vision swarmed behind his eyes. As the pain died away, he was left with just one, vital piece of information: The Circle of the Black Thorn.