DISCLAIMER: I still don't own them . blah, blah, blah . thanks so much for
all the feedback; especially concerning my request for favorite couplings.
So far the results have been very interesting; I've been giving lots of
thought to whom should end up with whom. But then again, my muse is often
fickle . apparently a lot of people out there like B/A, and I tend to agree
with them, given my intense hatred for C/A . so keep submitting those
reviews and telling me who belongs together!!!! A little note to one
concerned reviewer . I'm not going to change the way I want to write the
story, the feedback just helps to offer some different perspectives. Okay,
just for a little update, Whistler, Doyle and Harry are back . Whistler
still has yet to make his presence known, but everyone's favorite half-
demon and his ex-wife have now sent up shop at A.I. So far only Wesley has
met the two new additions, but in the next chapter, you can expect
appearances from Lorne, Gunn, Fred, Connor aaaand . Cordelia! Let the
melodrama begin! Oh, the quote's from 'Going Home' by Good Charlotte, the
song's 'Sell My Clothes, I'm Off To Heaven' by Saves the Day. Cheers!
**************
If I could only see you now for about an hour
maybe just a minute
just to ask
What has he got that I don't have?
Is it his brown eyes?
I know blue eyes get boring but I'll wear dark glasses all the time and
hey if you want me to, I'll take a knife to my own bright eyes.
If I could only see you now for about an hour
maybe just a minute
just to ask
what has he got that I don't have?
Is it his brown eyes?
Well, I'll give you a thousand reasons that tonight
you should grant me this one wish.
Like the one year of my life that I gave to you and
now you put me through hell.
You break me up. -Saves The Day
"I wanna be back in LA\Let's not start again \I wanna be back with my friends \Seems like eternity \Going home." -Good Charlotte
Home.
Doyle mused over this seemingly abstract idea as he trailed one hand over the steam-clouded bathroom mirror. He scrubbed at the fogged glass with his palm, managing to clear a tiny corner for his reflection; a short, wiry Irishman with a mop of haphazard black hair and a nasty-looking scar stared back.
The half-demon stuck out his tongue at the pale stranger, rubbed his clean- shaven face experimentally. His white skin was scoured of grime, dirt, crusted blood of old wounds . he hadn't felt this clean in a long time. Hadn't had a proper bath in, well . three years.
The angular visage in the mirror turned solemn again; the blue eyes clouded. Doyle began to brush his teeth vigorously, adjusting the fluffy white towel around his thin midsection.
(-Harry's right . I look like a stick. I guess food wasn't exactly choice in Alterna-Los Angeles, what with all the rampaging demons and such-)
He replaced his new toothbrush in the cabinet and attacked his mess of raven hair with another luxuriously-soft towel. The Irishman ambled into the adjoining bedroom, still giving his dark locks a hearty drying. Angel had generously offered one of the Hyperion's many rooms to his former Messenger . Doyle had selected a spacious corner bedroom, done in different shades of blue and complete with large bay windows overlooking a park. Well, what used to be a park. Now all the half-demon could see was melted heaps of playground equipment and charred vegetation. It would only be a matter of time before the hotel suffered the same fate.
(-Yeah . home.-)
Doyle slipped into a clean T-shirt and jeans, both courtesy of Wesley Wynham-Price. He felt . good. Still a tad confused and slightly nervous, what with the rest of the Fang Gang probably waiting downstairs for his dramatic entrance. The British ex-Watcher seemed like a decent fellow, even if he had the demeanor of an icicle . Angel was the same old broody vampire . and Harry, well . she was still as beautiful as ever.
They'd said Lorne, Gunn and Fred, the rest of the A.I team, were going to be back soon. 'Guess Angel started some kinda gender-ambiguous name trend,' the half-demon thought smugly, lacing his boots. All these new people . then there was that Connor fellow, whose name brought so much grief to the vampire's already-grave features.
A sudden barrage of images invaded Doyle's psyche. It was completely different from the visions he'd suffered as Angel's Seer; those were a violent assault on his senses, accompanied by that trademark blinding pain. This was like someone had gently diverted the ebb and flow of sensory input to his brain; his entire consciousness had just been re-rooted. It wasn't a flash of the future or an impression of some distant danger, it was more of a knowing. Images of Angel, with a very-pregnant Darla, the female vampire's alley-way death, a tiny baby cradled by Cordelia, a prophecy, some bearded man (-Holtz? His name is Holtz-) leaping into a portal with the same child, Angel banished to the depths of the ocean, Cordelia and a young man kissing as fire rained down on L.A.
And then Doyle knew everything . the love, the betrayal, the lies .
(-I love you, Connor. Now get out of my house.-)
The half-demon sighed deeply, contemplating the visions he'd just witnessed. It was more complicated than he'd thought, this little family. 'What have yea gotten yourself into, Princess?' he wondered sadly.
She had been in love with Angel, that much was certain, but that love had waned when . the half-demon squinted as another series of pictures sifted through his brain. Doyle likened them to "home movies", complete with the grainy, shuttering frames and jumpy visuals, but these images felt textured almost, with snippets of dialogue, smells, tastes, emotions .
Cordelia became a Higher Being.
The Irishman almost laughed. A goddess with a penchant for Gucci shoes and mochaccinos? It kinda made sense, in that weird PTB way, like the Gateway to Lost Souls under the post office . a small chill ran down the half- demon's spine; he was overwhelmed by a cool sense of déjà vu. Something urgent, essential about this fact. Doyle needed to see her, talk to her, but about more than just Champion business.
He missed Cordelia.
So much, in fact, that his heart tightened with a dull, penetrating pain at the mere thought of her. That her graceful footsteps had haunted these halls, her spirited voice had echoes through these rooms. It killed Doyle to be in this place that reeked of her . from the imitation gourmet pasta in the kitchen, to the pair of strappy black heels lying haphazard on Angel's bedroom floor. It had been easier in the other Los Angeles; there'd been no reminders of what had been lost. It was simple to push thoughts and memories and sentiments to the back of your mind. To lose yourself in slaying demons, in fighting for survival. To forget. Now there were ghosts of his long-lost love everywhere the Irishman looked . but she was nowhere to be found.
Angel had vaguely mentioned that she was saying at Connor's loft for the time being, a fact that no doubt struck the vampire deeply and painfully. After he'd witnessed Cordelia and his son together, the Warrior had fled. Angel had gotten no word of them since. Doyle toyed with the idea of searching the vampire's offspring and the Seer, but pushed that thought aside rapidly. Work needed to be done; there was no time to mope about a former crush. They'd show up in good time, along with all the others.
(-Many will be drawn there . Champions of the Higher Powers, whether they are willing to accept this fate or not. You will be one, Allen Francis Doyle.-)
The former Messenger rose from his bed, a grin lighting up his boyish features at the memory. It was fading now, turning hazy, as he presumed all the recollections of his audience with the PTBs would become. There were some things mortals weren't meant to see, or remember for that matter, and Doyle knew a big ole mental snapshot of the People Upstairs was one of those.
There was a light knock on the door. Harry poked her head in, smiling softly at her ex-husband. "The others are back, Francis," she reported pleasantly. "They're anxious to meet you."
The Irishman nodded in confirmation. "'Suppose the resurrected dead guy's a bit of a novelty, yea?" he cracked jokingly. Harry shot her former spouse a withering look and followed him out the door.
*********************
A/N: Okay, this is the first part of the next chapter I was working on, but I decided to post this away . the next part will be up pretty soon, with Lorne, Gunn, Fred et al. Bring a little sunshine into my life and review please! (
**************
If I could only see you now for about an hour
maybe just a minute
just to ask
What has he got that I don't have?
Is it his brown eyes?
I know blue eyes get boring but I'll wear dark glasses all the time and
hey if you want me to, I'll take a knife to my own bright eyes.
If I could only see you now for about an hour
maybe just a minute
just to ask
what has he got that I don't have?
Is it his brown eyes?
Well, I'll give you a thousand reasons that tonight
you should grant me this one wish.
Like the one year of my life that I gave to you and
now you put me through hell.
You break me up. -Saves The Day
"I wanna be back in LA\Let's not start again \I wanna be back with my friends \Seems like eternity \Going home." -Good Charlotte
Home.
Doyle mused over this seemingly abstract idea as he trailed one hand over the steam-clouded bathroom mirror. He scrubbed at the fogged glass with his palm, managing to clear a tiny corner for his reflection; a short, wiry Irishman with a mop of haphazard black hair and a nasty-looking scar stared back.
The half-demon stuck out his tongue at the pale stranger, rubbed his clean- shaven face experimentally. His white skin was scoured of grime, dirt, crusted blood of old wounds . he hadn't felt this clean in a long time. Hadn't had a proper bath in, well . three years.
The angular visage in the mirror turned solemn again; the blue eyes clouded. Doyle began to brush his teeth vigorously, adjusting the fluffy white towel around his thin midsection.
(-Harry's right . I look like a stick. I guess food wasn't exactly choice in Alterna-Los Angeles, what with all the rampaging demons and such-)
He replaced his new toothbrush in the cabinet and attacked his mess of raven hair with another luxuriously-soft towel. The Irishman ambled into the adjoining bedroom, still giving his dark locks a hearty drying. Angel had generously offered one of the Hyperion's many rooms to his former Messenger . Doyle had selected a spacious corner bedroom, done in different shades of blue and complete with large bay windows overlooking a park. Well, what used to be a park. Now all the half-demon could see was melted heaps of playground equipment and charred vegetation. It would only be a matter of time before the hotel suffered the same fate.
(-Yeah . home.-)
Doyle slipped into a clean T-shirt and jeans, both courtesy of Wesley Wynham-Price. He felt . good. Still a tad confused and slightly nervous, what with the rest of the Fang Gang probably waiting downstairs for his dramatic entrance. The British ex-Watcher seemed like a decent fellow, even if he had the demeanor of an icicle . Angel was the same old broody vampire . and Harry, well . she was still as beautiful as ever.
They'd said Lorne, Gunn and Fred, the rest of the A.I team, were going to be back soon. 'Guess Angel started some kinda gender-ambiguous name trend,' the half-demon thought smugly, lacing his boots. All these new people . then there was that Connor fellow, whose name brought so much grief to the vampire's already-grave features.
A sudden barrage of images invaded Doyle's psyche. It was completely different from the visions he'd suffered as Angel's Seer; those were a violent assault on his senses, accompanied by that trademark blinding pain. This was like someone had gently diverted the ebb and flow of sensory input to his brain; his entire consciousness had just been re-rooted. It wasn't a flash of the future or an impression of some distant danger, it was more of a knowing. Images of Angel, with a very-pregnant Darla, the female vampire's alley-way death, a tiny baby cradled by Cordelia, a prophecy, some bearded man (-Holtz? His name is Holtz-) leaping into a portal with the same child, Angel banished to the depths of the ocean, Cordelia and a young man kissing as fire rained down on L.A.
And then Doyle knew everything . the love, the betrayal, the lies .
(-I love you, Connor. Now get out of my house.-)
The half-demon sighed deeply, contemplating the visions he'd just witnessed. It was more complicated than he'd thought, this little family. 'What have yea gotten yourself into, Princess?' he wondered sadly.
She had been in love with Angel, that much was certain, but that love had waned when . the half-demon squinted as another series of pictures sifted through his brain. Doyle likened them to "home movies", complete with the grainy, shuttering frames and jumpy visuals, but these images felt textured almost, with snippets of dialogue, smells, tastes, emotions .
Cordelia became a Higher Being.
The Irishman almost laughed. A goddess with a penchant for Gucci shoes and mochaccinos? It kinda made sense, in that weird PTB way, like the Gateway to Lost Souls under the post office . a small chill ran down the half- demon's spine; he was overwhelmed by a cool sense of déjà vu. Something urgent, essential about this fact. Doyle needed to see her, talk to her, but about more than just Champion business.
He missed Cordelia.
So much, in fact, that his heart tightened with a dull, penetrating pain at the mere thought of her. That her graceful footsteps had haunted these halls, her spirited voice had echoes through these rooms. It killed Doyle to be in this place that reeked of her . from the imitation gourmet pasta in the kitchen, to the pair of strappy black heels lying haphazard on Angel's bedroom floor. It had been easier in the other Los Angeles; there'd been no reminders of what had been lost. It was simple to push thoughts and memories and sentiments to the back of your mind. To lose yourself in slaying demons, in fighting for survival. To forget. Now there were ghosts of his long-lost love everywhere the Irishman looked . but she was nowhere to be found.
Angel had vaguely mentioned that she was saying at Connor's loft for the time being, a fact that no doubt struck the vampire deeply and painfully. After he'd witnessed Cordelia and his son together, the Warrior had fled. Angel had gotten no word of them since. Doyle toyed with the idea of searching the vampire's offspring and the Seer, but pushed that thought aside rapidly. Work needed to be done; there was no time to mope about a former crush. They'd show up in good time, along with all the others.
(-Many will be drawn there . Champions of the Higher Powers, whether they are willing to accept this fate or not. You will be one, Allen Francis Doyle.-)
The former Messenger rose from his bed, a grin lighting up his boyish features at the memory. It was fading now, turning hazy, as he presumed all the recollections of his audience with the PTBs would become. There were some things mortals weren't meant to see, or remember for that matter, and Doyle knew a big ole mental snapshot of the People Upstairs was one of those.
There was a light knock on the door. Harry poked her head in, smiling softly at her ex-husband. "The others are back, Francis," she reported pleasantly. "They're anxious to meet you."
The Irishman nodded in confirmation. "'Suppose the resurrected dead guy's a bit of a novelty, yea?" he cracked jokingly. Harry shot her former spouse a withering look and followed him out the door.
*********************
A/N: Okay, this is the first part of the next chapter I was working on, but I decided to post this away . the next part will be up pretty soon, with Lorne, Gunn, Fred et al. Bring a little sunshine into my life and review please! (