Whoo boy, this one's kind of long, and I even broke it up into two chapters...

With every continued effort his eyelids fought back harder and harder. His entire body fought back. Every inch of it screamed in pain anytime he even thought about moving. Still, he persisted. He was determined to finally open them fully today. He had to. Doyle's eyes opened slowly, centimeter by centimeter before shutting down again. He tried again and again to no avail. This dance has gone on long enough he thought to himself fiercely.

They shot wide open and the light poured in. It was with that he remembered. His eyes closed in a wince. The last time he had seen light it nearly buried his eyes from the inside out, along with every other part of his body. The memories of his last waking day came flooding back. Jumping into the light, pushing past the immense pain... walking up, determined to do something about how he felt... faltering...whispering to her.

Shielding his eyes with his scarred hands slightly to make amends for their rude awakening he looked around the room, trying to figure out where he was. He darted his eyes around the room, slowly lifting himself but the elbows into a more suitable position. He tried sitting upright completely but found it too difficult. His head now resting on the headboard Doyle took a better look around...it couldn't be. A smile played on his lips. I finally spend the night at her place and I'm not even awake to enjoy it. he thought wryly. Suddenly a rush of relief spilled over him, knowing he was at least in the semi-familiar grounds of Cordelia's apartment. He tried to chuckle but found his mouth too dry.

Another vain attempt was made to call her name out, get her into the room. Once again, nothing came out. Just outside the door he heard a small crash. Never more than in that moment did he wish his voice would escape his throat. Worried something may have happened to Cordelia he tried to rise from the confines of the bed. His legs weren't working properly. For the first time he thought, How long was I out for exactly? Fear for both his own and her well being was becoming overwhelming. He strained, begging his legs, too tired from its docile state and still unhealed from the jump, to support his weight. Another noise.

"Alright! Dennis!" The voice was male. Doyle stop moving. He was getting closer. His thoughts were mixed. The man could be dangerous, but then again how could he know the name of Cordy's ghostly roommate? More likely he was a friend. Or something more...

"I do have more imp-" The door swung open, unsure Doyle kept his position, barely sitting up, arms supporting part of his weight. He looked the unknown, slightly taller he noted, man up and down, judging him. By the voice and general stuffy manner he could tell that he was British. His glasses glimmered slightly with the light coming in from the other room. He hated him already.

He stood looking shocked at Doyle's awake state. Clearly he had been out for a while. He kept his gaze on the unknown man. The unknown man who was comfortably walking around Cordelia's apartment. They stared at each other for another moment longer. Doyle's gaze shifted back and forth. His voice had yet to return, nor his legs. He was restricted to an unwilling spectator. At least until this guy realizes after a long stint a' coma I might be a bit parched Doyle thought. Thankfully, Dennis was a little more observant, dropping a glass of water at the table side.

He took a quick sip, throat already soothed and nodded thanks to Dennis as realization struck the Englishman's face. He was really beginning to loathe him. He quietly drank the glass of water before turning his attention to the man.

"I'm Doyle, by the way." He offered. The man breathed in nervously.

"Oh, yes. Wesley Wyndam-Price. An associate of Angel and Cordelia's." Unsure of whether or not to shake hands or just keep a distance Wesley took a step closer before mumbling, "I mean, obviously, otherwise what would I be doing in her apartment."

"I could think of a couple things." Doyle bit back. Wesley just nodded his head a few times before it dawned on him just what he meant.

"Oh! No..nothing...nothing like that." He looked like he was going to continue to ramble. Maybe it he just didn't expect to find Doyle awake that was making him so nervous.

"Right, well," Doyle started, trying to spare the man the need to talk too much, "As much as I would love to talk to a complete stranger in the bedroom of... can I talk to Cordelia? Where is she?"

The look on his face told Doyle everything he needed to know. Something was wrong, something had happened. He suddenly became very dizzy. He shook his head, trying to recover, looking again to the man he barely knew. They may have gotten off on the wrong foot. He may not like...anything about the guy, really, but the look on his face, the look of concern for Cordelia sold Doyle. This man cared about her. He was safe.

"What's happened?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

------

He still didn't know what was going on and it was killing him. He waited alongside Wesley for Angel to arrive. Obviously he would be more comfortable talking to him rather than Wesley, and he managed to understand that. Apparently Cordelia, bless her heart, had been preparing for him to wake up. An extra set of clothes, he suspected were not from his closet but rather a mannequin in a shop somewhere, lay waiting for him in the closet as well as a wheelchair and other provisions. She had been studying up on side affects as well, it seemed.

Upon hearing that Doyle had woken up, Angel began making his way to the apartment to take them to the hospital, despite his insistence he didn't need it. He was beginning to suspect it wasn't him who needed to be taken to the hospital, rather someone was waiting for him there and began to insist instead that Wesley take him.

Who the hell does he think he is owning a motorcycle? he asked himself upon hearing the news that Wes's ability to transport him was slightly hindered, particularly with wheelchairs.

Wesley managed to convince Doyle to wait for Angel. Insisting the news that he was awake was sure to rouse some irresponsible driving and direct disobedience to traffic laws on Angel's part. So he waited. Knowing that something was seriously wrong, but not what. He sat contemplating the worse, refusing to make any small talk, accepting another glass of water from Dennis.

Another few minutes had passed from his realization before Angel made it into the apartment. With a flicker of emotions Doyle recalled the first time he was allowed access into Cordelia's apartment. She was worried about his ever going evil. Angel just wanted to give her a cactus.

"Doyle..." Angel started, letting his voice trail, exhibiting the most emotion Doyle had ever seen out of the vampire.

"We'll get to tha hugs and kisses later, right mate? Just take me to Cordelia and catch me up on the way." He said kindly but forcefully, wheeling himself towards the doors. Angel glanced to Wesley, who seemed convinced there was no other course of action.

"In the meantime, Wes, go to my place."

"Yes, I was on my way. Before she...she asked me to check in." Said Wesley. Doyle winced at the words, knowing behind them was the knowledge of her condition, but continued moving.

Wesley parted ways with them, allowing the two friends the opportunity to catch up. As desperately as he wanted to know what was wrong he was also dreading it. He waited all of three seconds before beginning to drill Angel.

"How long have I been out for?" He began.

"A little less than six months. Your injuries were pretty bad. The light. It was supposed to kill you-"

"I thought it was going to. I thought it did." He added.

"It was close. We called in some people from Sunnydale-"

"Wesley?" He asked, a little harshly. Angel shook his head. "Buffy?" He asked, substantially nicer. He noticed a wince in Angel.

"No. Willow and Giles. One of her best friends and her watcher...It was actually Wes who called them. I don't think you'd have made it without them."

Doyle thought for a moment, letting it sink in, "Remind me to thank them." He paused, and turned to Angel, "All of them." he added, hoping Angel understood. He was accepting Wesley. He still didn't have to like him.

"I'm glad to have you back, man." Angel started. Doyle closed his eyes, letting the air wash over him. Letting it clear his mind, and prepare for the worse.

"What's going on with Cordelia?" He asked. Angel didn't need to look at his face to know how concerned he was.

"She's in the hospital" he sighed.

"Yeah, I gathered." Doyle replied quickly, "Why?"

Before Angel could answer his phone began to go off. Frustrated Doyle began to tap his forehead with his hand, now balled up into a fist. Angel looked to him, and looked as if he wanted to speak. Before he could the phone buzzed at him again. He sighed once more before picking up the receiver. It wasn't just the phone call that stopped him. Doyle knew. Angel was stalling for something else.

"Hello?" From the other end Doyle heard the frantic voice of Wesley once again. "Wait. slow down. What's happened?" Both Angel and Doyle furrowed their brow in concern.

"I'll be right over." Angel responded before hanging up. He turned to Doyle, " The office building. Someone planted explosives. I have to get over there. The cops are outside and Wes just barely missed getting killed."

"Wait, you're going to have to explain to me what the hell's going on?" Doyle said furiously.

"We don't really have time. There's a demon working for Wolfram and Hart, and some there's some prophecy going around. They're going after us and they already got Cordy" His voice choked slightly at her name.

"Leave me at the hospital." Doyle requested, full of resolve.

"Doyle-"
"I'm not exactly in fighting condition here. I'm no use to you right now. We're almost there. Drop me off and go."

Angel hesitated once more. They made eye contact. He was not going to be convinced otherwise.

------

A few minuted later Doyle was frantically wheeling himself around the hospital, trying to find the right room. The room Cordelia was staying in, apparently seriously injured. After some searching he managed to find a nurse who, after lying about being a relative, finally informed him of her room number. After rounding the corner and seeing the room off in the distance he sped up slightly. He didn't make it to the door.

Standing in his way a young man, once more he was in the presence of a stranger. This time the man didn't appear to know who he was, though. He didn't seem to care, either. Doyle persevered, continuing to roll forward.

"You know, normally, I would have to threaten to put you in one of those things if you moved any closer. Not really sure what to say here." he said to Doyle, now slowing down in front of him.

"I'm sure you'll think of something. In the meantime I need to see my friend."

"Sorry, man. You're not on the non-existent list." Doyle narrowed his eyes to the man. He crossed his arms in defiance to Doyle. In no condition for a fight he wasn't exactly in a position to force his way through, either.

"I work for Angel...or I did at least." He replied, the last part slightly mumbled.

"Are you Wesley? I thought he said you were British" He asked, but kept his defensive stance in front of the door.

"Obviously not. My country's much better." He retorted.

"Well, I may have just got here, but Angel was very specific about not letting anyone into this room. Didn't mention any Irish guys comin' in here. Didn't mention anyone getting a pass inside."

He stared at the man for a few more moments before sighing. "My name is Doyle. I'm a friend of Cordelia Chase in there. I care very much about her well being and would like to see her. Call Angel if you'd like but I'm going in right now." The other man stared at him for a few moments. Something in his look made it look like he believed him. Slowly he stepped out of the way.

"I just don't want to get in trouble for beating up a guy in a wheelchair. How would I explain that to baby Jesus?" Doyle smiled as he made his way into the room. He definitely like this guy much more than the Wes. "Hey!" He shouted out, Doyle turned his head to him, "Name's Gunn, by the way. I'll be right outside making that call."

"I'm glad. Wouldn't want just anyone walking in here." He called back as Gunn took out his phone.

Finally inside Doyle inched forward slowly, nervous now. He saw her lying in bed, eyes shut. She looked anything but at peace in her sleep. Her brow furrowed any eyes darting from beneath her eyelids. He couldn't see any physical harm to her. To some degree it put him in more of a panic. If she wasn't physically hurting on the outside it had to be something on the inside. At her side now, he slowly reached for her hand. He put his hand atop hers, memories of the last time they touched being revisited. He so wanted to kiss her in that moment. Kiss her and die bravely to save her. Die cowardly to avoid her rejection. Instead he hugged her, silently hoping for another moment to be braver later. He got that chance. He hoped he wouldn't mess this up. He squeezed her hand and whispered her name. She stirred, but maintained her resting state.

From behind he could feel Gunn's eyes on him. He had chosen to allow them their privacy but clearly needed to speak to him. With a quick peck to her hand Doyle released it and turned to Gunn. Concern was on the man's face. If he hadn't gotten in contact with Angel he would have probably come in to get him out. Knowing he had made contact made things slightly worse. By the look on his face things weren't going well.

"What's up?" He asked Gunn.

"How's she doing?" He asked quietly, trying to change the subject.

"I don't know. I've been in a coma for six months. My knowledge of things is a little sketchy at the moment. Maybe you can fill me in, though. What's up?" He persisted.

"Angel wanted me to let you know things aren't going great. Wesley wasn't hurt too bad. the bomb was set on a timer and I guess he got side tracked coming to see you. Owes you his life by the looks of it."

Guess that makes us even he thought to himself, letting him continue.

"Also said something about the Oracles or something. They're gone." Doyle couldn't help but feel shocked. He couldn't think of a single thing powerful enough to get rid of a vessel to the Powers That Be.

"But they were able to show him the way to cure the whole vision-thingy she's going through." He finished, pointing to Cordelia.

The blood drained from Doyle's face.

Finally, things became clear. It was all his fault. Cordelia was lying in a hospital bed because of him. But how could it be? How could he have possibly transferred the visions to her. He knew it was possible, in extreme circumstances and, when someone with visions die they can pass them on, but he didn't know how to. He never meant for her to get them. He never ever wanted her to feel the pain that came with them. The wracking physical pain and festering emotional barrage it took on a person. Back at her side tears began to slide down his face as he looked at her pained face. He couldn't even touch her. The guilt was too much.

Gunn had informed him, he vaguely recalled, that Angel and Wesley would be a while. The were going after the demon and Wolfram and Hart, trying to get to the bottom of things. He had barely listened after learning Cordelia was suffering because of his visions. He would let the three others worry about everything else going on. His concern lay before him. He would find a way to get the visions back. Maybe he didn't need them for his own salvation anymore. Maybe he had redeemed himself six months ago. But for every ounce of pain she suffered because of him, he knew, he would take them back and start making up for that. He would start at the beginning...

I think it's cuz of Doyle I got all carried away writing this one. I was really looking forward to his interacting with Wes and Gunn for the first time. Next up is the conclusion of the first season finale. Let me know what you guys think on this one, especially with the re-introduction of Doyle and Gunn's first appearance...