"Blind Date," Part II

A loud crash emanated from inside Angel's office, causing all three occupants of the outer office to simultaneously jump.

"I think that's bad news." Cordelia frowned from her place beside Doyle on the little green couch. They had both been sitting there with their feet up on the coffee table in front of them, while Wesley paced the floorboards anxiously. She pushed on Doyle's shoulder, forcing him off the couch. "You'd better go in there and find out what happened."

"Why me?" Doyle shot back, although his objection was mostly just for show, since he had already moved to stand up.

"He's less likely to bite your head off." Cordelia claimed. "In fact, he's less likely to bite any part of you since he doesn't drink demon blood." She smiled cutely and then stuck out her tongue. Doyle rolled his eyes in reply, but crossed the room and opened the door to Angel's office all the same.

"They acquitted her!" Angel's exasperated voice boomed from behind his desk, even before Doyle was all the way inside the room. "Hung jury."

"Can't say I'm surprised." Doyle remarked cautiously, placing his hands on the back of one of the empty chairs in front of Angel's desk. "They'd have probably become a literal hung jury if they indicted her. Wolfram & Hart woulda seen to that."

"How am I supposed to fight evil if they're gonna let it walk right back out on to the street?!" Angel banged his fist down on his desk in frustration. "I watched her kill a man, and there's absolutely nothing I can do! I can't testify."

"Well, don't look at me, man! Even if I did testify, it wouldn't make a difference. Wolfram & Hart's got the deck stacked." Doyle pointed out.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Angel asked, clearly annoyed by the further reminder of just how powerless he was in this situation.

"Not better, no." Doyle reasoned. "But maybe it'll keep ya from beating up on the office furniture." He gestured to the broken remnants of Angel's desk phone that had been the source of the crash from a few minutes earlier.

Wesley had come to stand in the doorway. "You fight evil in other ways, Angel." He quietly argued, keeping his voice low and calm. "As with any war, there are certain battles you win, certain ones you lose and still others you don't get to participate in."

"The man makes a good point." Doyle agreed. "The war's still waging—we haven't lost that yet. And maybe you'll get another chance to win this particular battle using your fists and fangs and possibly some medieval weaponry of some sort, yeah?"

"Uh... guys?" Cordelia's voice called from the outer office, and Doyle could hear the level of seriousness in it, even before she stepped into view behind Wesley gesturing to an unseen figure beside her. "We have company."

The good-looking, brown-haired man who appeared beside her was the last person Doyle expected to see, but he felt his fists clench involuntarily as the smug bastard took a step forward, hovering just outside Angel's office doorway. "I need your help." He said.

Lindsey McDonald. One of Wolfram & Hart's rising stars, and one of the biggest thorns in Angel's side.

"What the hell?" Doyle muttered, not bothering to hide his disdain for the well-dressed man in the doorway. "Think ya made a helluva wrong turn somewhere, bud."

Angel was a tad bit more diplomatic, although there was an undercurrent of a threat in his voice. "What do you mean you need our help?"

"I mean..." Lindsey said, stepping fully into the office, right past Wesley who had backed out slightly. "I want out."

"Ya expect us to believe that?!" Doyle bit back sarcastically. "Sorry, but I don't think guys like you suddenly grow a conscience. How could ya, when that place owns whatever soul ya used to have?"

"Are you going to hear me out? Or are you gonna let your lap dog continue to yap at me?" Lindsey asked, directing his condescending question to Angel. "Trust me, you're gonna wanna hear this."

"No one 'round here's liable to trust ya as far as they can throw ya." Doyle gritted back. "But, I'd like to try that latter part."

"There are children's lives at stake." Lindsey stated, without missing a beat, still keeping his eyes focused solely on Angel.

Angel held up a hand toward Doyle and motioned for him to close the office door. "You have five minutes to convince me not to kick you right back to the curb."

Doyle met the curious eyes of both Cordelia and Wesley as he shut Angel's door and made his way behind the desk, to lean against the file cabinet and observe Lindsey from over Angel's shoulder. He folded his arms and leveled the slime-ball with his most disapproving glare.

Lindsey returned Doyle's glare, making sure he knew the feelings of burning hatred were quite mutual. He then leaned his hands against the edge of Angel's desk, and attempted to sound slightly less antagonistic than before. "Listen, I don't want to be here any more than you want me here. But, I had no choice."

Doyle snorted derisively at that comment and although Angel kept the visible reaction to a minimum, the contempt in his voice left no question as to what he also thought of Lindsey. "You always have a choice. Just like I have the choice as to whether or not to kill you, right here, right now."

"You're not gonna kill me." Lindsey rebutted, without the slightest hint of fear. "You're the good guy, remember? That's how I knew I could walk in here and tell you what I know about Vanessa Brewer's next contract, and trust that you'd do the right thing."

"Vanessa Brewer? You mean the murderer you got off today?" Angel shook his head in disbelief. "You know what, Doyle, maybe you should see how far you can throw him."

"That's right. Act like you're better'n me 'cause I did what I had to do to make something of myself. What was your father? He was a merchant, right? Linen and silk? Did pretty well? Had a couple of servants until you killed them?"

"Just the one." Angel replied without emotion.

"Well, our files aren't 100 percent, but I guess it's fair to say that you've never seen anything like real poverty. I'm talking dirt poor—no shoes, no toilet. Six of us kids in a room, and come flu season it was down to four. I was seven when they took the house."

Angel placed a hand on the bridge of his nose, rubbing the ache away. He held out a hand to stop Lindsey from going on. "I'm sorry, I must've nodded off. Did you get to the part where you're evil?"

"Growing up poor isn't an excuse for killing people on your way up the ladder." Doyle piped up from behind Angel. "I never had anything I didn't work for, and I didn't have to sell my soul to get it."

Lindsey scanned Doyle up and down as if to say he'd made his own point, clearly having nothing Lindsey was at all interested in, but he thought better of verbalizing anything close to that. "I've never killed anyone." Lindsey maintained. "So what if I defend criminals? Everyone deserves their day in court. It's their right as Americans, and if it wasn't me arguing their cases, it'd be someone else."

"But it was you." Angel pointed out. "You're the reason Vanessa Brewer is out there right now, available to fulfill another contract."

"Ya said something about kids when ya walked in here." Doyle spoke up, his curiosity and concern for innocent lives getting the better of him. "Care to get back to that bit."

"That's right." Lindsey replied, seemingly grateful that Doyle could be reasonable when all was said and done. "I don't know all the details, but I do know there's some kids coming from overseas. And it's Brewer's job to kill them when they get here. Couple days from now."

"I need more." Angel said.

"I don't have any more than that." Lindsey explained. "The rest of it's still at the firm. Probably in the vault."

"I'm guessing you'll be going back to fetch it for us then? To prove your change of heart is the genuine article, yeah?" Doyle suggested.

Lindsey looked at Doyle as if he'd recommended he dance a jig for them. "I can't go back there. Never."

"I'm not sensing genuine." Angel quipped, leaning back in his chair and steepling his hands on the desk in front of him. "Wanna try that again?"

"I go back there, I'm dead." Lindsey argued. "And that's not just a figure of speech. They have mind-readers, okay. They won't even question me, they'll shoot first, ask questions later. Literally."

"Ah… not genuine at all. Nothing but fear on this one." Doyle observed.

"You wanna prove you're a changed man, Lindsey, you're gonna have to take the risk. I know I'm willing to take it." Angel replied with deadly seriousness.

"Y'know, they had witch trials that went the same way." Lindsey grumbled in reply. "They'd throw an accused witch in the river and she was only found innocent if she drowned."

"Before my time." Angel deadpanned.

"Tsk, tsk." Doyle shook his head in disappointment. "Shame those witches didn't have representation such as yourself. I'm sure most of 'em were innocent, which is more than I can say about most lawyers."

"You either help us save those kids, or their deaths are on you." Angel finished, staring daggers into Lindsey, silently willing him to prove he had a human soul after all. "The choice is yours."


Cordelia sat behind her desk tapping a pencil lightly on the blotter in front of her. Wesley had just excused himself to pick up some drinkable coffee, which left only she and Doyle behind in the office, worrying about the great Wolfram & Hart caper that Angel was a party to. Although, from what Cordelia could tell, Doyle was unusually calm, considering the circumstances. He was lying spread out across the couch, reading the paper. If Cordelia didn't know better, she'd assume he hadn't a care in the world.

"Okay, what gives? Why aren't you pacing the floor and yammering on and on about how stupid we were to let our boss walk right into what was so obviously a trap?" Cordelia demanded, arching a perfectly shaped brow in Doyle's direction. "I mean, despite the lack of visible horns or tails, and the stellar taste in footwear, those lawyers are way more evil than most demons. Slimier, too."

Doyle kept his eyes on the paper in front of him. "Slime aside, I don't think it's a trap, love."

"Well... even if it isn't a trap, it's beyond dangerous. Sending Angel into the belly of the beast, where they have vampire-sensing shamans or whatever. Seems like an unnecessary risk, if you ask me." She commented, still tapping away with the pencil.

Doyle finally lowered the paper and craned his neck so he could look over at her behind the desk. "It was necessary, Cordy, trust me. We couldn't risk ending up with a bunch of dead kids. Are ya saying I shoulda volunteered instead?"

"No!" She replied vehemently. "God... no. Please, you trying to be Mr. Stealth-guy? You wouldn't make it ten feet. I just don't get why that cretin couldn't do it himself."

Doyle pushed himself into an upright sitting position and tossed the paper aside. "It was a two-man job, darlin'. Someone had to go with Lindsey, and as much as I don't like it—it hadda be Angel. He's stronger, faster and, as you so delicately pointed out, stealthier than any of the rest of us."

"What about that threshold thingie?" Cordelia worried, thinking of Lindsey's warning that a vampire couldn't step foot into the Wolfram & Hart building with all sorts of silent alarms going off. "It's gonna be a real short heist if your plan doesn't work."

"It'll work." Doyle assured her. "And it gave Angel a chance to bring Gunn into the mix once again. Don't have to tell ya why I think that's important."

"He's part of our future." She said with a heavy sigh, leaning her chin against her palm and letting the pencil drop flat on the desktop in front of her. "Assuming we have one."

Doyle wrinkled his brows at her and pushed himself up off the couch. He moved over to one of the chairs across from Cordelia's desk and sat on the edge of it, leaning toward her. "Something else on your mind? Since when do you worry so much 'bout the future?"

"I've always worried about the future. I've been planning for it my entire life." She fired back. "You're the one who needed a notebook full of visions in order to start living like tomorrow actually mattered."

"Ah… well, maybe that's partly true, but I'm sensing that something's not being said here." Doyle replied, gesturing between them with his hand. "Is this about the other night? Ya still mad I went racing off to help Angel instead of staying with you?"

"No. Just forget it, okay?" She said, shaking her head in mild frustration. The truth was, it wasn't so much that she was annoyed by the fact that he'd left the safety of her bed to go fight evil, as it was the fact that he was bound to do it again. Over and over. He would always choose Angel and the good fight over being with her. And even though she knew it was probably selfish of her to want to come first on his list of priorities, she couldn't help but feel more than a little resentful of his calling.

Callings, plural. He was chosen by the Powers That Be to be a messenger; he was chosen by a future version of Cordelia herself to be a protector. And both of those callings revolved around Angel, and only Angel.

Coming in second only stung so much because Cordelia was in love with him. Truly, madly, deeply. All the –lys. She knew that now, even though she still couldn't bring herself to say the words out loud. Not saying she loved him was pretty much the only control she still had over the situation, because feeling it... well, she obviously had zero control over that. She had never intended to let herself like him, much less love him. And now she was so far past the point of no return, she couldn't remember when she passed it in the first place.

She loved him in a way that made it easy to consider him before everything else, and hard to imagine a time when she hadn't. In fact, she couldn't imagine her life without him. And that was a really strange feeling for her, because she'd never felt that way about anyone. Not even her parents. Everyone she had ever met seemed temporary, but Doyle—he felt important, he felt permanent. He felt like he belonged there, in her heart. Like he was always meant to be there. He just fit. Which was why, whether she wanted him to be or not, he was her priority. The good fight mattered to her, sure. She was totally on board with helping the hopeless. She just didn't think that should be all-consuming, that's all. In her opinion, the good fight came in second. It came in second to her life. It came in second to her dreams and her aspirations. It came in second to Doyle's life. And it came in second to her life with Doyle.

The problem was, Doyle seemed to disagree.

She couldn't possibly say these things to the man sitting across from her, staring at her with his wide, compassionate, green eyes. He would think she was being horribly selfish, even if he never told her so. Because, for him, helping people was the point. Fighting evil was the point. He would try and make her understand how important Angel and the mission truly were... and it would just make her feel worse, rather than better. Because even if she did understand and agree on some level, she couldn't make herself feel any differently about it.

So, even though she loved him fiercely, it had to remain her secret for now. It was the only lifeline she had left.

Cordelia felt his hand cover hers on the desk and she looked up in surprise. She'd been so lost in her own thoughts that she'd nearly forgotten they'd been in the middle of a conversation. He was now silently questioning her with his eyes, trying to read the feelings she was working desperately to keep in check. He was good at doing that; he didn't need any special demon empathic abilities, his regular human ones worked just fine.

"I'm just worried about Angel." She half-fibbed. Of course, she was genuinely worried about Angel, but that certainly wasn't the only thing on her mind.

The sound of the elevator ascending from the apartment below saved her. Doyle patted her hand reassuringly and gave her a wink. "I think ya can put those worries to rest now." He pushed his chair back, and stood to greet Angel as he entered the room carrying a large tube and a pile of computer discs. "Ya got the files, yeah? What about your partner in crime?"

"Dead, I presume." Angel said indifferently, placing the tube down on the edge of the desk and handing the discs to Cordelia. "The files we need should be on one of these."

"Guess he really did change." Doyle deadpanned. "We got what we need to save the kids."

Cordelia had popped one of the discs into the computer and tried to open it. "Not so fast." She informed the two men standing over her desk. "The files are encrypted. So, unless one of you has some hidden hacker skills you've been saving for a rainy day, we're at a dead end."

"Ah...I don't have any such skills, but I know a guy..." Doyle offered, as he curiously popped open the tube Angel had tossed on the desk and slipped an ancient-looking parchment out of it.

"In that case, I know a girl. And she's probably better." Cordelia countered, waving Doyle away from the desk.

She noticed that Doyle's eyes had fixated on whatever the tube contained. "Is this what I think it is, man?" He asked, gently removing the scroll from the tube and placing it down on the edge of the desk.

"I don't know what it is." Angel admitted. "I just... felt like I needed it."

"I'll say ya do." Doyle agreed, slowly unraveling it halfway and inspecting the faded words that were not written in anything resembling English.

"Did you and Wesley just pull a Freaky Friday or something?" Cordelia asked, watching Doyle inspect the scroll with fascination. "Since when do you care about stinky old scrolls written in Latin?"

"It's Ancient Aramaic." Doyle amended.

"You know what it is." Angel concluded. "You know why I felt drawn to it."

Doyle nodded, rolling it back up and placing it reverently back into the tube for safekeeping. "That right there is the Prophecy of Aberjian."

"Well, that clears it up not at all." Cordelia muttered sarcastically. "Again, I ask, where is Doyle and what have you done with him?"

"That thing is the key to Angel's future." Doyle explained to Cordelia, before turning his focus on the vampire at his side. "Everything I've been trying to tell ya since we started all this—why we need to keep fighting and all that... it's written right there."

"In a dead language." Cordelia noted unenthusiastically. Wonderful, just wonderful. There she was lamenting the fact that Angel's mission always came first, and suddenly there was an ancient prophecy to really hammer home the point. How could a person hope to compete with that? Especially when she had limited funds to expand her wardrobe.

"What does it say?" Angel asked in mild wonderment.

Doyle shrugged in reply. "That, I don't know—not like I can read the thing. I just know the prophecy's important. How's Wesley's Aramaic? We're gonna need someone to translate."

Angel's eyes skimmed over the protective tube on the desk before he raised them back to meet Doyle's face, which was filled with barely contained delight. "Is this part of your need-to-know info from the Powers That Be? Or was this part of your vision of the future?"

"Does it matter, man?" Doyle asked, raising his brows insistently. "They're one and the same, at this point. You trust me, yeah?"

Angel merely nodded in reply, making it clear that he did, in fact, trust Doyle at his word.

"Well, then trust me when I say, that right there is your destiny."