Chapter Two: Waiting in the Wings. I think I actually succeeded in sticking pretty close to cannon in this, all things considered. I admit to messing around with the timeline a little bit. I skipped "Provider" and the opening scene of "Waiting in the Wings," in order to make things simpler for me. Apologies to anyone this meddling might offend.

"I came back from the dead this morning. After that, everything else should be a piece of cake." American Gods, Neil Gaiman.

Breakfast was an odd affair. Everyone there was used to either eating alone, in their own homes, or in Angel's case draining a cup of blood while arguing over some text or other with Wesley. But for this special occasion Cordelia had managed to unearth a decent-sized table from somewhere, and had made Angel and Gunn haul it all the way out to the lobby. She'd also managed to bully Angel into cooking breakfast, and so when Doyle made his way downstairs there was a table laden with huge amounts of food and lots of beaming people sitting around it.

Alright, "lots" was an exaggeration, but it was still a bit overwhelming. Angel and Cordy were there, of course, and had reserved a seat for him between them, but Wes, Gunn, Fred, and Lorne were all there, along with Connor in his crib. They all grinned at him as he approached the table, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and he felt a little dizzy at the prospect of facing so many people after years of complete isolation, but his glimpses of their lives in his afterlife helped to steady him with a sense that he knew these people, at least a little, and his natural friendliness had a chance to emerge. He was smiling as he sat down between Angel and Cordy.

And they... talked as they ate breakfast. It felt so odd, to hear a normal conversation for a change. To listen as Gunn and Wesley verbally sparred with affectionate ease, and Fred babbled, and Cordy mocked Angel with disconcerting thoroughness while Lorne talked to everyone and someone made the whole scene look normal. And maybe it was normal, and he just couldn't remember, anymore.

After breakfast, Cordy grabbed him firmly by one arm and hauled him out of his chair with strength that her body hadn't had when he'd last known her. "Alright, buster, enough with your silent act. I'm going to show you around the damn hotel, and you're going to talk while I do, or else."

He blinked at her. "I'm not Angel, Cordy. I can actually carry on a conversation about something other than battle tactics for longer than two minutes."

Everyone except Angel laughed at that, not even trying to pretend that they weren't laughing directly at Angel, who was looking slightly confused and slightly insulted. "I can carry on a conversation that's not about battle tactics."

Doyle arched a challenging eyebrow at him. "Not about weapons. Or demons."

Angel opened his mouth. "Or anything that can possibly be related to demons or fighting evil," Doyle added, and his mouth snapped shut again. He tried to look like he wasn't desperately trying to think of any conversation he'd had that didn't include any of the listed items, but he knew that he was failing miserably.

"Thought so," Cordelia said smugly, then grabbed Doyle's arm again and started to drag him off. Angel opened his mouth to call after them, closed it, sighed, and then said, "Hey... guys?"

They didn't turn.

Louder this time. "Guys?"

Slight hesitation, a hissed command from Cordelia, and they kept walking.

Angel growled a little under his breath, then said, loudly enough to almost be a shout, "I have somewhere I have to go, and Doyle has to go with me or, you know, it's last night all over again?"

This time they stopped, turned around, and came back till they were standing right in front of him- and way too close. Definitely invading his personal space, not that these two cared.

"Right, and what's so important that you would interrupt my grand tour, broodboy?"

He winces, and does his best to ignore Cordelia's insult because, really, he should be used to them by now. "Gunn's tickets, remember? You wanna explain to Gunn why he didn't get to go to whatever show it is that he wanted?"

She opened her mouth to answer that one, and to Angel's great relief, Gunn beat him to it. "Cordy, you do not wanna mess with the Mata Hari tickets. You just don't."

She considered this one for a minute. "You're taking the sewers, aren't you?"

Angel just stared at her for a minute. "Cordelia, it's ten in the morning. Should I even bother answering that question?"

She snorted, elegantly. "Fine. But bring him back soon, or I will do things that you really don't want to think about to your hair gel."

Angel's hand went reflexively to his hair, and he sighed when Doyle snickered at him. "Fine. We'll go straight there, and I'll move very quickly when trying not to get charred by stray beams of sunlight, and we'll come straight back. Satisfied?"

"You have no idea what I look like when I'm satisfied, Angel, but this ain't it," she snapped. Doyle coughed meaningfully into his palms. "But it's good enough. Something you wanna share with the class, Doyle?"

"Oh no," he said, his blue eyes wide and innocent. "Just a tickle in my throat, y'know."

"Hmmph," she said, completely unconvinced, and tapped her foot once to show that she was completely unconvinced before she turned and swept out of the room, regal dignity trailing behind her like Angel's coat.

Only Doyle saw the little smile curving her lips, and he wasn't about to call her on it.

"You know, before I died, if anyone had told me that I would miss slogging around the sewers, I would have laughed in their face." Doyle made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat as he stepped carefully around some unidentifiable piece of ooze. "Actually, I'm still thinking that this has to be the one thing I did not miss while dead. Ecch."

Angel grabbed his arm to steady him as he moved around a puddle, and didn't let go once he'd regained his balance until Doyle gave him an odd look. The vampire promptly let him go, and took a step back. A very large step back.

Doyle stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and kept going. "Even this is better than that black nothing..." Just at that moment he saw the huge, guilt-filled eyes that Angel was turning in his direction. "Er, nothing. It was nothing, really. I have no idea what I'm talking about."

"Doyle..." Angel's voice was quiet, but had no less power for his lack of volume. Doyle sighed.

"Yeah, Angel?"

"What was it like? Really, not whatever story you're making up at the moment to make Cordelia feel better."

"I haven't made up any-"

"Yeah, but you will. When she gets around to asking."

Another sigh. "It's not fair that you know me so well, ya know that?" Angel just watched him. Doyle stopped, and turned around and glared at him. "It was bad, alright? It was complete and total empty black nothing, and I couldn't see anything, hear anything, even feel anything except for the occasional glimpse of you'n Cordy and the people around you. Do you get it, now? It was hell. Now, do you feel better hearing that? Are you happier knowing that I earned my own personal hell?"

"No," Angel said softly, with just a hint of danger in his voice. "I'm not happier to know that, as you damn well know. I'm not the only one who knows someone else too well, Doyle. But I am, by God, happier that you at least trust me enough to tell me the truth, even if you did yell it at me."

Doyle paused and blinked, looking a little surprised. "I was yelling, wasn't I?" He sighed. "I was just trying to spare you both a little pain, okay? You didn't need to hear it, and I know damn well you're standing there thinking that if you'd been a bit steadier I wouldn't have been able to knock you off the catwalk, and you would have died instead, and you'd have been in Hell instead of me. I know that friggin' kicked-puppy look in your eyes. And I think it's really stupid, because you can't exactly go back and change things, and even if you could it would be wrong."

Angel stalked closer, glaring at him hard enough to send off sparks. "No, it wouldn't have been. You, the good guy, would have lived, and me, the vampire that slaughtered thousands of people, would have died and gone to hell. End of story. Everyone lives happily ever after."

"Bullshit!" Doyle roared. "And what about all of the people that are still walking around because you saved their asses, huh? I've been gone for over two years. How many people have you saved in those two years, Angel? Can you even give me a rough guess?"

"Um-"

"I didn't think so," Doyle snarled. Angel took an involuntary step back- he'd never seen the half-demon so angry. Doyle followed him, getting right up in his face- or trying to, since he was a few too inches short to actually succeed. "Because there's too many to really count, aren't I right? Do you honestly think that I would have been able to do that?"

"Yes," Angel said, and came back to himself with a snap. He stood up straight again and glared down at Doyle. "Because you can do whatever the hell you put your mind to doing. Impossible things happen around you, or haven't you noticed? You came back from the dead yesterday, or have you forgotten already? And you make me-" He stopped abruptly, his mouth snapping closed.

Doyle's angry expression softened into something else, something that seemed equally un-Doyle-like, something almost like wonder, or masculine self-satisfaction. "I make you what, Angel?" He took another half-step closer, till their chests brushed together. "Make you shiver? Make you moan?" There was a little smirk on his face that said that this was at least half joke, but something in his eyes said that part of him was entirely serious.

"Make me want something I shouldn't," Angel said, before he shut his mouth again, determined to keep it closed this time. Doyle cocked his head to the side, then brought his hands up to Angel's chest. Angel stood rock-still while Doyle slid his hands upward, fingers fluttering over his collarbones before dancing over his neck and finally cupping his jaw in his palms.

Doyle leaned forward, and for one heart-stopping moment Angel thought he was going to kiss him. Instead Doyle placed his mouth next to his ear and, in a voice so soft only a vampire could have been able to hear him, even that close, said, "Maybe you should rethink your habits of self-denial, yeah?"

And then he strode away whistling, leaving Angel to stare after him in confusion, and wonder just what the hell had happened.

"Hey, tickets!" Gunn said, the moment came up from the back door that led to the basement, Doyle at his heels. "I'm paying you back, I swear. You're gonna love this," he added, turning to face everyone else. "Mata Hari is the tightest band in LA. You guys are gonna be tripping out."

"Um..." Angel said, and Doyle smothered a laugh behind his hand and shot a look at Cordelia. Cordelia shot the look right back, wondering what the hell was going on, but figuring she'd find out soon enough.

"I said I'm good for it," Gunn said over Angel's protest, taking the tickets from his hand. Angel opened his mouth again to protest, but didn't get a chance because Gunn had already opened the tickets and read aloud, "...World Ballet Core. What the hell?"

"I was trying to tell you- we got to the ticket place, and boom! Tonight only."

"But... you got ballet, on my Mata Hari tickets."

"This is the Blinakoff World Ballet Core."

"He's saying that like it has meaning," Cordelia said, not even looking up from the file she was going through. Doyle wandered over, curious to see what she was looking at.

"This is one of the premier companies in the world. And they're doing Giselle- it's the signature piece!" Angel shot a desperate look at Doyle, who stopped leaning over Cordy's shoulder to give him a look that said, very clearly, that he was all on his own with this one.

"This is all like some horrible dream," Gunn said. Doyle nudged Cordelia to move sideways on her perch on the countertop so he could look at the page, still paying attention to the arguing pair a few feet away.

"I think I've heard of them. Very ahead of their time," Wesley offered.

"Oh yeah," Angel said. "I saw their production of Giselle in 1890- I cried like a baby. And I was evil!"

"I think I'm scared of that grin on his face," Doyle said in an undertone to Cordelia. "It's a silly smile. Any sort of silly smile on Angel is disturbing."

"No kidding," Cordelia said, while Fred put in her two cents worth.

"I think it sounds exciting," she said, and Wesley smiled down at her and agreed with his eyes more than just his happy little, "Yes."

Gunn, on the other hand, was not so easily pleased. "No. No! This is not Mata Hari. This is... this is tutus, and guys with their big-ass packages jumpin' up and down, this is just..." He let out a frustrated little sigh and looked around, searching for sympathy. Wesley looked sympathetic to his plight, at least. Good to know you could count on a friend in need.

"I will never trust you again," he told Angel. "The trust is gone."

"Oh, get over it," Cordelia muttered from the counter, where she was pointing something out to Doyle. "Do we get dressed up?"

"Of course," Angel said, and she grinned and looked back down at the folder.

"I'm in."

"Guys," Angel said. "Seeing real ballet live, it's..." A little sigh, as if to convey that words just did not express. "It's like another world. Gunn, these guys are tight, and you're gonna be trippin' out."

Gunn was unmoved. "Don't be usin' my own phrases when we've lost the trust."

Angel held his eyes for a moment, trying to convince him by sheer telepathy as far as anyone could tell, and then sighed and looked away. Cordelia snorted and set the folder aside, jumping down from the counter. "C'mon guys- working day, cases to solve. And you-" she looked at Doyle, "are coming with me. Unless you have anything else to drag him off for, Angel?"

"Oh no," he said, holding his hands out as if to ward off any potential displays of Cordelia's temper. "Not me."

"Good."

Everyone wandered off, Doyle trailing after Cordelia after shooting one last smile over his shoulder at Angel, and Gunn looked mournfully down at the tickets before looking back up at their retreating backs. "Okay, but I'm not still payin' right? Cuz this is... this is... it's like a nightmare."

"Ask someone who cares, big guy," Cordelia tossed over her shoulder, and then everyone had left the room except him. Leaving him all alone.

With the damned ballet tickets.

"Are you sure this is the place for us?" Fred asked hesitantly. Her hands were clutched tightly around the strap of her purse, and she was eyeing the displays like she was afraid that she would knock one over.

"Well, we could always get our outfits at Cavegirl's House of Burlap, but that's just so last season." Cordelia looked up from the black dress she was glancing over. "The guys are all renting tuxes; we've gotta step up."

"But aren't we, you know, poor?"

"There's a custom among my people. It's called buying a dress, wearing it once, and returning it the next day." She grinned at Fred. "It's all about hiding the tags while it's on."

"Oh," Fred said with a little laugh. "Okay." And she followed Cordelia around to the other side of the rack.

"I've very excited about tonight," she said. "I love the ballet. I mean, I haven't seen that much, but my family used to go to the Nutcracker every Christmas, and I had my first sexual dream about the Mouse King."

Cordelia paused, as if trying not to consider that, and then just nodded and pulled a dress off the rack, holding it up. "Face me."

When Fred complied, she mm'd under her breath, then shook her head and moved on.

"Can I ask you something?" Fred said, twisting her hands together as she looked at the back of Cordelia's head.

Cordelia sighed, knowing what she was asking but not knowing how to respond. Mostly because she didn't know which one she was going to be asking about, but Fred was going to do what she was going to do either way, so why not encourage her?

"I think you're perfect for each other."

Said without even turning around, of course, because she needed a second to make sure her expression was under her control. Then she turned around with a smile, and said, "My magic powers, remember?"

"It- it's not like we've said anything," Fred said on a rush of breath. "But he's so sweet, and commanding, and I feel so comfortable around him. I mean, I don't even know if he feels-"

"He feels," Cordelia interrupted. Which was true, whichever man Fred was talking about. Cordelia really hoped she was talking about Wesley, because while Gunn had a crush on her that might develop into something more, Wesley was already head-over-heels in love with the girl.

"Feelings?"

"There's definite feelings," Cordelia said. "We find the right outfit for tonight, there may be actual feeling."

"And then we have to find a dress for you," Fred said. "Something that will make Angel crazy."

"Fred, sweetie, Angel is crazy," Cordelia said reflexively, then looked over at her. "Besides, remember the whole thing with Doyle? Or am I the only one in the room who notices those two? They look at each other, and they almost start purring."

"Well, okay, but I know Angel's gonna look his best. For you, too."

"If Angel wants to look his best, and with that hairstyle who could believe that he cares? He'd want to be looking his best for Doyle. Besides, Angel? Right. Like our champion is really going to be spending all day worrying about his outfit."

"Is it gonna be alright?" Angel asked, glancing over his shoulder. "Is there a stain?"

"Relax, crumbcake," Lorne said as he rubbed at the back of Angel's tux. "I got the soda water working overtime."

Doyle, already dressed- at least someone wasn't having clothing problems, Angel thought dourly- had been sent a couple minutes ago to make sure the girls were ready. Wesley and Gunn were downstairs- he thought so, at least- and so he was the only one left who wasn't quite ready yet, thanks to his son.

"Man, Connor burps like a champ," Lorne said, echoing his thoughts.

"At least he's sleeping."

"And who wouldn't," Lorne agreed. "With that sweet Irish lullaby you crooned. Just a hair flat on the bridge, but more to the point, uh, Cordelia?"

"What about her?" Angel asked, glancing over his shoulder at the demon, who was putting away the cleaning supplies.

"I read you while you were singing, you big corn muffin. And I can't say as I blame. I mean, what a woman she's become."

Angel turned to face him, looking deeply unhappy with him, but too stressed to be actually threatening about it. "You're not supposed to be reading me. Anyway, you read me wrong."

"Sorry, strudel, it's not just when you're singing. We got a little term back in Pylea- caerumption?"

"I know it," Angel snapped.

"Okay! When two great heroes come together-"

"There will be no 'coming together'" Angel interrupted, pulling on his boots and zipping them. "All we've been through and all anyone wants to talk about is-"

"Can't fight caerumption, cinnamon buns. It's fate. It's the stars. Caerumption is-"

"Stop-" And he stood up, and hello, now he was threatening. "-saying that." Pause. "And stop calling me pastries."

Lorne flopped back in the chair and watched him sadly as he walked across the room, his hand coming up to grip the back of his neck in a gesture of frustration, anger, and sadness. "You're a man of many limitations, Angel, but you're a man. You got a heart. And Cordelia's a hell of a lady-"

"You're not getting it, Lorne," Angel said. "I'm not arguing the 'two great heroes coming together' thing. I think you're right. You've just got the wrong person. Doyle's the hero. No one can really doubt that, and if they do I'll be more than happy to point it out. I don't have anything to offer him, but he's stuck with me anyway, and I just..." He stopped, and sighed deeply. "It's Doyle, is all. You read me wrong. It's Doyle, because he's-"

"He's what?" asked a musical Irish voice from the doorway. Both of them turned at the same time to see Cordelia leaning against the doorway with Doyle next to her, his head cocked to the side curiously. Angel's very unneeded breath froze in his throat for a moment. Doyle looked... He looked amazing. Cordelia was gorgeous- despite his protestations, he did notice- but Doyle was...

Everything he'd lost, come back to him. Against all the odds, he'd returned, and he was here, looking somber and gorgeous in a very expensive rented tux that fit him like a glove. Almost against his will, Angel held out his hand, and with a smile Doyle relinquished his hold on Cordelia's elbow and crossed the room to place his palm in Angel's.

"I was just saying that you're not much of a ballet fan, is all," Angel said. Completely forgetting their audience, Doyle gave in to the pressure Angel was exerting on his hand and leaned against the solid comfort of Angel's body.

"I dunno," he said casually. Having remembered their audience, but ignoring them now, he stretched up and pressed a kiss on the side of Angel's neck. "I think I'll enjoy this one."

The smile Angel gave him was so heartbreaking it was almost luminous, and he couldn't help but smiling back and surrendering completely to a full-fledged hug.

Completely happy to be ignored for the first time in her life, Cordelia threw a semi-gentle elbow into Lorne's ribs. "Those are perfect for each other, aren't they?"

Lorne, on the other hand, was looking at Cordelia. "Yeah," he said, sounding slightly less than sincere. "I guess they are."

"This is her dressing room," Angel murmured as the door creaked open. Doyle looked around at the costumes on the wall and said, "No, you think?"

"Smartass," Angel muttered, and went to walked a slow circle in the middle of the room while Doyle walked straight over to the dressing table. "It's unchanged."

"Don't wanna know why you knew what it looked like in the first place," Doyle said. "So please, don't tell me." He fingered a cross that was lying on the table.

"Trust me, I wasn't planning on it," Angel said, then looked over to see Doyle holding up the cross to examine it's reflection in the mirror. "Doyle, what are you doing?"

"She would wait for him here," Doyle said in a low voice, and Angel felt the first twinges of real uneasiness, but then Doyle shook his head and looked up at Angel, and the charming air of confusion in his eyes kept them from reaching voice.

Angel looked away from him, not quite able to hold his gaze when confusion turned to something else, and said, "It's warm. It's very warm." His voice came out on a sigh, sounding like he was almost short of breath.

He felt Doyle turn, and the other man said, "I feel it," in the low voice as before, though now with the same edge of breathlessness that was in Angel's own.

"Something happened here," Angel said, determinedly continuing to talk even though he could feel Doyle standing up, could feel his eyes on him.

"Angel?" Doyle asked, fully on his feet now. Angel was determinedly not looking at him again.

"Yeah?"

"I want you... to undress me."

"Huh?"

"It's just another costume," Doyle whispered, and his hand slid across his stomach in an inviting caress. Angel's eyes tracked the movement hungrily during the pause between his words. "I want you to see who I really am." Another pause, and their eyes met and held. "You're the only one who can."

"I- I...." His brain was foggy, wrapped in cotton wool, and it was hard to think, much less speak, through the haze of lust that was surrounding him. Somehow, he managed to fight it away long enough to get out, "Doyle, this isn't us. We're- we're acting this out. Someone is-"

Doyle blinked, shaking his head as a dog would, trying to clear it. "Did I just ask you undress me? Did those words really come out of my mouth?"

"Is that what you want?" Angel demanded, stalking forward, his eyes hot and predatory. Doyle looked up at him as he came closer, subconsciously leaning towards him as the distance that separated them narrowed almost to nothing. "Please," he breathed, as Angel's hand came up to trace his cheek.

"You want me to make love to you right here?"

"You know I do," as Angel leaned down, their mouths only a breath apart.

"But you're afraid," Angel said, his tickling mouth ghosting back to touch the spot behind his ear.

"What if he finds us?"

Angel pulled back and looked deeply into his eyes, his eyes intent as his hands gripped Doyle's arms tightly. "I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of anything."

Leaning closer again, their lips brushing, and Doyle was breathing softly into his mouth with his words. "I'm only alive when you're inside me."

And then they were kissing, softly at first, and then devouring each other, their bodies straining closer. Doyle's hand crept up Angel's arm and came up to cup his cheek, and the cross he'd forgotten he was holding burned against the vampire's skin.

Angel flinched away and Doyle jerked back, his eyes wide and his breath coming in shallow pants. Doyle watched him as he straightened again, his hand still pressed against the small red mark on his cheek. "Doyle, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Doyle said with a little half-smile. "Wasn't exactly fightin' you off, was I? Sounded more like I was doing the invitin'."

"We need to get out of here," Angel said firmly, and Doyle nodded in agreement, but when Angel took a step closer he didn't step back, just stared up with blue eyes that had darkened almost to violet as their chests brushed together again. "I just... want to..." And he leaned forward again, and their lips met again, and they were lost.

Cordelia sat on Wesley's other side and watched with interest as both Wesley and Gunn snuck looks at Fred and two hands, one pale and slender, the other large and dark, crept slowly towards each other from opposite sides. Deciding that she should probably stop things before they got out of hand, she cleared her throat and said, "Angel and Doyle've been gone a while, don't you think?"

Both hands snapped back to their own laps, and Fred looked at her with relief. "We should probably go check on them."

"You're right," Wesley said as he stood up. Gunn looked mournfully at the stage when he followed suit. "But... but we're gonna miss the end!"

"Suck it up, Junior," Cordelia said as they filed out, making their excuses to the people at the end of the row. "All you've been doing is whine, whine, whine. First it was because you had to go to the ballet, and now because you gotta go before it's over. Act an adult once in a while, would you?"

"Easy for you to say," Gunn grumbled. "You slept through most of it."

"Oh, shut up," she retorted with all maturity and skill with insults, and then they were silent until they'd managed to sneak downstairs, to where the backstage door was.

"Well, at least they left us a trail," Gunn said as they stepped over the unconscious security guard. Neither of them noticed the masked couple standing on the balcony, one laughing and one crying.

They were pressed against each other, burning almost out of control. Angel was the first to move, backing them up carefully over to the small couch and laying him back against it. "This is wrong," Doyle whispered, as Angel's mouth drifted over his neck.

"Hush," Angel muttered.

"You don't know him. He has power." Angel kissed his way back to Doyle's jawline, then pulled back enough to look in his eyes as his hand skated up the Irishman's thigh.

"The power to do this?" Angel demanded, as his hand found what he was looking for and he went for the gold with a stroke that had Doyle arching off the couch, his eyes almost rolling back into his head. Angel's hand slid back down again, and Doyle slumped backwards, breathing hard.

"Stefan, his power is unnatural. You don't know him. He could-"

"What, kill us?"

"Worse," Doyle said, his hand reaching up to brush briefly at Angel's face before sliding back to his chest, stroking cool skin through the opening in his halfway-unbuttoned shirt.

"Kirskoff owns the company. He doesn't own you."

"He doesn't know that. He thinks I'm his." Pressing on Angel's chest and sitting up, Doyle added, "that I dance for him. He's nothing but a deluded fan. He thinks I love him."

"Come away with me," Angel said, his voice matching the urgency in Doyle's. "Now, tonight. We'll disappear. Even he won't find us."

"I... Stefan..." Doyle looked into Angel's eyes, wide and dark and beseeching and oh-so-sweet. "Everything I've worked for is here."

Cool fingers brushing at his jaw in reassurance. "You can still dance."

"Can I?" Doyle wanted to know. "I don't-" And there were the eyes again, and it felt like to deny him was to rip his own heart out. "Not yet. Maybe, when we're-"

"Don't," Angel interrupted, his voice almost harsh. "Don't make promises."

They were silent for one long instant, and then Doyle said, "Help me." And as Angel slowly laid him back against the couch, he said, "Help me be not afraid."

Angel's hands were intent on the buttons of Doyle's shirt, his jacket discarded minutes ago. Doyle was making it difficult by curling around him, the better to reach that certain spot on his throat with his tongue.

Somewhere, in both of them, was some part of them that realized that they were just playing out this scene. That their real selves would never have said the things that they did, that this had to be a bad idea for a million different reasons, Angel's curse only being the start of them. But they were so lost among the sensations, everything that they were feeling, that they couldn't help it. That even the last bit of consciousness that they had wasn't able to care, because after all- it was what they really wanted.

All four of them approached each other from separate non-halls that led to exactly the same place. "This is very not right," Gunn said as they came to stand together.

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious," Cordelia snapped, and would have said more but Fred held up one hand for silence.

"Do you hear that?"

"There's something..." Wesley said, and trailed off as the pants and moans became audible to them all. "Someone's in pain."

"Either that or someone's in fun," Fred said, then blushed when both men looked at her oddly.

"Don't tell me you weren't thinking it," Cordelia said in response to the looks. "I know I was."

Doyle wasn't exactly sure when it had happened, but his shirt was off. Angel's was still just unbuttoned, but his own was off and slung somewhere over the back of the couch. And he wasn't really that curious about where it had gotten to, though that might have had something to do with the fact that Angel's mouth was trailing down his stomach, his tongue tickling around his belly button, and that he was very, very aware of Angel's large hands on the button of his pants.

And then he heard a noise. Not really, just enough to distract him a little, and he turned his head and saw...

"Oh, shit," he growled, and Angel jerked back at the interruption, just in time to be caught by a flying tackle a guy in a tux, white gloves, and a comedy mask. Doyle sat up, watching them, and muttered unkind things about stupid henchman with no sense of timing before he realized that there was someone behind him. He turned, just as Angel jumped clear over his head and landed on top of another guy, dressed the same, only with a tragedy mask. What the hell?

The one that Angel had knocked aside was on his feet again, sword in hand. Doyle jumped to his feet himself, keeping his balance carefully, waiting for the charge.

He ducked easily when it came, and didn't even bother looking around for anything to use as a weapon. He knew from their short exploration earlier that there weren't any, but he did grab pillows from the couch and hurled them at the... thing... just as Tragedy stabbed Angel in the chest with his dagger. "Help would be nice!" he yelled, and Angel stabbed Tragedy in the chest with his own sword and, pulling the dagger out of his chest, he hurled it into Comedy's throat with one smooth motion.

Rushing to Angel's side, Doyle said, "We've gotta get the hell out of here."

Angel looked down at the dead bodies. "You think they're not dead?"

"No, it was just..." He glanced down at the front of his pants. "We gotta get out of here, okay?"

Angel's gaze followed his, then widened. "Oh. Yeah. Run."

Doyle grabbed his arm before he could take off. "You an' me... when we get back? We're gonna talk."

Angel smiled down at him for a split second. "Yeah. Talk. Now lets go find everyone else."

The sounds of fists on flesh and broken crockery could be heard by all four of them as they made their way down the hall. "Now that sounds less like fun," Gunn said from the rear of their column, just as Tragedy snuck up behind him and stabbed him in the side.

Fred whirled around at his shout of pain. "Charles!" she screamed, as he slammed an elbow hard into the thing's face and then fell to his knees. Wesley whirled to face Comedy, who was approaching with his sword in hand and held over his shoulder nonchalantly and a particularly evil grin on his face. Fred grabbed a chair and started to beat the demon over the head with it, her face twisted into a mask of fury, while Cordelia grabbed Tragedy's sword and tossed it to Wesley with a shout. "Take care of that one, we've got it handled here!"

Wesley turned, sword in hand, to Comedy, and smiled a little smile of his own. "I guess it's just the two of us now," he said, and attacked.

The two of them moved out of the short hall they'd been in to one another, longer one, swords flashing in the air. Wesley grabbed a piece of cloth and at the right moment, he used it to tangle the creature's sword hand and stabbed it in the gut.

"Who's laughing now?" he said gleefully, then realized what he was fighting and said, "Well, you. But I still win."

He pulled the sword out of its stomach, and went back to find the others, never dreaming what he'd see.

"You know," Doyle said as he stumbled through the door of the Hyperion, "I would have been perfectly happy without all the fightin' and the magic tonight. A peaceful night actually watching the ballet would have been just fine."

"Really? So you wouldn't have had any of tonight happen?" Angel's eyes were intent on his, and Doyle smiled quickly.

"Well, there was this one part..."

"Quit flirting in front of me," Cordelia ordered. "It's disgusting." Her sorta-melty expression said otherwise, though.

"That's not what you said on the drive home, Princess," Doyle said with a little half-smirk. She promptly smacked him on the shoulder with her open palm.

"Lovely as this is, I think I'm going to get Gunn patched up," Wesley said from behind them. "If you'd move away from the doorway, at least."

"Sorry," Doyle said, and stepped away so that the three others could get past him. Wesley's face was tight with strain as he stalked towards his office, but Gunn and Fred didn't seem to notice as they walked after him, somehow managing to cross the lobby and not trip over anything while looking at nothing but each other's eyes.

Cordelia wasn't looking at them, though. She was watching Wesley. "He's in a world of hurt," she said, very quietly. "I hope he'll let me talk to him, because I think I can make him a little better, at least."

Doyle looked at her askance, at that, maybe because he caught something else in her voice, some hint that she was talking about something she hadn't told them about. But she just gave him a bright smile, and he filed away his suspicions for a later date and just leaned against Angel. "Think it's time for bed, don't you?"

Angel tilted his head down so that he could press a tiny kiss to the top of his head. "Yeah. Bed. Good idea."

"Where we can... talk."

"Um..." said a voice from the stairway, but none of them were paying attention- Angel and Doyle were to wrapped up in each other, and Cordelia was too wrapped up in watching them be wrapped up in each other. "Yeah, talking's good," Angel said dreamily.

"Yeah, with the... words. And lips."

"And tongue. Can't forget the tongue."

"Oh, I haven't." A heated glance caught each of them and held, and they just stood there at the top of the steps, staring at each other, lips slightly parted and pupils dilated.

"Lovely as this is, could you guys look up for a minute?" Lorne demanded, slightly irritated, from the steps.

Cordelia was the first to glance up, and then her startled shriek pulled Angel and Doyle's attention there too. "Groo! Oh my god, Groo!"

She bolted to the foot of the steps, and he caught her up in a tight bear hug, swinging her around without even coming close to losing his balance. He let her slide down his body till her feet were touching the ground, holding her so close that his forehead leaned against hers. "I'd feared that you'd forgotten who I was."

"Remind me," she breathed, and then he pressed his lips to hers.

Angel watched the two of them, his face a stony mask that showed nothing. "He just showed up a minute ago," Lorne said from his side, where he'd come to stand. "It seems that the political situation got a little sketchy after everyone got their freedom, and the Groosalug here was deposed. With nothing else there to work for, he came here looking for-" Lorne gave a wary glace at Angel, but finished his sentence anyway. "True love."

"Yeah. Well." Angel swallowed harshly. "I'm gonna go check on Connor," he said, and made for the stairs.

"He's sleeping soundly," Lorne told him, but Angel didn't even pause, just edged past the embracing couple and walked up the steps with a heavy tread.

Doyle sighed and smiled a quirky little half-smile at the Host. "I'll go after him. He'll be fine."

The half-demon was so confident of his ability to make Angel feel better that Lorne started to rethink his earlier assessment about his and Angel's suitability as a couple. Of course Angel was in love with Cordelia, any blind fool could see that, but... Doyle seemed to be something special.

"I believe it," he said, his voice unusually husky. "I'll take care of things down here."

"Thanks," Doyle said with a grateful look, and then he took off up the steps without so much as a backward glance.

"Alright," Lorne said, taking charge of the situation, "It's been a long night and everyone could probably use some rest. Cordelia, you take Groo home with you, and the rest of you can get home on your own. Well, especially Fred, since this is your home, I guess." Lorne shook his head, feeling stupid. He didn't usually stumble over his own tongue like this. "Will everyone survive till the morning? Because I don't think that Angelcakes is gonna be up to dealing with anything till then. And I, for one, want to go to bed."

Cordelia brightened immediately at this prospect, and with an apologetic smile for her friends at her abrupt departure, she dragged Groo out the door. Fred and Gunn made noises about good night, and sleep well, and it was terribly awkward and intimate at the same time. Lorne felt like a voyeur on the scene, and was about to go up to his own rooms when Gunn abruptly gave her a rough hug, and followed Cordelia out the door.

Fred stared after him for a long moment, then turned and ran up the staircase, a little smile on her face.

"I'm going to work a little longer," Wesley said, somewhat stiffly. "I don't believe I could sleep just yet."

Lorne made sympathetic noises and went upstairs himself, pausing just long enough outside Angel's door to hear Angel and Doyle's voices, Angel's low and Doyle's soothing. It was enough to know that the half-demon was handling things, and that his help wasn't needed, for tonight, at least.

Angel bent over Connor's crib, watching his son as much for the pleasure it gave him as an excuse to not look at Doyle.

"Angel, man, you gotta stop runnin' away from shit like this. It's always gonna get worse if you don't talk about it."

"I can't talk about it, Doyle. You should know better. Who the hell am I supposed to talk about this with, you?"

"Yes." When Angel did turn around to look at him, Doyle's expression was gentle. "Actually, I think I'm exactly the person to talk to about this."

Angel groaned and turned back to Connor's crib. "Doyle, we have this, this thing between us. Whatever it is. And I can't just talk about Cordelia when we have the thing. It's wrong."

"You're forgettin', Angel, that I loved her too." Angel's head snapped around at that, staring at the Irishman through wide, startled eyes. "You think I don't know what you're feeling right now? I do. Long before you'd ever noticed her that way, I'd already fallen head over heels. Do you think I'm going to through a jealous fit, or get angry that you'd dare look at someone else just because we have 'this thing,' as you call it? Because I'm not."

"Damn it, Doyle..." Angel sighed, then walked past him to sit down on the bed. "This wasn't how I wanted the evening to go, alright? I was going to go to the ballet, and we were going to come back here, maybe have a drink or two before going to bed. And maybe not just to sleep. And then-" He stopped, ran a hand through his hair and sighed again. "And then there was the spell, and we got all caught up, and though that wasn't exactly how I wanted it to go, it was a good alternative. And then we came back here, and I was so sure that it was all going perfect, and then bam! The Groosalug appears. And he sweeps off with Cordelia, and it's eating me up inside that he has her, even though I don't want really want her, and shouldn't even if I do because I have you."

Doyle came over to sit next to him, stroking a soothing hand over his back when Angel flinched away almost imperceptibly. "Do you think I don't still have feelings for her?"

Angel glanced at him, startled. "C'mon, Angel. I was in love with her when I died, and I couldn't really see much else besides you and her while I was dead, and I came back to save her. Got to play the hero again, and even though I'm here, and with you, I still wish I could be with her. You don't have to feel guilty about who you love, because some people, well, some people you'll always love, no matter what. Even though you can't be with her you're still in love with Buffy, and I'm still in love with my ex-wife. Just because you love one person doesn't mean you can't love someone else."

Angel stared at him blankly for a long moment before harshly clearing his throat. "You're one of the wisest people I've ever met, do you know that? I just..." He stopped and shook his head. "I forget, you know? I have trouble seeing anything except what's right in front of me."

"I can get that," Doyle said softly. "But you gotta be able to let some stuff go- like things you've lost, and things that you can't have- and take comfort in what you do have."

Angel looked at him with dawning comprehension in his eyes. "Take comfort in what I do have, huh?"

"Yeah," Doyle said. He watched Angel as the vampire inched closer, then leaned in and bushed his cheek with cool fingers.

"Doyle, can I have you?"

Doyle's heart turned over at that simple and heartfelt question. "You can have me all you like," he said hoarsely, and closed the few remaining inches between their mouths.

Within seconds they were kissing frantically, desperately, all the heat from earlier in the evening rekindled and then some. It felt new, though, new and different and wonderful, because this was really them, no spirits controlling their movements, and absolutely nothing held back.

Angel was the first to pull away, just a little bit, just enough to whisper a warning against Doyle's mouth. "We can't do this now."

Doyle sighed and pulled back enough to look Angel in the eye. "Your curse, I'm guessin'?"

Angel nodded glumly, and leaned his forehead against Doyle's. "I think there might be something wrong with it, or a way out of it, but I can't know without really looking into it, and so for tonight-"

"We can't do anything," Doyle finished with a sigh. "Yeah, I know." Silence for a moment. "If you think there's a way out of it, then why haven't you researched it before now?"

Angel looked slightly sheepish, but mostly very, very serious, and he stared straight at Doyle when he said, "I've never wanted to before now."

Doyle breath caught a little, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss Angel, but he realized that that way led to nothing but more frustration, so instead he wriggled around till he was within the circle of Angel's arms, cradled against his chest. They sat that way in comfortable silence, contemplating each other, and the woman that they both loved.