Doyle shook his head, snapping his spikes and green skin back beneath a façade of pleasant Irish pallor. He brushed himself off and stood up. "It got Doyle!" Cordelia shrieked, backing into a corner. "It possessed Doyle!"

Buffy looked up at Angel. "What was that you said about her?" Buffy asked him, gesturing toward Cordelia. Buffy's brow rose in amusement. "Something about how she was different?"

"Okay, no one else is freaking out here!" Cordelia shrilled. "Look at him!"

Buffy glanced at Doyle. "We're looking," she said, and then turned back to Angel. "I'm still waiting to be surprised."

"It's not her fault," Angel said, absently buttoning his shirt. "He didn't want to tell her."

"Tell me what?" Cordelia screeched. "Tell me what!"

"That I'm a demon," Doyle said simply, taking a step toward her.

"Sure, now you are, now that you're possessed you mean," Cordelia said petulantly. "Hey, back off!"

"Cordelia," Angel began, turning toward her.

Cordelia looked from Doyle to Angel, back to Doyle, then back to Buffy, who was watching her display with mild amusement. Cordelia made a face and stopped cowering. "So what in the heck are you?" she demanded, stepping toward Doyle.

"I'm . . ." Doyle took a step toward her. "I'm a demon."

"Yeah, okay, so Cordelia's dim," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes. "Everyone laugh at Cordelia, because everyone's got it figured out but her. I got that part. I meant like . . ." She cast about for what she had meant, because she hadn't known what she meant, not at all.

Angel watched Doyle with a twinge of pity and bittersweet nostalgia. He remembered kissing Buffy for the first time—remembered seeing her face after he'd changed. He desperately wanted to look at her to see if she was remembering too, but he already knew she was. Looking at her would only make it worse.

"Since when?" Cordelia demanded impatiently, stepping toward Doyle again.

"Since I was born," Doyle said, taking a step too, "but it didn't manifest until I was twenty-one.'

"He's only half-demon," Angel supplied quietly.

Cordelia took another step, and slapped Doyle across the face.

"Hey!" Buffy said, starting to step forward. Angel grabbed her wrist to stop her. He knew Cordelia and Doyle—and their constant bickering—better than she did. And he knew that it wasn't a good idea to interrupt Cordelia when she was on a tirade.

"What was that for?" Doyle demanded, taking his hand away from his face.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were half demon?" Cordelia raged. "How dare you keep secrets from me!"

"I wanted to tell you," Doyle confessed, blue eyes liquid and pleading. "I was afraid. I thought if I did, you'd reject me."

"Oh," Buffy breathed, so quietly that only Angel heard. Belatedly, Angel realized that his hand was still on Buffy's, and that her fingers were interlacing with his, her hot little hand filling his cool one. "Maybe we should . . ." she breathed, and began to inch them around toward the door.

It wasn't meant to be. Cordelia was not above having a scene in front of an audience, and she was blocking the exit. "I've rejected you way before now!" she was proclaiming into Doyle's face. "So, you're half demon," she went on. "Big whoop! I can't believe you'd think I'd care about that. I mean, I work for a vampire! Hello?"

"It's true," Doyle said, glancing at Angel uncertainly. "I just . . ."

"What do you think I am, superficial? And I hear you snickering, Buffy," Cordelia said, whirling on the Slayer and the vampire standing hand in hand a couple feet away. Buffy hastily dropped Angel's hand and swallowed her smile.

"Look," Doyle said, holding up his hands. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but maybe right now there are more important things . . ." He gestured to the broken glass on the office floor.

Angel looked at Cordelia hesitantly. "And there's something I need to tell—" he began.

"Don't try to change the subject," Cordelia interrupted, jabbing her finger at Doyle's chest. "So, you're half demon. That's so far down the list, way under 'short' and 'poor'! Is there anything else I should know?"

Doyle looked at Angel and shrugged his shoulders. "The half-demon thing is pretty much my big secret," he said, turning back to Cordelia.

"Good," Cordelia snapped. "That's out. It's done." For the first time, Cordelia turned and seemed embarrassed by Angel and Buffy's presence. She scowled at them, and then leaned to whisper something in Doyle's ear.

"Yeah?" Doyle asked aloud, leaning back to look at her, his bright eyes startled.

Beside him, Angel felt Buffy stiffen. She sucked in a breath and turned away, putting space between her and Angel. Cordelia was smiling beatifically, and Doyle was taking her hands. When Doyle spoke, his voice was low, but everyone in the room knew what he was asking, and Angel suddenly knew why Buffy had moved away from him.

When Doyle's voice lifted up to end his question, Cordelia's eyes positively shone. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and said, loudly, "Maybe. I'll think about it."

Doyle froze for a moment, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Cordelia laughed too.

Angel and Buffy stood stoically, the space a living thing between them. "Great, now that that's done," Angel said coldly, "I have to tell you guys something. Something very . . . weird is going on."

Angel, learning from past mistakes, didn't begin with what Buffy had titled "the shirt part." He began with coming back from Sunnydale, and for the time being, left out the part about turning human, seeing the Oracles, and turning back the day. Then he told them how the day had passed, but that when he had awakened the next morning, it was the same day. When Angel explained what the Mohra had done to Cordelia, Doyle looked at her, and his hand had slipped over hers. They were sitting on the couch together—probably sitting closer than entirely necessarily. "I died?" Cordelia squeaked.

"Yes," Angel said, a little hoarsely. Buffy stood, pulling out her chair. Angel stopped his pacing, looked at her thankfully, and sat down heavily. It didn't help things that, since there wasn't anywhere to sit that wasn't already taken, Buffy perched herself on the desk beside him.

"Then what happened?" Buffy prodded. "I mean, did we figure out why the day repeated—and why only you remembered it? Did we get it to repeat again? Is . . ." Her eyes widened. "Is today the same as yesterday for you?"

Angel nodded. "After Cordelia died you called Giles and the rest of your Sunnydale friends," he explained.

"That's her Watcher," Cordelia explained to Doyle in a loud stage whisper. "Buffy has a whole slew of Scoobies that help her out." She paused and added in an even more exaggerated whisper, "I was so the Daphne of that group. You know, the hot one."

"Scoobies?" Doyle asked incredulously.

Angel ignored them. "They came and we tried . . . to figure out how to turn back time." He paused. "Giles also had this theory . . ."

"What?" Buffy coaxed.

"That I'm crazy," Angel said, his voice low. "That something is wrong with me. That none of this actually happened, that time didn't repeat itself. That something—or someone—is giving me false memories."

"That's ridiculous," Buffy said promptly. "You're not crazy."

"But why?" Doyle asked. "Why would anyone give you memories of this specific day over and over again?"

"I'm not sure," Angel said, running a hand through his hair again. It felt weird not having it washed. He had rushed upstairs so fast to see if the day really had repeated itself and if Cordelia was really alive that he hadn't had time to fix it. Despite the dirt he dealt in everyday, it felt uncomfortable to be so—unkempt. It reminded him of the time right after. . . coming out of Hell, and that reminded him of . . . He steadfastly didn't glance over at Buffy, who so easily fed him so many memories.

I'll never forget.

The echo was growing fainter and fainter.

"Angel?" Buffy asked quietly.

"Willow had an idea," he said, standing up again so he could pace.

"Velma," Cordelia informed Doyle with a hiss.

"I don't get it," Doyle said. "Which one was Buffy?"

"Duh. Scooby."

"The dog?"

"Guys. Enough," Buffy reprimanded, in that voice that even Giles had never dared disobey, even in the middle of their more intense research/brainstorm sessions. "What was Willow's idea?" Buffy asked, turning back to Angel.

"Well, it doesn't really apply now, since Cordelia's not dead," Angel said, eyes moving around the office to look anywhere but at Buffy. "But she said maybe my memories had been planted in order to give us the solution of how to bring Cordelia back—"

"So you guys were really sad I died, huh?" Cordelia interrupted cheerfully.

Angel and Buffy's heads snapped to glare at her. Even Doyle had the grace to stare at her with annoyance. "Devastated," Angel muttered, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Look, cut me a little slack," Cordelia protested. "I did die!"

"Not today," Buffy said, and put her feet in the office chair, her elbows on her knees. "What was there in your memories of the repeated days that would've saved Cordelia?" Buffy asked. "I mean, did Willow figure anything out from anything you remembered?"

"Well . . . Yes," Angel said, looking down. "I . . . Haven't told you guys everything."

"Okay, didn't I just say like ten minutes ago that secrets are bad?" Wrinkling her nose, Cordelia removed her hand from Doyle's and glared at him.

"Well, it's obviously not a secret," Buffy said, annoyed, "since he's going to tell us." She turned wide eyes on Angel. "You are . . . going to tell us, aren't you?"

"Yes." Angel took a deep breath he didn't need. "The first time the Mohra demon attacked, it got away. I tracked it; I killed it; some of its blood mixed with mine," Angel said, turning to Doyle. "It made me mortal."

There was a weighty silence.

"I don't get it," Cordelia said suddenly. "I mean, Angel faces death all the time, just like normal guys face waffles and French fries. It's something he faces every day like . . . breakfast." Cordelia made a face. "Are you guys hungry? Doyle, I thought I told you to get us some doughnuts."

"It's not that he's mortal as in he's going to die," Doyle told Cordelia. He turned his piercing eyes onto Angel. "It's that he can die."

"Oh. Well, duh, I got that part. So, he turned human. What's the big?" Cordelia said. "I want doughnuts."

Angel turned away. "The Mohra came back to life. Buffy killed it—again," Angel said, not making the mistake of looking at her at all this time, "but I realized I wasn't much good to anyone as a . . . an . . . average Joe. I . . . don't belong to myself," Angel said, desperately hoping Buffy would understand. He didn't want another conversation in which she demanded to know why he didn't want her any more, in which he couldn't stop himself from telling her he did want her, more than he could bear. "We belong to the world, fighting," Angel said, turning to her at last. "So, I went to the Oracles—"

"Hold on man," Doyle interrupted, putting out a hand. "The Oracles?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "You took me."

"I think I'd remember a trip to the netherworld of eternal watching. That's just not something that happens every day," Doyle said skeptically.

"Neither is me dying," Cordelia said. "This happened on one of the repeated days no one but nutso Angel over there remembers."

"He's not nutso," Buffy said, speaking up for the first time since Angel had said he had turned mortal. "Are you?" she asked, turning to him.

Angel didn't look at her, and didn't answer.

"So, you went to the Oracles," Doyle encouraged.

"I asked them to turn back the clock, as though that day had never happened," Angel went on. "The Powers That Be swallowed the day. Folded time. They returned me to the very moment the Mohra jumped through the window, so I could kill it before its blood mixed with mine."

"But . . . " Doyle asked. "If they sent you back, and you knew the demon was coming—Why didn't you kill it? Why would you let it . . ."

"Kill Cordelia?" Angel asked quietly, looking at Doyle, accepting the guilt for something that, apparently, hadn't even happened. "That's just it. I did kill it. Buffy left. You and Cordelia were safe. We lived out the rest of the day, and we all went to sleep. But when I woke up the next morning, it was the same day."

"The day I died," Cordelia said.

"The day you died," Angel echoed lowly.

"Yesterday," Doyle said uncertainly, as if seeking confirmation.

Angel flicked a glance at him. "Today."

"This is confusing," Cordelia said.

"Makes sense to me," Buffy said suddenly. "Today's the same day. The Powers That Be made a mistake. They went to turn back the day and just kept turning it back, over and over."

"That's what we thought yesterday," Angel said, "except that I thought it was just a tiny fluke. I never expected to be repeating today yet again."

"Yesterday," Doyle corrected.

"Look, whatever," Cordelia said, standing up and waving her arm. "We need to figure out what's going on. We also need doughnuts and some serious caffeination."

"Right," Buffy agreed, standing up also. "I can live with that. Cordelia and . . . Doyle? Caffeine and sugar detail. Angel, you're with me."

"Where are you guys going?" Doyle demanded.

"To visit the Powers That Be."

To Be Continued . . .
Disclaimer: Lines stolen from AtS S1.8 "I Will Remember You," 1.9 "Heroes," and 1.22 "To Shanshu in L.A."