Disclaimer: I don't own Angel, it that simple

A/N: Thank you to those who have reviewed (shaid, Eloise, WhiteRabbit, and Doremi at press time)! I'll try to catch some of my grammatical mistakes earlier but remember I live in Kentucky where grammar is as necessary as a censor on HBO. Sorry, my weird little joke. Eloise, there is a little mention of father/son angst (key word being little) just for you. Doremi, the only reason Spike answered the phone is because I needed him to ask the questions, it'll make more sense in up coming chapters. On with the story!

I was in the hotel room and then I was in a crowded smoke-filled pub.

"You're new," I heard an Irish accented voice next to me said.

I turned to see who was the owner of it, a man, in his twenties, with black hair and blue eyes. He seemed so familiar, but I couldn't place where I had seen him before. He took a long sip from his drink.

"Where am I?" I wondered aloud.

"I gave up trying to figure that out a long time ago. Some say this is a verison of Purgatory and that we'll be here until Judgment Day,"

"Purgatory is a bar?" I said more to myself than him.

"This isn't exactly somewhere that you come to celebrate at. It's bad but it isn't the worst thing."

I nodded in agreement. This place was full broken dreams and sorrows. Suddenly, a woman, her gray hair sticking out in every direction, with a permanent marker scribbled a circle on the clear glass in front of me.

"She's taking advantage of the new mug," the man explained.

"What is she doing," I inquired as the eccentric scrawled a circle within another circle, which was encompassed by another circle, etc. on the man's half-full glass.

"From what I've gather she's trying to write out googolplex."

I recall that Fred once told me of that obscure mathematical term. She said that googolplex was a lot like googol, but it meant 1 followed by as many zeros as you can write before your hand got tried instead of just a hundred. I observed that there zeros squiggled all over walls, the tables, the mugs, the chairs, just simply everywhere. And like it was on the man's mug there were zeros inside of zeros. I also noticed that the lady was missing a hand.

"I think it fell off," the Irish man commented.

"How long have you been here?" I asked, not entirely sure if I wanted to know the answer.

"I don't really know, I lost count of the days, but I think it was around five years ago."

"Where were you before you were here."

"If you mean after I died, I came straight here, why?"

"I think I was a ghost,"

"It must have been pretty weird, seeing your family morn and all."

I remained quiet.

He continued, "They must have been devastated."

I learned a long time ago not to speak on my father's behalf.

Seeing that this wasn't a good topic he changed the subject, "Do you know why you were a ghost, that usually means you had unfinished business."

"I believe it was to save Fred," I said as the bar tender poured me a drink.

"Who is he?"

"She actually," I noticed the confused look on his face, "Her name's Winifred but we all called her Fred for short."

"Oh, we you two together?"

"Not in the way I think you mean,"

"Did you want it to be like that?"

For some odd reason I nodded, why was I telling a stranger this?

"I left behind a girl too. Never had the chance to find out if it could have worked out between me and Cordelia Chase."

I nearly drop my glass when I hear that name. How did he now her? I then realized who I was talking too, Doyle. Before I had a chance to say something I was thrown back.

"You don't belong here yet," a sinister voice whispered.

I then found myself in a hospital.

Next time: Fred isn't out of the woods yet. Angel and the others are forced to ask for help from an unlikely (okay, maybe not that unlikely) source, while Wes is trying to figure out why he got kicked out of Purgatory bar.

A/N: The reason why I don't think Wesley would have recognized Doyle is because he probably only hear stories and maybe a picture of him.