"We might have to call in the Slayer," said Angel reluctantly. "This is too big for three…two of us."

"We'll find her," said Wesley.

"But will we find her in time?"

"What I want to know is why you're both wasting time debating this when we have a Convergence to stop!" said Cordelia from the doorway of Angel's office. As the two men rushed to greet her, expressions of concern on their faces, she eased the office door shut behind her.

"I'm fine," she said, as Angel noticed the wound on her neck. "Nothing a Band-Aid and some Neosporin won't cure. And I'm demon-free!"

"Did you kill them?" asked Angel.

"'Them'?"

"The demon-vampire hybrid. Is it dead?"

"It was. If you sit down and relax and promise not to shoot pointy things at him, I'll bring him in."

"You brought the vampire here?" gasped Wesley. "Are you possessed? Still?"

Angel made a move for the door, but Cordelia spread her arms across it protectively. "Promise," she demanded. She looked pleadingly at Angel. "I know what I'm doing."

Wesley opened his mouth to protest, but Angel stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"All right," he said to Cordelia. "But if anything goes wrong, I swear I'll kill him."

She opened the door and beckoned to someone on the other side. He entered. "An admirable sentiment, Angel, man," said Doyle. "About killing me and all. No, seriously. I've always appreciated your impulse to protect your friends and colleagues."

Angel stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. Wesley moved his hand toward the desk drawer.

"You don't still keep that spare crossbow in there, do you?" asked Doyle. "That would ruin my welcome-home party. And would probably break Cordelia's heart."

"Yes, yes, and no," she said. "Just because we shared one body for a while doesn't mean a thing."

"I like that way of putting it," said Doyle. "'Sharing a body.' Sounds much more exciting than hibernation."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean." Doyle grinned at her. She looked to Angel and pointed viciously at the newcomer. "Make him stop!" she implored.

"Doyle," said Angel quietly. "Doyle."

"It's wonderful to see you again, too, old friend. We must swap stories about being dead sometime."

Unexpectedly, Angel reached out for Doyle and hugged him.

"Doyle?" said Wesley. "The dead Doyle? That Doyle?"

"Yep!" said Cordelia, throwing her arms around the two vampires. "The family is back in business!"

Wesley closed the drawer and stared at the group thoughtfully.

"How are you here?" Angel said to Doyle. "We saw you die."

"It's kind of an embarrassin' story."

"You kissed me," said Cordelia in sudden realization.

"I seem to recall that."

"Just before he jumped," she continued, addressing the others. "And while he was kissing me, he must have initiated the life-force transfer, without my consent, by the way," she added, pointing an accusing finger at Doyle. She shook her head. "All this time I thought you were fulfilling your last wish."

"I was," said Doyle. "So I'm a multi-tasker. So what?"

"'So what' is that you had the nerve…."

"Great story," interrupted Angel, who had been exchanging annoyed glances with Wesley. "Answered a lot of burning questions for me. Let's move on, shall we? We have to save the world, and now that Cordelia's problem is solved, I'm sure we can all concentrate better."

"Which means you expect me to pull my weight," said Cordelia.

"It does not," Angel began, but then he saw the challenging look on her face. "Well, among other things, it does mean that."

"I'm okay with that," she said. "Bring it on."

Angel immediately switched to his best delegation mode. "I'm going on patrol. Doyle and Cordelia, research duty. Wesley, you can join them, after you call the Slayer. She needs to be warned."

"I'll call the Watcher's Council, too," said Wesley. "They could be a valuable resource…even if they don't really like me."

"I'm sure they like demons even less," said Angel. "Now let's get to it." And then he turned and was gone.

"Demon Lore Through the Ages; Legends or Prophecy?: Ancient Warnings; The History of Demons, Werewolves, and the Undead…and it just goes on like this," said Cordelia resignedly. She looked over the stack of books piled onto Angel's desk. "Guess I'll just take this thin one here." She looked up and found Doyle staring at her. "What?"

"I forgot how good you smell."

"I forgot how easily distracted you are," she retorted, thrusting the heavy Legends or Prophecy? into his hands. "If you remember, we're trying to save the world. Again. So you open up your book, and I'll open mine, and we'll do that studying thing we do. Again." She stared at her slim volume ruefully. "I hate this part. I opted out of college for a reason, you know."

"Who's the easily distracted one now?" challenged Doyle.

"Okay, before the studying, I gotta know something." She closed the book suddenly. "Were you spying on me?"

"What?"

"When you were in my head, were you poking about trying to read my thoughts or anything creepy like that?"

"Mostly I was forced to lie dormant," said Doyle. "Which was a shame, because I would have loved to have read those touching passages in your diary pertaining to your sorrow over my demise and your regret that you hadn't let me kiss you sooner, under better circumstances."

"Dormant is good," said Cordelia warily, opening the book again.

"Speaking of better circumstances," he said casually, "would you like to catch a movie with me sometime after we save the world?"

"You have really poor timing," she responded. "Why do you only ask me out when we're on the verge of certain doom?"

He shrugged. "Was that a yes?"

"If it will help you concentrate on the books…sure. If Buffy can date the undead, so can I. For now, back to studying. The Watchers and the Willows of this world have taught me that without research, the earth is doomed."

"You have a gift for motivational speaking."

"Studying now," said Cordelia, lowering her head over the book and trying to make sense of its contents.

"Got it," said Doyle. "Now."

Wesley knew that the Slayer had a large coterie of friends, but he was a bit taken aback by the answering voice on the other end of the line. "Is this the Summers' residence?"

"Not anymore," said the voice. "They've been hideously murdered in their beds. Call back at a better time."

"Spike!" gasped Wesley in disbelief. "What have you done?" Through the telephone, he heard another voice in the background, and was relieved that it was Buffy's.

"Spike," she said, cool and steely. "What are you doing?"

"Answering the bloody phone. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It's bad enough having you in my house at all. You stay away from my phone."

"What are you going to do?" Spike said in a sultry voice. His voice was coming from further away, as if he had lowered the phone. "Beat it out of me?" Wesley heard a soft thud, a sharp intake of breath, and a muffled curse. Then Buffy came on the line.

"Sorry about that," she said. "Pest control issues."

"Hullo, Buffy, this is Wesley," he sighed. "I'm afraid I only bring news of more pests."