**IMPORTANT TO READ** ... DISCLAIMER: Okay, so I guess the new Angel
episodes have started to come out, but since I am horribly appalled with
the direction this season has taken, I refuse to watch the degradation of
my once-favourite show. If you go to TVTome.com, you'll find synopses for
the next six or so upcoming episodes, and you don't even WANT to know
what's going to happen ... that said, this fanfic diverged from canon at
'Rain of Fire', and will probably in no way reference the rest of Angel's
season. I just wanted to warn you that this will take the story in an
entirely different direction from the show, so don't be confused if all the
awful, ridiculous shite that's going down on Angel is not reflected in this
story. Just wait a few months and you'll know exactly what I mean ... argh.
Anyway, I'm done my little rant, and for those three or four readers still
remaining, onto the fic! So Harry and Doyle have met all the Fang Gang,
except Connor, who has just returned with Cordelia. Doyle got all freaky
last chapter (something to do with his newly acquired powers), and is
currently passed out and feverish. Thus, enter the Seer and the demon spawn
(and let me note my agreement with the 'ick!' factor of Cordy and Connor's
relationship). The first song's 'Yer Possessed' by Gord Downie (and for
some reason, those lyrics reminded me of Doyle so much!), the second's by
the Odds, the third's a line from 'Cordelia' by the Tragically Hip, and the
last one's 'Beautiful Goodbye' by Amanda Marshall. (Okay, I know I get a
little heavy on the song lyrics and quotes sometimes, but I really think
they add to the story. Give me that, eh? I like my Canadian music!) Cheers!
******************
It was the look in your eyes, you said,
"No one's going to hurt me like you did."
Rolling over it a thousand times
in the narrow flume of my mind.
O what I'd give for just one small caress.
It was the look in your eyes
when you said something like
"Yer possessed."
You're possessed.
-Gord Downie
But pain can look cool
When it's at it's best
And the best things in life
Don't make any sense
And all that I know
Is every day I know less
And the best things in life
Don't make any sense
-The Odds
"It takes all your power to prove that you don't care,
I'm not Cordelia, I will not be there."
-The Hip
********************
Fed up with my destiny
And this place of no return
Think I'll take another day
And slowly watch it burn
It doesn't really matter
How the time goes by
'Cause I still remember you and I
And our beautiful goodbye
We traveled through these empty streets
Laughing arm in arm
The night had made a mess of me
Your confession kept me warm
And I don't really miss you
I just need to know
Do you ever think of you and I
And our beautiful goodbye
If I let you down
Please forgive me now
For that beautiful goodbye.
****************
"Angel."
The vampire had just retreated from Doyle's room, was closing the door with a soft click. At Cordelia's voice, the Warrior had tensed visibly, his broad back going rigid with anger. He turned with aching slowness to face his Seer. "Cordelia." The name fell heavily from his lips, clumsy and awkward and cold in the silence.
She stepped forward, reaching out to him, but the vampire drew back into the shadows, his eyes blazing with hurt. "He's in there." Angel's voice was like ice, fighting desperately to keep the spiteful edge from his tone. 'This isn't the time,' the vampire scolded himself. 'Not with your resurrected best friend in that bedroom. He's back and that's what matters. Not Cordelia and Connor. Not your son and the woman you love--'
"Where did you find him?" she demanded, laying a gentle hand on the Warrior's forearm. To Angel, that touched burned right to his soul. "Is Doyle alright? Is he still passed out?"
"Go see for yourself."
Cordelia frowned quizzically at the vampire's uncharacteristic coldness, visibly confused and slightly hurt. She made a mental note to talk to him later, shame churning deep in her stomach. Images of a skinny, young boy, pale and sweating in the fire's gleam, flashed through her guilt-ridden mind. He would never have to find out, and they could continue ...
(-Continue what? What did you have before to continue? You slept with his son, sister ... and now, Doyle's back ... I'd say you're in trouble, sweetheart-)
"Thank you, Angel," she murmured, slipping past him and into Doyle's new bedroom. The vampire watched her retreating back with a measure of longing, suddenly feeling very cold and very alone.
*************
Cordelia took a careful seat on the edge of the half-demon's bed, studying the sinewy, comatose figure. Doyle's dark locks were longer, the thick, spiky tangles sticking up haphazardly from the crown of his head; a long, straight scar marred the left side of his face. Beads of sweat left glistening trails down the Irishman's now-decidedly pallid features; blue eyes closed fast against the world and even brow pulled together in apparent distress. The Seer reached out one trembling hand towards the inert young man, tentative, nervous; caressed one smooth cheek experimentally, relishing the warmth, the realness, of his flushed skin under her fingers.
(-Oh God ... he's alive.-)
A violent half sob, half smile escaped her lips, a wide grin stretching over her features while tears spilled down her cheeks. Until that moment, Cordelia had not quite allowed herself to believe. Her visions were painful, yeah, and constantly filled with immanent doom and chaos, but they were never wrong. And when that head-splitting image of the late Irishman (New Doyle, she liked to think of him) had invaded her psyche, she knew it was true, believed in his resurrection with every ounce of faith left in her battered body. But still ... there was that gnawing doubt, the tiniest of fears that it would all be wrong. Permitting herself to believe meant wearing her poor, bruised heart on her sleeve, taking the chance that she might just have to mourn him all over again.
But Doyle felt so ... real. His filthy hair and his sallow face and his tangible smell of whiskey and smoke and pine trees ... Overcome, Cordelia shuttered with quivering cries, her entire body trembling uncontrollably. She was numb; her mind white and blank and stuck in this beautiful moment.
(-It's you ... it's you and you're here with me again.-)
Laughter erupted through her weeping, her heart leaping violently into her throat. There was a deep swelling of joy in her soul; the cool, cleansing feeling of elation flowing through every pore, every dark thought and bad day.
... There's definitely more to Doyle than meets the eye ...
.... Nice guys don't always finish last ...
... Is that it? Am I done? ...
"I missed you," Cordelia whispered quietly, picking up one limp hand with both of her's, lovingly tracing the lines and creases of his palm. Running light fingers over his bruised knuckles, the Seer smiled, then spoke again. "If you weren't so damn unconscious I would totally slap you right now for getting yourself killed like that. I mean, what were you thinking? Leaving the fate of the world up to a bratty, wannabe actress and the former Scourge of Europe. We needed you so much ... and you left us." Cordelia laced her fingers through his. "It was so hard at first, for both of us. I was dealing with that mind-numbing inheritance of yours', and Angel skulked around way more than usual. It just ... it didn't feel right without you there. But I guess your logic wasn't completely wacko, 'cause things got better. Plus, the whole being the Promised One and sacrificing yourself and saving hundreds of lives thing."
Her features softened as she gazed at the half-demon. "I'm so proud of you, Doyle. What you did for us, for the Listers ... you were so brave. And note the lack of shock in my voice, huh? I knew, I always knew, and I'm sorry I didn't bother telling you when you were ... alive. I mean, you did dress in the Salvation Army's latest, and you drank way too much and your lifestyle wasn't exactly conductive towards, well, staying alive ... but you were so sweet and you noticed my new shoes and you actually managed to get Angel out of his Batcave ... I loved your eyes when you smiled, how you knew exactly what to say to our boss when he was upset ... and you knew me. I mean really knew me. Not many people had bothered, up to that point." She exhaled again, slowly, squeezing his clammy hand. "You're a good man, Allen Francis Doyle ... a good half-man. Whatever you are, it's all good and I missed every part of it."
"Ya flatter me too much, Princess."
Cordelia's head snapped up abruptly, her mouth a wide 'O' of surprise. One clear blue, squinted eye stared back at her. "Doyle ..." she breathed, eyes glistening with tears.
The Irishman sat up, resting against the headboard and clasped her hand in his. Raising it to his mouth, he lightly brushed the knuckles with his lips, then planted a loving kiss on the soft flesh of her palm. "Hey darlin'," he murmured, flashing a lopsided grin.
"Doyle," the young Seer whispered again, the almost-tangible specter of longing and disbelief still hanging between them. Then, without another moment of hesitation, Cordelia closed the distance between them, gathering the half-demon in a crushing embrace.
He clung to her, hands at the cool skin of her neck and snaking around her slender waist, relishing her familiar scent, her warm presence. "Oh Cor," he sighed, still enamored by her loveliness. Her hair was much shorter and straighter, a couple shades lighter, but that was far from the most drastic change. Angel's current Seer looked so much older, wiser, a few more lines creasing her luminous face.
Suddenly, Cordelia pulled back from their tight hug. "Wait a minute," she announced suspiciously. "You were just pretending to be comatose? You heard everything I said?"
"Well, I didn't want ta spoil the moment," Doyle responded teasingly.
She made a great show of rolling her eyes, swatting playfully at her resurrected friend. "I should of figured you'd be as annoying as you used to be," Cordelia joked, though adoration shone brightly in her eyes. They slipped easily and immediately back into their bickering roles, slinging witty barbs at each other, but this time their banter was lighter, more affectionate, laced with a careful consideration and tenderness.
Their laughter trailed off into a comfortable silence as the former associates gazed at each other thoughtfully. Cordelia took hold of his hand again, breaking the moment of quiet. "I just can't believe that you're here," she admitted, flashing her 100-watt smile. "And you feel okay? It looks like your fever broke."
Doyle looked up from his observance of their clasped hands, realization dawning on his face. She didn't smell right. Not in a bad, few-days-behind- in-showering way, but there was something was ... different about her essence, something that kicked his demon senses into high gear. Before his ... death (and the former Seer still shivered when that thought crossed his mind), Cordelia had left behind a fresh, clean air of sunshine and laundry detergent and oranges. Now, she carried a scent suspiciously akin to ... patchouli?
"What is it, Doyle?" the young woman demanded, noticing the grave look shadowing the half-demon's face. "What's wrong?"
"Sumthin's different," he responded, wide-eyed. "You're different. Not quite ... normal." The Irishman peered deep into her brown eyes, shocked by the depths he found there. The light and the wisdom and the ... "Power," Doyle announced simply. "Yea smell like power."
"A lot's changed since you gave me those damn visions," Cordelia responded, her voice low. "Hell, everything has."
"Especially you."
The current Seer cocked her head thoughtfully. "You're one to talk! With your whole random comas and miraculous recovery thing! I guess both of us have a lot of catching up to do. God, where to start? First there were the prophecies and then Pylea, that's where we picked up Fred-" Cordelia pitched forward suddenly, straight into Doyle's lap, features twisted into a harsh grimace and hands clutching her throbbing skull, a moan of pain issuing from her lips.
The Irishman had experienced far too many of those head-crushing, mind- numbing visions in his day, but witnessing some else endure that excruciating anguish, especially when he was responsible for said-anguish, was almost as bad. He gathered the girl in his arms, attempting to soothe the shuttering body with caresses and soft hands. "Sssh Princess, it'll all be over soon." And then, an added whisper ...
"I'm so sorry."
Eventually, the trembling stopped and Cordelia sat up cautiously, hair mussed and eyes rimmed with red. Her face had turned an ashen colour; tears had smeared the Seer's perfectly-applied makeup all over the pale skin. "It hurts ... so much now," she groaned weakly. "It didn't before, and ever since the Beast ... they're so bad now. And I saw ... I saw ..."
"What, darlin'?"
Cordelia's haunted, hazel eyes locked with Doyle's. "Faith," she murmured. "I saw Faith. He's going to kill her."
***************
In these days of no regrets
I keep mine to myself
And all the things we never said I can say for someone else
Cause nothing lasts forever, but we always try
And I just can't help but wonder why
We let it pass us by
When I see you now
I wonder how
I could've watched you walk away
If I let you down
Please forgive me now
For that beautiful goodbye
A/N: Da, da, da!!!! And all my readers breath a sigh of relief at the sign of actually action! Yay! Just wanted to drop you this note to say that I'm going to be posting an offshoot of this story in the Buffy: The Vampire Slayer section of ff.net that will deal with a visit to the Hellmouth from a certain badly-dressed demon (no, not Doyle). So obviously the Scoobies are going to make an appearance here and the small vignette will be from Buffy et al.'s POV. Keep reading & reviewing!
******************
It was the look in your eyes, you said,
"No one's going to hurt me like you did."
Rolling over it a thousand times
in the narrow flume of my mind.
O what I'd give for just one small caress.
It was the look in your eyes
when you said something like
"Yer possessed."
You're possessed.
-Gord Downie
But pain can look cool
When it's at it's best
And the best things in life
Don't make any sense
And all that I know
Is every day I know less
And the best things in life
Don't make any sense
-The Odds
"It takes all your power to prove that you don't care,
I'm not Cordelia, I will not be there."
-The Hip
********************
Fed up with my destiny
And this place of no return
Think I'll take another day
And slowly watch it burn
It doesn't really matter
How the time goes by
'Cause I still remember you and I
And our beautiful goodbye
We traveled through these empty streets
Laughing arm in arm
The night had made a mess of me
Your confession kept me warm
And I don't really miss you
I just need to know
Do you ever think of you and I
And our beautiful goodbye
If I let you down
Please forgive me now
For that beautiful goodbye.
****************
"Angel."
The vampire had just retreated from Doyle's room, was closing the door with a soft click. At Cordelia's voice, the Warrior had tensed visibly, his broad back going rigid with anger. He turned with aching slowness to face his Seer. "Cordelia." The name fell heavily from his lips, clumsy and awkward and cold in the silence.
She stepped forward, reaching out to him, but the vampire drew back into the shadows, his eyes blazing with hurt. "He's in there." Angel's voice was like ice, fighting desperately to keep the spiteful edge from his tone. 'This isn't the time,' the vampire scolded himself. 'Not with your resurrected best friend in that bedroom. He's back and that's what matters. Not Cordelia and Connor. Not your son and the woman you love--'
"Where did you find him?" she demanded, laying a gentle hand on the Warrior's forearm. To Angel, that touched burned right to his soul. "Is Doyle alright? Is he still passed out?"
"Go see for yourself."
Cordelia frowned quizzically at the vampire's uncharacteristic coldness, visibly confused and slightly hurt. She made a mental note to talk to him later, shame churning deep in her stomach. Images of a skinny, young boy, pale and sweating in the fire's gleam, flashed through her guilt-ridden mind. He would never have to find out, and they could continue ...
(-Continue what? What did you have before to continue? You slept with his son, sister ... and now, Doyle's back ... I'd say you're in trouble, sweetheart-)
"Thank you, Angel," she murmured, slipping past him and into Doyle's new bedroom. The vampire watched her retreating back with a measure of longing, suddenly feeling very cold and very alone.
*************
Cordelia took a careful seat on the edge of the half-demon's bed, studying the sinewy, comatose figure. Doyle's dark locks were longer, the thick, spiky tangles sticking up haphazardly from the crown of his head; a long, straight scar marred the left side of his face. Beads of sweat left glistening trails down the Irishman's now-decidedly pallid features; blue eyes closed fast against the world and even brow pulled together in apparent distress. The Seer reached out one trembling hand towards the inert young man, tentative, nervous; caressed one smooth cheek experimentally, relishing the warmth, the realness, of his flushed skin under her fingers.
(-Oh God ... he's alive.-)
A violent half sob, half smile escaped her lips, a wide grin stretching over her features while tears spilled down her cheeks. Until that moment, Cordelia had not quite allowed herself to believe. Her visions were painful, yeah, and constantly filled with immanent doom and chaos, but they were never wrong. And when that head-splitting image of the late Irishman (New Doyle, she liked to think of him) had invaded her psyche, she knew it was true, believed in his resurrection with every ounce of faith left in her battered body. But still ... there was that gnawing doubt, the tiniest of fears that it would all be wrong. Permitting herself to believe meant wearing her poor, bruised heart on her sleeve, taking the chance that she might just have to mourn him all over again.
But Doyle felt so ... real. His filthy hair and his sallow face and his tangible smell of whiskey and smoke and pine trees ... Overcome, Cordelia shuttered with quivering cries, her entire body trembling uncontrollably. She was numb; her mind white and blank and stuck in this beautiful moment.
(-It's you ... it's you and you're here with me again.-)
Laughter erupted through her weeping, her heart leaping violently into her throat. There was a deep swelling of joy in her soul; the cool, cleansing feeling of elation flowing through every pore, every dark thought and bad day.
... There's definitely more to Doyle than meets the eye ...
.... Nice guys don't always finish last ...
... Is that it? Am I done? ...
"I missed you," Cordelia whispered quietly, picking up one limp hand with both of her's, lovingly tracing the lines and creases of his palm. Running light fingers over his bruised knuckles, the Seer smiled, then spoke again. "If you weren't so damn unconscious I would totally slap you right now for getting yourself killed like that. I mean, what were you thinking? Leaving the fate of the world up to a bratty, wannabe actress and the former Scourge of Europe. We needed you so much ... and you left us." Cordelia laced her fingers through his. "It was so hard at first, for both of us. I was dealing with that mind-numbing inheritance of yours', and Angel skulked around way more than usual. It just ... it didn't feel right without you there. But I guess your logic wasn't completely wacko, 'cause things got better. Plus, the whole being the Promised One and sacrificing yourself and saving hundreds of lives thing."
Her features softened as she gazed at the half-demon. "I'm so proud of you, Doyle. What you did for us, for the Listers ... you were so brave. And note the lack of shock in my voice, huh? I knew, I always knew, and I'm sorry I didn't bother telling you when you were ... alive. I mean, you did dress in the Salvation Army's latest, and you drank way too much and your lifestyle wasn't exactly conductive towards, well, staying alive ... but you were so sweet and you noticed my new shoes and you actually managed to get Angel out of his Batcave ... I loved your eyes when you smiled, how you knew exactly what to say to our boss when he was upset ... and you knew me. I mean really knew me. Not many people had bothered, up to that point." She exhaled again, slowly, squeezing his clammy hand. "You're a good man, Allen Francis Doyle ... a good half-man. Whatever you are, it's all good and I missed every part of it."
"Ya flatter me too much, Princess."
Cordelia's head snapped up abruptly, her mouth a wide 'O' of surprise. One clear blue, squinted eye stared back at her. "Doyle ..." she breathed, eyes glistening with tears.
The Irishman sat up, resting against the headboard and clasped her hand in his. Raising it to his mouth, he lightly brushed the knuckles with his lips, then planted a loving kiss on the soft flesh of her palm. "Hey darlin'," he murmured, flashing a lopsided grin.
"Doyle," the young Seer whispered again, the almost-tangible specter of longing and disbelief still hanging between them. Then, without another moment of hesitation, Cordelia closed the distance between them, gathering the half-demon in a crushing embrace.
He clung to her, hands at the cool skin of her neck and snaking around her slender waist, relishing her familiar scent, her warm presence. "Oh Cor," he sighed, still enamored by her loveliness. Her hair was much shorter and straighter, a couple shades lighter, but that was far from the most drastic change. Angel's current Seer looked so much older, wiser, a few more lines creasing her luminous face.
Suddenly, Cordelia pulled back from their tight hug. "Wait a minute," she announced suspiciously. "You were just pretending to be comatose? You heard everything I said?"
"Well, I didn't want ta spoil the moment," Doyle responded teasingly.
She made a great show of rolling her eyes, swatting playfully at her resurrected friend. "I should of figured you'd be as annoying as you used to be," Cordelia joked, though adoration shone brightly in her eyes. They slipped easily and immediately back into their bickering roles, slinging witty barbs at each other, but this time their banter was lighter, more affectionate, laced with a careful consideration and tenderness.
Their laughter trailed off into a comfortable silence as the former associates gazed at each other thoughtfully. Cordelia took hold of his hand again, breaking the moment of quiet. "I just can't believe that you're here," she admitted, flashing her 100-watt smile. "And you feel okay? It looks like your fever broke."
Doyle looked up from his observance of their clasped hands, realization dawning on his face. She didn't smell right. Not in a bad, few-days-behind- in-showering way, but there was something was ... different about her essence, something that kicked his demon senses into high gear. Before his ... death (and the former Seer still shivered when that thought crossed his mind), Cordelia had left behind a fresh, clean air of sunshine and laundry detergent and oranges. Now, she carried a scent suspiciously akin to ... patchouli?
"What is it, Doyle?" the young woman demanded, noticing the grave look shadowing the half-demon's face. "What's wrong?"
"Sumthin's different," he responded, wide-eyed. "You're different. Not quite ... normal." The Irishman peered deep into her brown eyes, shocked by the depths he found there. The light and the wisdom and the ... "Power," Doyle announced simply. "Yea smell like power."
"A lot's changed since you gave me those damn visions," Cordelia responded, her voice low. "Hell, everything has."
"Especially you."
The current Seer cocked her head thoughtfully. "You're one to talk! With your whole random comas and miraculous recovery thing! I guess both of us have a lot of catching up to do. God, where to start? First there were the prophecies and then Pylea, that's where we picked up Fred-" Cordelia pitched forward suddenly, straight into Doyle's lap, features twisted into a harsh grimace and hands clutching her throbbing skull, a moan of pain issuing from her lips.
The Irishman had experienced far too many of those head-crushing, mind- numbing visions in his day, but witnessing some else endure that excruciating anguish, especially when he was responsible for said-anguish, was almost as bad. He gathered the girl in his arms, attempting to soothe the shuttering body with caresses and soft hands. "Sssh Princess, it'll all be over soon." And then, an added whisper ...
"I'm so sorry."
Eventually, the trembling stopped and Cordelia sat up cautiously, hair mussed and eyes rimmed with red. Her face had turned an ashen colour; tears had smeared the Seer's perfectly-applied makeup all over the pale skin. "It hurts ... so much now," she groaned weakly. "It didn't before, and ever since the Beast ... they're so bad now. And I saw ... I saw ..."
"What, darlin'?"
Cordelia's haunted, hazel eyes locked with Doyle's. "Faith," she murmured. "I saw Faith. He's going to kill her."
***************
In these days of no regrets
I keep mine to myself
And all the things we never said I can say for someone else
Cause nothing lasts forever, but we always try
And I just can't help but wonder why
We let it pass us by
When I see you now
I wonder how
I could've watched you walk away
If I let you down
Please forgive me now
For that beautiful goodbye
A/N: Da, da, da!!!! And all my readers breath a sigh of relief at the sign of actually action! Yay! Just wanted to drop you this note to say that I'm going to be posting an offshoot of this story in the Buffy: The Vampire Slayer section of ff.net that will deal with a visit to the Hellmouth from a certain badly-dressed demon (no, not Doyle). So obviously the Scoobies are going to make an appearance here and the small vignette will be from Buffy et al.'s POV. Keep reading & reviewing!