Chapter 2 guys. I'm on a roll. I think there might be some sex involved in this chapter. Not the nice, gentle type I normally like to write, but something more animalistic, less emotional, more about the physical. So be prepared for that. It's important to the story line.

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Cordelia regained consciousness slowly. She looked around, realized she was in her bed. She hadn't slept in her bed in months. Normally passed out on the couch. Had she gotten there herself? Or had someone put her there?

She'd had a wonderful dream about Doyle. He'd been there, holding and rocking her, telling her that everything would be okay, that he was going to help her. She moved, felt pain in every inch of her body. God it hurt to move. She looked at her wrists, noted the thick white bandages. Had she really tried to kill herself? Could she have possibly done that? Memories flooded back to her and she realized that she had.

She'd cut her wrists in the bathroom, then when it had become obvious that that wasn't going to kill her, she'd gotten in the shower and scrubbed herself until her skin had bled. And someone had gotten her out of the shower, dried her off and put her to bed. Doyle.

But no, Doyle was dead. He couldn't have done it. It had been a dream. Rising naked from bed, Cordelia went in search of a phone. She needed to call Angel, let him know she was taking the day off. But as she went into the kitchen, she saw a very familiar for sitting at her table, drinking a cup of coffee. He looked up when she walked in.

Cordelia's eyes locked onto Doyle's and it took her several seconds to realize that she was naked. When she did, she turned red and grabbed an afghan from the couch to wrap herself up in. Doyle stood and crossed the room.

"Feelin' better this mornin'?"

Cordelia looked up at him, amazed by what she was seeing. "Are you real?"

"The Powers sent me back to help you. So that's what I'm going to do."

"You're angry."

"Yes, I'm fucking angry!" Doyle roared. "You tried to kill yourself! Is it that bad, Cordelia? That you couldn't take living anymore? That you were willing to give up and die? How could you do that? You've got your whole life ahead of you! You've got a life that needs living and you can't live it if you're dead!"

Cordelia sat, buried her face in her hands and sobbed. "I did it because I couldn't feel anything but hopelessness." She looked at him, "You were gone, Connor's gone, Angel's too busy with Wolfram and Hart to see me anymore, and he hates me anyway. Everyone is moving on with their own lives and I'm stuck here. I almost caused the world to end, Doyle! I've got more atoning to do than Angel! And I can't do it anymore. I can't. I can't wake up every day knowing that I'm going to feel like I should be dead. Like I've done all I can do and there's nothing left for me here. I can't take not knowing what it is to live. I don't know what being alive feels like anymore."

"Why? What the bloody hell happened to you?"

"I got your visions. You gave them to me when you died. And then Angel went psycho. He slept with Darla, they had a son. Connor. I was helping raise him, and then the visions began killing me. Humans can't take them; they do too much damage. So I became a half demon, like you. Then I Ascended, became one of the PTB. I came back, couldn't remember anything. Connor had gotten kidnapped and taken to a demon dimension so he was back and fully-grown. I slept with him. Got pregnant, gave birth to a demon that made everyone in the world her follower, and put me in a coma. The world almost ended, Doyle, and it was my fault. I've nearly died more times that I can count and I nearly cause the world to end. Single handedly. Angel and I were in love. And I slept with his son. Do you know how badly that had to have hurt him? I can't believe I did it to this day. When I woke up, Angel had taken over Wolfram and Hart. And he hated me. The look in his eyes when I woke up told me he'd have been happier if I'd died."

Doyle looked at her in disbelief. How had the bright, shining girl he'd known become this woman, this broken, beaten woman? "I'm sure he didn't."

"He did. He still does. I couldn't take it anymore, Doyle. I've been so alone, so lonely, and no one could see. I had everyone fooled. Even myself sometimes. I barely eat; I get drunk a lot. It helps dull it sometimes. I wanted to die. Just for it to be over. Just to be able to feel something."

Doyle rubbed his hands over his face. He had a lot of work ahead of him if he was going to help her get back on track. She was so close to giving up he could feel the desperation. But he had hope. She wanted help. And that meant she could be saved.

"All right, Delia, let me tell you what I know. I know that whenever it was that I died, you were so bright, so full of life, ready to face whatever problem got thrown at you. You were so strong, so stubborn. I didn't think anything would ever beat you."

"Nothing did." Cordelia sank into a chair, took his coffee cup and drank deeply. "I beat myself. I've been at this longer than you were, seen things you probably only dreamed of. And I got of sick of having it all pile up and feeling like the more I fought the more ground we lost. That was why I slept with Connor. I wanted to be able to feel alive again. And instead, I think that was what killed me. I'm not your 'Delia anymore, Doyle, I'm broken."

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It only took Doyle an hour to coax Cordelia back into bed. He gave her a tranquilizer and left her sleeping, surrounded by pillows. He went to the phone and got out her address book. Angel's cell phone was the first number. He dialed it without giving himself time to second-guess himself.

"Wolfram and Hart, Angel speaking."

"Angel, man, look, I know this if freaky, but it's Doyle."

Angel dropped the phone. The voice, it belonged to a man who had died six years before. He bent and retrieved the phone at the insistence of the voice. "Doyle?"

"That's me. Listen, I need you to get your undead ass over to Cordelia's apartment. Our girl tried to kill herself last night. She's all right. I got there in time, but you need to explain some things to me and you need to take a look at her."

"I'm on my way. And Doyle, be ready to explain some things of your own."

Doyle hung up without answering. And then he paced until one brooding vampire knocked on the door. Doyle opened it, and Angel looked him over, sniffing as if to make sure Doyle was who he said he was.

"How are you back?"

"I'm back because someone up there saw that Cordelia needed help." Doyle snapped, leading the way into the living room. "She slit her wrists last night, buddy. She was drowning in alcohol, and had scrubbed herself until she was bleeding in the shower. She wouldn't have died, it wasn't deep enough, but she wouldn't be a very pretty sight to have found this morning either."

"I don't see why I had to come over here. You've obviously gotten everything under control."

Doyle gaped at the man he had considered his best friend. "My God, Angel, do you hear yourself? Think about where she came from, what she overcame, what she's been through with you. The end of the world, me dying, Wesley, Connor, everything. Think about it and tell me you don't still love her."

Angel stalked into the kitchen. "I was in love with her."

"Then why do you act like you don't care? You don't look nonchalant when the woman you're in love with slits her own wrists because she says she already feels dead! She made some mistakes, sure, but we all do. As Angelus you tortured Buffy, killed that teacher, tortured Giles, and Wesley, almost raped Cordelia, and she forgave you because it wasn't you. She didn't have any memories when she slept with Connor and you know it. She was scared and looking for comfort."

"And it hurt." Angel said simply. "I don't know what to say to her, how to forgive her. What to do at all."

Doyle opened the bedroom door, gestured for Angel to walk over. "You can start by going in there and looking at her."

Angel stepped into the room and was shocked by what he saw. Cordelia was tangled in a sheet, one arm, a bandage prominent on her wrist flung over her head. Her shirt was riding up, and every rib could be clearly seen. Her face was bony, her eyes sunken in, skin sallow and pale. She looked like the life had been drained out of her.

"How long has she been like this?"

"I don't know. I've only been alive a few hours." Doyle said, stating the obvious. "She said ever since she woke up, however long ago that was."

"A year." Angel said in disbelief. "She's been sinking to this, doing this to herself for a year, and I didn't see it."

Doyle felt sympathy unwillingly rise up for the vampire. "She was hiding it, Angel. Don't be too hard on yourself. I need you to help her get better, not make her worse by moping."

"What are you going to do?"

Doyle shrugged. "What they sent me back here to do. First, I'm going to get those damned visions back from her. That's a fair part of what's wrong, I'd say. And then I'm going to help her. She still trusts me not to leave her if she makes a misstep."

"I'd have helped if she'd have asked."

"And she needed you to see on your own. Now, I want you to run some errands, or have someone run some errands for me."

Angel picked up a pen and paper. "Whatever you need, I'll get. I want her well, Doyle."

"Groceries. There's nothing to eat in that kitchen. Plenty of protein. I want her to put her weight back on. I need something to wear other than what I died in. And plenty of cleaning supplies. This place needs a scrubbing."

The apartment was cluttered, but not messy. Angel, however, knew what Doyle meant. He, too, could smell the underlying aroma of blood, tears and alcohol. Getting rid of it would go a long way towards making Cordelia feel better.

"I'll have it here by five. Can you handle her today?"

Doyle nodded. "As soon as she wakes up, she and I are going to have a talk."

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Cordelia woke at two in the afternoon, feeling groggy and foggy headed. She looked around, as if unsure where she was, and her gaze fastened on Doyle, who was in the chair beside her bed, reading a book. "I keep thinking you're a dream and you aren't going to be there when I wake up."

Doyle shot her a grin as he put down the book. "I'm real enough. And here to stay as far as I know. Feel any better?"

"Some." Cordelia sat up, blanket clutched to her chest. She hadn't forgotten that he had seen her naked not too many hours earlier. "Have you been here all day?"

"I never left. Cleaned up a little, but didn't go anywhere." He stood, reached out to help her from the bed. "Come in here, I want to show you what I have been doing."

He led her to the living room, where he had stacks of newspapers on her coffee table. He eased her onto the couch and handed her one. She stared at it blankly. "This is from six years ago."

"Yeah. There are hundreds of these, Delia, my love, and each has an article in there about someone you helped save." He crouched in front of her, took her hands in his. "You make a difference, darlin', and there are hundreds of people in this city, not to mention the whole planet, that have you to thank for being alive. I know it gets overwhelming, and I know it hurts. But you help. Those people wouldn't be alive without you. You have to remember that."

"What now?" Cordelia asked, letting him take her hands in his. "I'm like a disease. Everyone I touch gets hurt in some way. You died right after I agreed to go out with you. Connor is now brainwashed and living with a family across the city because of me. Angel is so mopey and so hurt because of me. Buffy, Willow, Xander, Fred, Gunn, Wesley. I've hurt all of them. I don't know how they can even stand to look at me."

"Because they love you." Doyle said simply. "There's no clear answer other than that. I could go on about how it isn't your fault, but you wouldn't believe me. We all make mistakes, and we all hurt people we love. But the good you do, outweighs the bad. And as to what now? Well, we'll start by me taking back those skull splitin' visions."

"To do that, you have to kiss me."

"I know I do, darlin'. So let's get this over with, shall we?"

Cordelia wanted to control it, needed to control it. She grabbed his shirt, heaved him on top of her, way stronger than she looked, and fastened her mouth on his. Her arms banded around him, holding him tight, his body crushed her much smaller one.

Doyle was drowning. Her taste flooded him, his hands gripped her hair. Kissing her was like lightning. He dragged his mouth from hers and looked down at her. In time to watch as she sent buttons scattering as she ripped his shirt open. Her hands were on his chest, her mouth on his neck, teeth scraping the skin, driving him wild.

"'Delia, love, we can't-"

Cordelia cut off the rest of his sentence with her mouth, flipping their positions. She overbalanced, and they crashed to the floor, her on top of him. She tore herself from him long enough to yank her shirt over her head.

"Yes, we can." She panted, going to work on his pants. "I want to feel. Make me feel Doyle."

Damning them both to hell, and knowing it wouldn't make things any better, Doyle dragged her down to him. They weren't gentle. Hands bruised, teeth nipped, nails scraped as they fought their way out of clothes. There was no gentle foreplay the way he'd always wanted to make love to her. Nothing but the basic, the physical.

They explored each other, in a hurry, galloping toward the moment when the world would spin away and everything would cease to exist except for them. She mounted him, taking him in with one jerk of his hips. She didn't pause, started riding, hard and fast, his hands on her hips, bruising her tender flesh.

Doyle rolled her over, pounded into her, over and over again, unable to get enough of her. Her body went rigid, arched as he fastened his mouth on a nipple. Her nails dug into his back, leaving marks, drawing blood. And as she rocketed over the edge into orgasm, her teeth sank into a tendon on his shoulder, muffling her scream. He followed her a moment later.

It hadn't been gentle. Had only been sex. It hadn't been about romance or flowers, but about release. It had been rough, leaving both participants bruised and Doyle bleeding from her scratches. It wasn't the way that either had imagined their first time. And as reality sank in, Cordelia turned into him and cried.