He screamed in agony as the force of the light was burning his skin. He had never felt anything so horrible and so real at the same time. He could no longer think, see, or hear correctly. Everything was happening at once. In the back of his head he kept telling himself he was doing this for Cordelia...and for Angel. For everyone of his kind. Then suddenly the light was fading, it seemed to be getting farther away, he thought. The entire explosion moved in slow motion through his eyes. He was sent flying backwards. "Doyle!" a strong, familiar voice cried out as he was nearing the hard, cold ground. The mixed stench of sweat and blood surrounded him as he descended into the darkness of the
unconcious state.
"Oh god...please let him be okay...please please please," said a
worried, and yet again familiar voice. He kept his eyes shut, but still
listened to the sounds and voices around him. "Calm down, Cordelia.
He's gonna be fine...right?" Angel said, asking a nearby doctor. "The
results read that he will be alright. It was just a concussion. He
should be out of here in just a few days," the doctor replied before
leaving the room most likely to attend other patients. Doyle began to
flutter his eyes, before opening them just enough to tell where he is.
Bright. Why does the room have to be so bright? He shut his eyes again,
hoping he would wake up later in his own home, where the light would no
longer haunt him. But it was too late. They others had already seen the
eye movement and were quickly trying to react. "Doyle? Doyle...can you
hear me?" Angel said, in his usual calm restrained voice. No answer. So
Cordelia chimed in, "Oh for god sakes Doyle wake up already!" Cordelia,
he thought. He was beginning to remember. He made an attempt at opening
his eyes again. The first thing he saw was a broad shouldered man and a
young, attractive female by his side looming over him, looks of many
mixed emotions upon both of their faces.
"Cordelia?" he said, his voice so rough and quiet that it was barely audible. And with that the man was pushed aside, and the Cordelia was over him, holding his shoulders as if to make sure he didn't go back unconcious, or make a bolt for the door. "Cordelia?" he whispered once again, still unsure of what was going on. "Yes, Doyle, it's me...it's Cordelia. I'm here. Angel's here too." the brunnette spoke, in a calmer tone than before. Angel. He knew the name. He looked wearily at the man who had backed off as if to let Cordelia have her turn. This is Angel, he thought. It was all coming back to him, and all too fast. It all passed through his mind in flashes, until one single thought remained in his mind. I was supposed to die. He had risked his life, in all the glory and sadness that was called for, and he had lived. Why?
His one chance to be a hero, and he had lived. But if he was alive...what had become of the others. Those they were trying to rescue. His species? If Cordelia and Angel were alive, were the others still standing as well? Finally he was jerked back from his thoughts to reality, when he heard the deep voice of the now remembered Angel start again. He couldn't quite understand what was being said, and he didn't care. He attempted to figure out the situation. "What...happened?" he asked, coming out more weakly than he had anticipated. Angel answered, "Doyle...you saved us. You saved us all, and you could have been killed. But you made it, an-" Doyle then interrupted, "I should have been killed. Now I will not be rememberd, recieve no glory...be no hero." Angel, shocked, replied,
"You were spared your life. I didn't think you had such a wish to die." Cordelia added, "You are a hero, Doyle. I don't care what anyone says, or thinks...I believe you're a hero. My hero." And with that she took his hand, not caring what he would do, or that Angel was there
witnessing this sincere moment. Doyle simply blinked, and let out a
long sigh, deciding not to ruin the moment with words. He looked around
the room and noticed that Angel was gone. He had slipped out of the
room once Cordelia took his hand.
Doyle had recovered fast, his outermost wounds healing quickly, but it was the inner battles that were harming him most. He loved Cordelia, and he wanted to tell her so very badly. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. So, he would watch her go on about the
boyfriend-of-the-moment each day, and be upset with himself each night.
I'm not good enough for her, he would think. But neither are the men
she dates, he concurs. He has to do something. And tonight was the
night. They needed to find more information on a certain demon, and
Angel was going to be hunting another tonight. So it would just be him
and Cordelia, pulling a late-night research date. Or, at least, that's
what he liked to call it.
Will she ever stop talking, he thought. It had been an hour already and he hadn't been able to get more than three words in. Maybe she knew, he thought. Maybe she found out that I like her and is trying to keep me from talking about it because she doesn't like me that way.
No...he thought, there is no way that she could possibly know. The only
person he's told is Angel...and he, well, he's not exactly the
'wanna-hear-someone-else's-secret-that-I'm-not-supposed-to-tell' kind
of guy. It was all too much. "Cordelia," he finally said, stopping her
mid-sentence. What now, he thought. You started the sentence now you
have to finish it. "What?" she said, clearly annoyed at being
interrupted while babbling. "Oh...nothing," he ended up saying. Why was
this so hard for him?