A/N: Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! I know that this is egregiously late. I know, I know. I tried to get it done as quickly as I could, but life is being so irritably unreasonable. Two weeks is the longest I've ever gone without updating and that's including ending a story and starting a new one. Ugh...life. It's been all I can do to remember to breathe lately. Why I decided to have a social life, be involved in the community, take 3 AP classes, and all the other stuff that seems to occupy my time during senior year completely escapes me.

But! Never fear, for I am making time to write. Though, admittedly, I'm working more on the AISHB sequel more than this story currently. For some reason, I got stuck writing this chapter and so I went to work on the sequel just to keep the creative juices flowing and I ended up writing two chapters of the sequel. So...I finally came back to the this story and finished this chapter. Yay! I feel so accomplished.

Soooo...ready for some Doyle? :D

Random Disclaimer: (I don't own Buffy).

Me: Hi!

Angel: Where have you been?

Me: Aw, miss me?

Angel: (pauses as he looks as Buffy's glare) Uh...no. Not at all.

Buffy: See? He didn't miss you.

Me: (grumbles) Well you don't have to look so happy about it. I can make you miserable with just a few strokes on my keyboard!

Buffy: (scoffs) Ooo, I'm trembling.

Me: Watch it, Blondie.

Doyle: Hey, would ya stop fightin' over him already?

Angel: They're fighting over me? Why?

Doyle: Have you looked in the mirror lately? (sees Angel's glare) Ah, I suppose not.

Eye of the Beholder Chapter 27

When Angel woke up, Buffy was gone.

The sheets on her side of the bed were cold, leading him to deduce that she'd been gone for a while. Angel sighed and rubbed his temples wearily. Glancing at the clock, he noted that it was the time that Buffy usually got up to go to school.

Angel got out of bed and snagged a shirt on the way out of his room. He fastened the buttons as he went downstairs to the kitchen where his eyes immediately sought the refridgerator door to see if Buffy had left a note. He frowned when he saw that the surface was bare. Angel wondered whether or not he would swing by the school sometime during the day to see if she was alright.

Suddenly, Angel's senses caught up to him. He looked over his shoulder and saw a seemingly average, albeit wiry, young man sitting on the barstool in front of the island. There was a piece of paper in his hands.

"She left early to run by Faith's place," the man told him in an Irish accent that Angel noticed immediately. Oddly enough, just hearing the accent was somewhat comforting since Angel had lost his own accent so long ago. Hints of it would intrude in his speech every once in a while if he was ever really upset but otherwise he rarely heard the lilting tone.

Angel refocused on the man as he looked pointedly around. "I like the place," the stranger said approvingly. "It's kinda like Wayne Manor, which would make you batman."

"Who are you?" Angel asked his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The man began to play with a deck of cards in his hands, shuffling them absently. "Doyle."

"You don't smell human."

"Now that's a bit rude," Doyle sniffed. "So happens that I'm very much human." Suddenly, Doyle sneezed violently, causing blue spikes to pop out of his face. Doyle shook his head and the spikes went away. "On my mother's side," he added almost as an afterthought.

"What do you want?" Angel asked warily.

"I've been sent," Doyle explained. "By the Powers That Be."

Angel froze and kept his face blank. Memories flooded through him.

"…I've been translating the Scrolls of Aberjian…"

"…there's a prophecy about a vampire with a soul—"

"Angel. It's about Angel…"

"…once he fulfills his destiny, will become human. It's his reward."

If Angel were completely honest, he'd tried to forget—key word being tried. Once again, he looked at Doyle, who was staring off in no particular direction, his eyes occasionally roving around the room. He was completely nonchalant, and totally unafraid that Angel might decide to snap his neck. Angel was almost insulted, but his curious (yet cautious) side got the better of him.

Time to see exactly how much Doyle knew. "The Powers That Be what?"

Doyle's lips quirked up in an amused smile, like he knew what Angel was doing. "Let me tell you a little bedtime story."

Angel almost snorted. "But I'm not sleepy."

Doyle's little half-smile morphed into a full-blown, confident smirk. "Once upon a time there was a vampire, and he was the meanest vampire in all the land. All the other vampires were afraid of him, he was such a bastard. Then one day he's cursed—by gypsies. They restore his human soul, and all of a sudden he's mad with guilt. You know, 'what have I done?' He freaked."

Angel's eyes had narrowed once again, and his entire body was rigid. A slow anger began to build within him, but he was able to beat it down—for the moment. He went over what Doyle had said. It was nothing he couldn't learn from a book.

"Okay," he said casually, forcing himself to loosen up. Angel walked out of the kitchen and plopped down on the couch. "Now I'm sleepy."

This didn't seem to deter Doyle, who followed him and perched himself in the armchair that Buffy would often curl up in to read. "Yeah, well it's a fairly dull tale," Doyle admitted. He liked Angel. Broody. Badass. But kinda happy at the same time. Doyle wondered how his next statement would affect the vampire, considering how he felt about the subject.

"Yep, fairly dull tale," Doyle repeated as he watched Angel closely to measure the vampire's reaction to his next words. "Needs a little sex is my feeling."

A low growl began to build in Angel's throat, but Doyle paid it no mind. That was a reaction (one of the many) that Doyle had considered.

Fearlessly, he continued to stomp on what he knew was a very sore subject. "So sure enough: enter the girl. Pretty little blonde thing," he whistled appreciatively, just to see Angel's reaction. The vampire's eyes darkened in anger. "Vampire Slayer by trade, and our vampire falls madly in love with her. Eventually, the two of them—well, they get fleshy with each other." Waves of silent anger flowed off Angel in torrents, but Doyle continued. "Well, I guess the technical term is perfect happiness," Doyle said knowingly. "But when our boy gets there, he goes bad again. He kills again. It's ugly."

"But," Doyle smiled. "When he gets his soul back for the second time around, things are wee bit different. It's permanent and the vampire and his Slayer make up and have lots and lots of—"

Angel growled sharply, so Doyle didn't finish the thought, instead moving on in the story.

"So, after a while and a little bit of drama, things sorta get back to how they used to be," Doyle told him. "Helping the Slayer, and doing some good. But the vampire began to wonder. He began to wonder about his own purpose. He wants to atone for his crimes."

Through the haze of anger that Doyle's casual reference to Buffy had ignited within Angel, the vampire realized that Doyle knew everything—even his most recent thoughts about destiny and fate. Still…

"Say, you wouldn't happen to have any beer around here, would you?" Doyle asked suddenly.

"No."

Doyle frowned. "And they told me you were Irish," he grumbled under his breath.

"Okay, so you know the story of my life. I lived it. It's nothing I already don't know," Angel said, ignoring the muttered comment from Doyle. The truth was that Angel really didn't have any beer…but he did have a good bottle of Jameson that he wasn't planning on sharing. "Why aren't I kicking you out?"

"Because I'm not done with the story," Doyle told him with a smile. "You see, this vampire leaves his Slayer for his own destiny. He goes to L.A. To fight evil—to atone for his crimes—he's a shadow. A faceless champion for the hapless human race…"

"I'm not leaving Buffy," Angel said sharply.

"Not like 'leave' as in leave the best thing in your life for a completely stupid reason like protecting her from yourself," Doyle was quick to assure him. "You're just gonna have to try your hand at long-distance, mate."

"I want to know who sent you," Angel said as he rose from the couch to stand in front of the fireplace.

"I'm honestly not sure. They don't speak to me direct," Doyle explained with a long-suffering, over exaggerated sigh. "I get visions. Which is to say great splitting migraines that come with pictures," he couldn't help but add grumpily. "A name, a face." Doyle shrugged. "I don't know who sends them. I just know that whoever sends them is more powerful than me or you, and they're just trying to make things right."

Angel finally asked the question that had been grating on his nerves since he'd first learned of the prophecy. "But why me?"

"Because you've got potential." Doyle looked him knowingly. "And the balance sheet isn't exactly in your favor."

Angel didn't like that answer. "Well, why you?"

Doyle merely shrugged off the question. That was for a later time. "We all got something to atone for."

"Why are you here now?" Angel asked, knowing and yet not wanting to voice the answer.

"I thought that'd be rather obvious," Doyle frowned. "You know, for a guy who's lived for as long as you, you'd think you'd be just a little brighter."

Angel glared.

"You're 'bout to leave," Doyle confirmed what Angel already knew. "Not yet, of course. We've still got to break it to Buffy."

"We?"

"Well, yeah. Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

Doyle sighed and looked around. "Are you sure you don't have any beer?"

Angel's eyes narrowed. "No."

"See, now I know you're lying," Doyle shook his head. "We're supposed to be building a beautiful friendship."

Angel scoffed and moved towards the weapon's cabinet, taking out a broadsword that he'd meant to sharpen yesterday. Doyle, however, wasn't quite as at ease anymore—especially when Angel came towards him, sword in hand.

Angel noticed Doyle's slightly worried look and smirked. He casually passed Doyle and sat back on the couch, and then proceeded to sharpen the sword in slow, methodical strokes.

"So," Doyle said casually as a little wave of relief washed through him. He always figured that getting run through wouldn't be that much fun. "You hear about the Deputy Mayor?"

Angel looked up sharply and fixed Doyle with an icy glare. "What do you know about that?"

"Just that the cops were out looking around. Couple of blokes fished him out of the river." Doyle looked at Angel appraisingly. "Why?"

Angel had meant to run by the crime scene before the cops had gotten there, but he hadn't counted on them learning of Finch's death so soon. After all, it was Sunnydale.

Angel put the sword down and grabbed Doyle by the arm. "Hey!" Doyle complained.

"Let's go." Angel continued to drag Doyle behind him.

"But I'm just the messenger!" the Seer continued.

"Yeah, well, I don't want you tearing up the place looking for my booze," Angel replied honestly.

Doyle's eyes lit up. "I knew you were lying!"

Buffy sat at in the library at the table, praying that her nervousness didn't show on her face. Faith sat in the chair to her left, and looked completely at ease, which only made Buffy more nervous.

Early that morning Buffy had left the mansion in order to find Faith. She hadn't been able to sleep very long, even though she'd been wrapped in Angel's protective arms. Buffy had gone to Faith's motel room where she'd learned what had happened. While she'd been pouring her heart out to Angel, Faith had been taking care of things.

She'd dumped Allan Finch's body.

She didn't care about his death.

I don't care.

That's what Faith had said. Those exact words. Three words that had never carried so much weight—I don't care. It played like a loop in Buffy's mind.

What made her nearly want to throw up was the fact that Finch's body had been found and that Wesley wanted them to investigate. Buffy tried to argue that it was a police matter, but Wesley was being stubborn. What was even worse was that Faith was going along with it like it was nothing.

"It's no big, B." Faith shrugged nonchalantly. "We'll get into it if he wants."

"Buffy's right," Giles argued and Buffy thought that maybe things would end up going her way if Giles was on her side. "The Deputy Mayor's murder was a result of human malice. There's nothing supernatural about it."

"We don't know that for certain," Wesley returned. He quite liked this 'investigating' process. Perhaps he should have considered a career as a private investigator. Wesley thought he'd be pretty good at it. "I say it merits looking into."

"Which I'm sure the police are doing," Giles shot back as irritation colored his tone. "In the meantime, I say that there are better uses of the Slayer's time."

Wesley was about to say something, but Cordelia swept into the library. When he'd first arrived in Sunnydale, he'd admittedly had a slight infatuation with the young woman. However, he'd quickly gotten over it after they'd kissed the first time, not a month after his arrival. They'd been awkwardly cordial ever since.

"Don't let me interrupt," Cordelia said before she looked around and changed her mind. "Actually. Let me. I'm in a hurry."

"What do you need?" Giles asked as he resituated his glasses on his nose.

Cordelia made a face. "Psych. Freud and Jung. Book me?"

"Happily."

Wesley cleared his throat awkwardly. "Cordelia," he greeted politely.

"British Boy," Cordelia returned.

That was all of the conversation.

"Ah, here you go," Giles said as he returned from behind the stacks. He stamped the books and then gave them to Cordelia who glanced at Wes, who in turn gave her an awkward half-smile before looking away quickly. Cordelia took her books and avoided Giles: The Next Generation.

Instead, she smiled at the original Giles. "Thanks."

"So, ahem," Wesley cleared his throat again as Cordelia left the library. "Where were we?"

"Uh, done." Buffy got up from the table. "Right?"

"Uh, yep." Faith rose from her seat too. "Out to patrol. So we'll see ya."

"One moment," Wesley stopped them before they'd taken a step from the table. "I'm resolved on this," he told them referring to Allan Finch. "Natural or super I want to know."

Buffy nodded and Faith hardly showed a reaction at all except a nonchalance that was quickly growing on Buffy's frayed nerves. "Fine by me. Always ready to kick a little bad guy butt…"

Buffy followed Faith out into the hallway, when suddenly Faith grabbed her arm and pulled her into the nearest unused classroom. The door slammed shut behind her, and Buffy couldn't help but jump as Faith rounded on her.

"So you gonna rat me out? Is that it?" Faith accused challengingly.

Buffy eyes were imploring. She just wanted to do the right thing. "Faith, we have to tell. I can't keep lying. I can't pretend to investigate this! I can't pretend that I don't know!"

"Oh, I see," Faith sneered. "You can't take the fall, but I can? You just want to protect yourself."

"I'm trying to protect you," Buffy argued sincerely. "Look, if—if we don't do the right thing, it's only going to make things worse for you."

Faith couldn't believe this. Buffy just wanted to save her own skin. Of course. She was the angel. She could do no wrong. She was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Faith wondered if she should just give up and kiss the ground at Buffy's feet. Barely able to hold back a snort of derision, Faith focused back on the task at hand.

"Worse than jail for the rest of my young life?" Faith snorted. She wasn't the type to be cooped up. "No way!"

"Faith," Buffy tried to reason. "What we did was…"

"Yeah," Faith jumped at the opening to shared blame that Buffy had offered unwittingly. In the back of her mind, Faith knew she was terrified of what had happened. What she had done. Horrified with herself, but refusing to acknowledge it, she shoved Allan Finch's death so far back in her mind that she didn't even give it much thought. It had happened. No way to change it. Why worry?

"You were right there beside me when this thing went down," Faith reminded Buffy ominously. "Anything I have to answer for, you do too. You're a part of this, B. All the way."

Faith took in Buffy's shocked face, satisfied that her words had the desired effect. All the guilt didn't belong to herself. It was Buffy's fault too because if the blame wasn't shared then it was all Faith's fault. It wasn't all her fault. No, Faith thought. It wasn't all her fault.

It couldn't be.

Buffy walked into the mansion with only one thought in mind—she needed to talk to Angel.

Tomorrow night she and Faith were supposed to break into Allan Finch's office and snoop around. Faith was still acting like she was completely okay. How? Buffy didn't understand it. How could she just gloss over the fact that she'd killed someone? That she'd ended someone's life? Even if it had been a mistake? Buffy felt sick to her stomach anytime she thought about it. Allan Finch's terrified eyes as he looked up at her, silently pleaded for her to save him. His blood running over her fingers far too fast. Knowing that he was going to die and being completely unable to do anything about it…

Buffy shivered.

Tossing her backpack in the corner by the door, Buffy made her way to the main room where she met a shocking sight.

Angel was sitting on the couch and was wearing a goofy smile. He was laughing at something that his friend had said. Well, Buffy assumed he was a friend. Buffy studied the stranger. He was lanky, with short black hair. Didn't seem too threatening, especially since he was singing raucously what Buffy thought must be an Irish folksong. Buffy also noticed the shot glass that he held in his hand and the close to empty bottle of Jameson on the table.

Neither of the men noticed her.

"She's a really, really pretty girl," Angel said with a wide smile, chuckling a bit. "No, she's—she's a hottie girl. She has—she has—I mean—her hair is…ya know…"

"Silky honey golden tresses," the little Irishman replied. "Yeah—she's, she's pretty…it almost made the migraine of the, the vision worth it…"

Angel's eyes narrowed slightly, looking slightly more sober. "Buffy's mine," he said possessively.

"I'll drink to that," the Irishman returned as he sloppily poured them both another drink. They went to clink glasses, but they missed, causing them both to laugh.

Buffy couldn't believe her eyes. Angel was drunk…really drunk.

Doyle looked up and noticed her presence just as Buffy was about to try and get Angel's attention. "Buffy!" he smiled broadly. "Look," he tried to get Angel's attention. "It's Buff—"

Suddenly, Doyle was seized by a violent sneeze. Blue spikes popped out of his face, and Buffy's eyes widened.

After overcoming a second of shock, Buffy whipped out her stake in a lightning fast move. However, just as fast, Angel had jumped off the couch and steadied her wrist. Momentarily distracted, Buffy looked up at him incredulously. "I didn't know drunk people moved so fast."

Angel chuckled, but it was slurred. "I can hold my alcohol," he said with pride, before he frowned and swayed slightly. "But…I think… I need to…lie down…" he said as he slumped against Buffy. "Just don't kill Doyle."

Unable to fight a grin, Buffy settled Angel back on the couch. This comedic situation was a welcome relief to the past thirty-six hours. She turned to move over to Doyle, but Angel reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her down on the couch with him. "Don't leave," he whined.

"Okay," Buffy couldn't stop smiling. Angel looked so carefree and young that it made her heart swell. Buffy glanced back at the table and the almost empty bottle of Jameson. "When was the last time you drank so much?"

Angel's brows furrowed and he tried to force his mind to work. He'd drunk this much often over the course of his existence; mostly in his human years and his time as Angelus and then shortly after getting his soul. "Uh…prohibition?"

Buffy smirked. "That must have been a terrible time for you."

Angel merely nodded.

"Heeelllloooo!" Doyle waved his hands to get Buffy's attention. "Hey, I know I'm not as nice to look at as Batman over there, but I'd like to introduce meself!"

"Batman?" Buffy raised her eyebrows.

Doyle looked at her as if she was being dense. "Oh, come on, Blondie," he gestured grandly around the room. "Look at this place! It—it's like…Wayne Manor. With its—its stone and ceilings and….stone…" he trailed off as his eyelids fluttered. "You know," he said sleepily. "I think I'm gonna pass out now."

"You do that," Angel muttered.

Doyle forced his eyes open to glare at Angel. "I thought we'd bonded over our good friend here," he clasped the bottle in his hand tightly.

Angel sobered up slightly. "You drank all my booze," he accused. It was like he'd never realized it until now.

"You helped!"

"You owe me a bottle."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not!"

"Do—"

"Go to sleep Doyle," Buffy interrupted as she clamped a hand over Angel's mouth to stop the childish bickering between the two.

"Ha," Doyle grinned and waggled his eyebrows at Angel. "See that? She chose me over you."

Angel started to get up, but Buffy placed a firm hand on his chest, keeping him where he was. She turned back to Doyle to correct him, but the Irishman had already fallen asleep, his head having fallen forward against the coffee table.

Buffy looked back at Angel has his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her to down so she was lying on his chest. "Hi," he smiled.

"How drunk are you?" Buffy asked him with narrowed eyes.

Angel thought about it for a moment. "I could still hold my own in a fight."

"But you were leaning on me just a second ago," Buffy argued.

"What if I just wanted to feel you against me?" Angel countered before capturing her lips.

Buffy pulled back after a moment and laughed slightly, shaking her head. "You're funny."

"I keep telling you that."

Sighing, Buffy placed her head back on his chest, and fiddled with a button on his shirt. "I'm worried about Faith," she told him anxiously. "It's like she's in denial or something. She told me she didn't care that he was dead…and I can't tell if it's the truth or not."

Angel rubbed her back soothingly, the haze of the alcohol fading. Being a vampire had a few perks. His kind was not nearly as susceptible to the effects of alcohol, which was why they always drank a whole lot when they chose to drink.

"I told Giles the truth," he admitted. After going to the crime scene earlier that day with Doyle and seeing the progress of the investigation, which included an overheard conversation between a detective and a witness who gave Faith and Buffy's descriptions, Angel had immediately gone to Giles. He'd run by the school just after Buffy and Faith had left the library. After discussing the situation, they'd all agreed to handle it themselves. None of them wanted to involve the Council. "Wes too."

"What?" Buffy jumped off the couch to glare at him, but there was no anger in her gaze, only panic. "Why? You shouldn't have—"

"They needed to know," Angel told her calmly. "You know you wanted to tell Giles."

"Well, yeah, but Faith—"

"Didn't want you to and you felt torn," Angel surmised easily. "I made it easy. Now, you didn't rat out Faith."

"But you did."

Angel shrugged. "I wasn't going to let you take the fall. It wasn't your mistake."

Buffy was quiet for a long moment. "What did they say?"

"It's not the first time something like this has happened," Angel relayed to her what Giles and Wesley had told him.

"What happened to the Slayer?" Buffy asked nervously.

"They were taken to London and the Council investigates," Angel told her and Buffy couldn't stop the shiver that ran through her. "They mete out punishment where its due if needed."

Buffy sighed and retook her position next to Angel on the couch. She wrapped an arm around him in buried her face in his neck. "What am I going to do?"

"You have to talk to Faith. Get her to admit what happened," he advised.

"I think I'm too close." Buffy didn't think that Faith would talk to her, not with their differing views on how to proceed. "Maybe someone else."

"I could talk to her," Angel offered. This was one of the options that he, Giles, and Wesley had talked about. Giles had suggested a group meeting, but Angel had nixed the idea. It would only make Faith more defensive. "I know a few things about denial."

"You'd do that?" Buffy asked, lifting her head to look at him. "You'd talk to her?"

"She needs help," Angel said seriously. "And I think I'm the only one that can."

Buffy studied him for a moment before nodding and with a sigh she looked over at Doyle. "Are we really going to leave him like that?"

Angel looked over at his new friend. Well, Angel guessed they were friends. He was really out of practice with these things. He wasn't good with people. But, as Doyle had pointed out, they had shared a drink—more than one. That was a thing friends did, right? So, if he were being a friend, he should probably at least get Doyle settled on the couch, but Angel didn't really want to move…

"Yeah, we're leaving him like that."

Okay, I just want to set some things straight in case any of you are wondering.

Yes, Angel will tell Buffy about the convo he had with Giles and Wes after she and Faith had left. I don't want to make it seem as if Angel is falling back into old habits and doing things without talking to Buffy just because he thinks that he's saving her some trouble or emotional turmoil. And no, Wesley and Giles don't know about Doyle yet. They get to meet him next chapter! :D

So, now that that's cleared up...what do you think of Doyle in Sunnydale? I don't know about you guys, but I like his addition to the crew! And Wesley just so happened to have a particuarly important errant thought about being a private investigator? Hmm...looks like I've got a plan brewing! :D

Lots of love,

ArthursCamelot

P.S. Please remember that I can't update regularly at this time. I'll get out the next chapter when I can. Thanks for your patience. :)