By Gonzai

Title: Harbinger (Part 7, Plans' series)
Author: Gonzai
E-mail: LCSTrish@aol.com
Rating: R - considerable violence and blood spillage, mild profanity, and a bowl of petunias
Summary: Angelus may be prowling again - but how and when?
Disclaimers: You know who owns 'em and it ain't me
Feedback: Feed me, Seymour
Distribution: You have the previous, it's yours. You're new - ask.
Spoilers: Somnambulist, Eternity
Notes: Let's face it, Angel's more fun--for us anyway--as Angelus. And as for the petunias, I've read 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' too many times. If you've read that series, you'll know why Doyle is a bowl of petunias, heh heh. Ellen will hate it. ;-)

PREFACE

Doyle thought the office needed to celebrate. After all, Angel Investigations didn't often close a case that netted a ten grand paycheck. Unfortunately, he seemed to be alone in thinking this was a good thing. Then again, he seemed to be just plain alone in the office a lot these days.

This was mostly as a result of the disaster with the talisman, which Doyle felt was unfairly blamed on him but all the same, grudges were being held. Especially by Wesley, who was putting extra effort into pointing out Doyle's mistakes to Angel, which wasn't so bad because Angel ignored them; but he also put effort into making sure Doyle knew just how happy he and Harry were together and that grated on Doyle's nerves, horribly.

Meanwhile, Doyle had thought he and Cordelia were beginning to get somewhere in their own relationship prior to then, but she was still using the whole penguin thing to extract favors while still refusing to go to dinner with him. While he'd never made it as far as into her apartment, now he wasn't even getting as far as the building.

And Angel had decided it was time for Doyle to move out. Doyle had been thinking about that prior to Angel serving notice, he had just thought it would happen on somewhat better terms. Still, he had found a tiny, one room apartment that served his needs--a bed and a television with cable and a lot of sports channels pretty much covered it--and he had been living in the sparse room for a month now. He missed living with Angel a lot more than he thought he would. The companionship,' he thought. I must have missed having someone to talk to.

But what hurt him the most was the apparent lack of trust the others seemed to hold towards him. With the talisman incident being entirely unintended, Doyle was disappointed the others seemed to think it was a sign of irresponsibility on his part. But upon reflection, Doyle figured it was more along the lines of that incident cementing what they already believed about him. And when he thought about it, he supposed he really shouldn't expect them to trust him again, after all, he wouldn't be crazy about putting his faith in someone with a mental breakdown and a suicide attempt on their track record either.

Since he didn't care to spend the night alone in the apartment, and his life was starting to unravel again anyway, he had resumed drinking. Doyle felt bad about it, certainly worse than he had the first time he had started into the downward spiral, but he was letting it suck him down again anyway. And this time there was even something approximating a reason to go out and have a drink, even if the others didn't agree.

Wesley had some excuse anyway; he and Harry had just learned they were going to be having a family in a few months, and they'd been doing a lot of, uh, private celebrating. But Angel was simply being moodier than usual and refused to go, and Cordelia declined to join Doyle in favor of dinner with some producer. She had informed him he wasn't nearly as important as Mr. Hollywood Producer, and he'd have to go by himself. Fine then. He'd go alone and have a marvelous night at the pub without them.

Doyle learned very early on that having a good night of drinking at the neighborhood pub was a always lot easier if he remembered to bring his wallet. That had never meant, however, that he remembered to bring it. Fortunately on this occasion he noticed before he actually started ordering drinks. "I'll be back in ten minutes," he told the bartender with a sheepish grin, "An' I need a scotch--single-malt--when I get back."

"I ain't pouring a damn thing for you until I see cash." The bartender was familiar with Doyle.

Doyle reddened. "C'mon man, ya know I'm good for it."

"Since when?" the bartender shot back.

"Right," Doyle sighed and headed back to the office.

'You idjit,' he scolded himself as he jogged back to the office. At least he wasn't treating Cordelia. That would have really been embarrassing.

Doyle scooted into the office and searched through the desk but couldn't find his wallet. It wasn't in his jacket either. Must be downstairs. His frustration was such that he failed to notice the feeling of unease that was slowly sliding up his spine. Doyle was heading for the elevator when his mind caught up to his body, and it finally dawned on him that something in the office wasn't quite right. Something that was quickly giving him a bad case of the creeps.

Furthermore, the office was impossibly cold. And standing in Angel's office seemed to produce an almost electric sort of fear in him. As though he wasn't alone in the office. Because, he now knew, he wasn't.

"What the hell...," he breathed, too afraid to turn around because in his gut he already knew what he was going to see. Cordelia and Wesley had told him enough about it, that he knew he didn't want to see it. "As I like to say, I've been there and I ve done that," the snarling voice behind him was at once very familiar and totally unfamiliar to Doyle. Gulping, he gathered his nerve and in one motion jumped and wheeled around. What he saw shattered his nerves.

Angelus. He looked like Angel, but didn't dress the same, that was for certain. And the look in his eyes was way different and very terrifying. "Gee, did I scare you? Good. I meant to." Angelus casually started walking towards him.

Doyle slid along the wall hoping he might have some chance of making a break for it. "Angel? Angel, what happened man? That look's just not you." Doyle darted for the elevator but Angelus easily reached out, grabbed him and threw him back down on the floor..

"What does it look like happened? Three guesses, first two don't count. Or are you too drunk to figure it out?" Angelus didn't appear to be in any hurry to actually catch Doyle; Doyle remembered Cordelia said it was the torture Angelus liked best. In which case, Doyle reflected as he regained his feet, watching his victims try to escape must be really amusing.

Doyle bolted for the front door. For a moment he thought he might make it, but just as he reached the doorway he felt the clawed hand grab the back of his shirt, yank him backwards and toss him easily back onto the floor. Angelus stepped between him and the door as Doyle again scrambled to his feet. He was amazed at Angelus' strength, and for the first time in his life, he was scared enough to border on panic.

"Okay, this is not good. This is so not good, oh man, I sound like Cordelia," Doyle was gasping for air. He stepped backwards and fell over a chair, landing hard against the railing.

"Going somewhere?" Angelus inquired. "Because I'll always get there first."

"Nah, goin' nowhere. Anybody ever tell ya leather looks better on the cow?" Doyle answered shakily as Angelus advanced towards him. He tried to bolt for the door again anyway, but Angelus easily caught him and tossed him back, this time much harder and against the railing.

"You must've really put away a few drinks if you think you're going anywhere." Angelus stopped in front of Doyle and dropped onto his knees. "So what was it, beer? Or single malt scotch? Because a poly malt just won't do."

Doyle had landed nearly on top of his left hand, and remembered that he had a pocketknife in his back pocket. The only possible way escape he could think of was if he could somehow get the knife out, and then cut Angelus enough to surprise him. Maybe he could make another run for the door. Doyle slowly worked the knife out of his pocket and extended the blade as Angelus continued with the taunts.

"I'll bet it takes a lot of drinks to forget she won't even invite you in her apartment. In fact, I hear she won't even have dinner with you." Angelus smirked. "Can't say I blame her though. I'm sure green skin and spikes don't enhance the mood."

Doyle thought he had an opening and brought his arm up as fast and hard as he could. But Angelus grabbed his wrist, and twisted it until Doyle couldn't help but drop the knife.

Angelus pushed Doyle back against the railing and with his other hand he started squeezing Doyle's wrist. "Anything else you're hiding? I can make you drop that too. Among other things. It would be...so...easy..."

Doyle could feel the bones and ligaments in his wrist stretching and rearranging themselves, and the pain was shooting down his arm. He was going to scream soon, and he knew that was exactly what the vampire wanted. Doyle bit down on his lip, dug the fingers of his right hand into the floor and tried to hold the scream in. Angelus grinned in delight.

"Oh, come on now. I...want...to...hear...you..." Angelus closed his grip suddenly and completely, and Doyle's wrist shattered. So did his resolve, and he screamed as the pain rocketed through his body.

"Did you break something? Because you'll have to pay for it," Angelus chirped. With a lightning quick move Angelus dropped Doyle's now useless hand on top of the wooden railing, picked up the knife from the floor and stabbed it through Doyle's hand and into the railing. After several minutes of listening with delight to Doyle's excruciating shrieks of pain, Angelus seemed to grow bored.

"You know, everyone keeps telling me demon blood tastes bad and all this time I just took their word for it. I think I should find out for myself," he purred gleefully.

The pain in Doyle's arm became a distant memory as terror overwhelmed him. "No," he cried weakly, even though he knew he was done. He couldn't fight Angelus.

Angelus roared in laughter. "You think, you think that's going to stop me? Two little letters? What is it that your girlfriend likes to say? Duh?" he taunted Doyle as he grasped Doyle's jaw and began stroking the throbbing artery on the left side of Doyle's neck with his thumbnail.

"Angel...please don't," Doyle pleaded.

"I killed Angel," Angelus snarled, running his fangs over Doyle's neck. Doyle closed his eyes and waited for the pain. He didn't have to wait long before he felt the scorching heat and pain as Angelus sank both fangs into his throat and drank. The pain was far worse than his wrist; his head swam, and he kicked frantically and pounded his right fist on Angelus' back in a useless attempt to break free.

Angelus pulled away after only a second or two. Doyle could feel the blood flowing from the holes on his neck. "What do you know, the rumors are true!" He spat a mouthful of blood into Doyle's face, then thrust his own blood-spattered face into Doyle's. "It tastes like crap. I'm not going to drink you."

For one brief moment Doyle thought he might survive. Angelus waited long enough to see that Doyle had some hope, then finished his thought. "But I am going to drain you," he chuckled to himself, and drove his fangs back into Doyle's neck.

The burning pain was even worse this time as Angelus pried open Doyle's neck, and held it open. Doyle felt his blood pouring freely over his neck. He tried kicking Angelus, and he drove his fist into the vampire's back, but his strength was flowing out as quickly as his blood and his attempts were weakening. The blood dripped off of Doyle's neck into a puddle behind him, then ran down the steps and across the floor of the office. If Doyle had seen it, he would have been surprised he had that much blood in him. But he would never see anything again. He raised his arm once more, but it twitched weakly and fell uselessly to his side as the lifeblood ran out of him.

HARBINGER

"In my dreams I'm dying all the time
Then I wake, it's kaleidoscopic mind
I never meant to hurt you
I never meant to lie
So this is goodbye."

- Porcelain', Moby

Doyle woke up in a cold sweat and screaming. It was several minutes before he even realized that he was alive, and he'd dreamed the whole thing. He fell back against the pillow, panting, nauseated, and with an aching pain in his left arm. This was the sixth night in a row he had the nightmare, and each time it had gotten longer and more details were added.

"This whole sleepin' thin' is overrated. I think I'd rather have a vision," he muttered out loud to no one in particular. At least this time he hadn't--never mind. Doyle bolted across the room and barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up. It felt like he was bringing back everything he'd eaten all week. He spent several more minutes fighting dry heaves before he finally collapsed against the bathroom wall.

"Oh, damn," he whispered, blinking back a tear. "I can't do this no more." After an hour or two, he felt sufficiently better to stagger to his feet, but at the sight of his bed he couldn't go near it. He collapsed into the room's only chair and watched lumberjacking on ESPN2 the rest of the night.

Cordelia showed up at the office with at least a small amount of dread. When Wesley was the most pleasant company in the office, it was not a good thing, and he had been the best company the last two days. Certainly he was the only other member of the office who appeared to be reasonably awake and alive.

While she was now accustomed to Angel's broodiness, he had been unusually unsociable the last couple of days, and was particularly adverse to being upstairs whenever Doyle was there. Which was a good thing, because Doyle wasn't exactly fun lately either, and she didn't think she would be able to handle both of them acting like this at the same time. But at least she took Angel's behavior in stride; nothing he did really surprised her.

Doyle worried her. It occurred to her she had been outright covetous of his attention in recent months, and Doyle didn't exactly hold back in that department. The more she blew him off, the harder he tried and she couldn't help enjoying his efforts. He had been spoiling her nearly as much as Dennis did. But in the past week, he barely seemed to notice her. And his sharp wit had suddenly turned caustic towards all three of them, which normally didn't happen unless he was sick. Doyle looked like hell too. She decided to assume he was sick and expect better from him any day now. But he was getting worse instead.

So she was glad to see the office was empty when she arrived. A few moments of peace before the pricklies appeared, at any rate. Cordelia had just started coffee when Doyle stumbled in, looking even worse if that were possible. He made a beeline for the coffee and was displeased it wasn't ready yet.

"I know it ain't worth drinking but ya could've at least had it ready," he griped.

"Well excuse me for not showing up an extra hour early to accommodate your hangover," she snapped back. Cordelia immediately regretted it though; Doyle's eyes looked so sunken she thought they might fall back into his head, and he clearly hadn't slept. "Are you okay? You look ten times worse than the usual merely real bad."

"I'm fine. Just not sleepin' much. Not at all," he corrected himself..

"Try not staying out all night. Works for me."

"It's a lot more than that, Princess." For a moment he regarded her and she was unsure of what he was thinking. Usually it was pretty easy to figure out what he was thinking when he looked at her. Not this time.

"Good morning!" Wesley came in with a far too chipper mood and ruined the moment she was about to have with Doyle. "Not for everyone, apparently."

"Get lost, muffinman," Doyle growled.

"Definitely not for everyone," Wesley otherwise ignored Doyle and poured a cup of the just-finished coffee. He handed it to Doyle. "It's always better to wake up with someone. I hope you were waiting for this. Otherwise it'll be quite the long day here."

Doyle apparently decided an insult wouldn't be appropriate at the moment and kept quiet.

Cordelia wanted to pick up where she and Doyle had left off. "Wes, Doyle and I were having a conversation. Of the non-Wesley participation variety. Know what I mean?"

"Ummm. I think so." Wesley made his own cup of coffee and wandered off deliberately.

"You were saying?" Cordelia returned her attention to Doyle.

Doyle's hands were shaking and when he tried to set down the coffee he knocked it over instead. He tried to clean up but fumbled with the paper towels, and knocked the cup over again. He was a totally hopeless mess.

"Could you possibly be any more useless right now?" she demanded.

Doyle shrank back from her, wincing. "I could be..." Doyle sighed and shook his head. He didn't have a comeback left in him.

"They make disaster movies about people like you."

He ignored the comment and finally looked her in the eye. His eyes looked desperate and that expression actually frightened her a little. Maybe she should give him a little bit of a break, since she wasn't really still upset about the whole penguin thing anymore. "Cordy, do you think...is there any chance I could sleep at your place tonight?"

"Well, aren't we forward? I wasn't sure we were even dating and you're up to sleep over? Newsflash. I'm not like that," she informed him. Cordelia felt very insulted he would even consider asking her that. More than that, she was disappointed in him for asking even as she was starting to feel sorry for him. "You know every time I start to think you're something other than just another guy, you go and act like just another guy."

"Princess, please," he sounded like he was in pain. "I didn't mean it to sound like that, really, I didn't. I just need--I got to get some sleep an' I just can't do it at my place no more."

Cordelia backed off. Doyle sounded as bad as he looked. And he looked like he was on the verge of crying. "Why can't you sleep?" she asked him, kindly this time.

He took a few deep breaths before answering. "I'm havin' nightmares. Real bad ones too. So bad I get sick an' I'm afraid to go t' sleep now. I can't sleep alone, I know that. If I could just stay on your couch..."

"Okay. But you stay there. Best behavior or I sic Dennis on you. Deal?"

Doyle looked amazingly relieved. "Deal."

Angel had decided sleeping wasn't really necessary for a vampire. At any rate, it beat the alternative--more of the horrific dreams he'd been having. It took him all of the first nightmare and much of the second to realize he was watching Angelus in his dreams, and that watching was all he could do. The worst part of these nightmares wasn't seeing what Angelus was doing to Doyle--it was not being able to stop it.

Just as bad though, was wondering if these dreams meant he would become Angelus again in the near future. Angel really didn't care to consider that possibility, but he knew of no other reason for having such dreams.

After a few days of the nightmares, not only was Angel exhausted, but he had noticed Doyle wasn't quite up to par either. And Doyle was obviously uncomfortable being in the same room with Angel, which set him to more wondering. But more than anything, Angel just wanted to sleep. First though, there was work.

"Cordelia! What did you do with the Kirk file--" Angel's frustration with her absurd version of a filing system was close to spilling over, even this early in the morning, and without having had any decent sleep in a week he was willing to tell her so. But he hadn't known Doyle was already in the office that morning, and seeing the half-demon startled him into silence.

Doyle looked like hell. And at the sight of Angel, he looked like he might even throw up. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and then Doyle did dart out to the bathroom.

"Whatever you two are on, I don't want any," observed Cordelia.

'Believe me, I don't want to be on it either', Angel thought to himself. In the last few days, as both his own and Doyle's conditions had deteriorated, he had started wondering if Doyle was having the same horrific nightmares that he had been having, and now Angel was sure of it. But the last thing Angel wanted was for Cordelia to know about the dreams. "Probably some flu bug or something we picked up," Angel muttered.

"I didn't know vampires got the flu," Cordelia commented.

"I'm certain that they don't," interjected Wesley as he entered the room. "I gather Doyle is, umm..."

"Puking? Yes," Cordelia confirmed.

"I'm sure his human half has the capacity for a virus, but I can't imagine what's making you ill, Angel," Wesley continued. He looked at the empty cup in his hand. "Unless it's the coffee."

"So make yourself a proper cup of tea and bug off," Cordelia told him in irritation.

"Both of you, knock it off," Angel chided them. "I'm not in a mood. Now I'm going to go into my office and I won't hear anything else, will I? Don't make me come back out here."

Cordelia made a face but nodded in agreement. "I'll make an effort," Wesley added.

"Good." Angel took his coffee and made it as far as the door to his office. "Whenever he gets back out here--tell Doyle I want to see him, okay?"

Cordelia gave him a mock salute. Good enough.

Angel collapsed into his chair and rubbed his eyes. God, I'm tired,' he thought. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this sleep-deprived, but he was sure it couldn't have been quite this lousy. Six days of waking up from a nightmare, the worst dreams he'd ever had...he shuddered at the thought of them. And if Doyle was having the same dreams, they had to be ten times worse for him.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Doyle peeked inside just a little. "Cordy says you wanna talk to me," he said hoarsely.

Angel nodded. "Close the door. I don't want them to hear."

Doyle did as instructed, but entered the office stiffly and hesitantly. His body was tensed, and Angel realized that not only did Doyle really not want to be in the office with him, he was prepared to run. He probably expected Angelus to appear any moment. And Angel couldn't blame him at all on that one.

"I'm still Angel, not Angelus," he told Doyle quietly.

"Uh-huh. That'll be a real comfort for me ten seconds from now when Angelus pops out."

Angel sighed and shuffled through the top desk drawer until he found what he was looking for. Angel laid the stake on top of the desk and slid it in Doyle's direction. "Would that make you feel better about this?" he asked in dead seriousness.

Doyle regarded the stake quietly. Finally, he cautiously reached out and picked it up. He stood silently fingering the weapon without ever taking his eyes off of Angel. After several minutes Doyle stopped fidgeting with the stake. "A little better," he whispered. "You know then."

"I know neither of us has slept in a week." Angel started to lean forward, reconsidered the wisdom of sudden moves given the circumstances, and decided to stay back in his chair."I don't know for certain if we're having the same nightmares or not, but since you're completely terrified of me I guess I can assume they are."

Doyle froze up even more. "I'm not afraid of you." Angel needed only to gaze back at him to change his answer. "All right, I am."

Angel had hoped Doyle might give more confirmation, but clearly he wasn't going to offer anything more. Angel sighed. It was difficult enough to have these nightmares, and worse that he couldn't talk about them with the one he trusted the most. "I'm not in my dreams. I'm watching Angelus." Doyle flinched at the name. "I'm watching him...torture and kill....my best friend. Is that...what you're dreaming?" Angel had to force out the words.

He looked back to Doyle, who was gripping the stake so tightly Angel half wondered if Doyle might squeeze the thing into splinters. "I dream that," he said slowly, "but I am there. An' I die. An' it's real."

"No, it's not!" Angel surprised himself with curtness of his answer, and Doyle nearly knocked himself out running smack into the closed door. "Doyle! I'm sorry. I'll try not to do that again."

Doyle leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath again. He still hadn't let go of the stake. "It's real," he muttered. "I dreamed it 'cause it's gonna happen."

"It hasn't happened yet, and it's not going to. I would never do that..."

"But Angelus would. An' when Angelus is here, it doesn't matter a damn what you won't do. He's stronger than you are an' he can't wait to kill me."

Doyle was right. If Angelus got loose...Angel had been considering just this possibility the last few days, and had hoped he might be able to get some assistance, some advice, some--anything from Doyle, that might help. But he had failed to consider that helping probably was not in Doyle's best interests, not if he wanted to keep breathing. "Listen, Doyle," Angel begged. "I don't want to hurt you any more than you want to die. If you want to take off a while, or maybe I will, or just--there has to be something we can do to keep it from happening.."

"I don't have any bright ideas. You? I'm not scared a' ya, but I'm terrified of Angelus. An' I don't know when he's showin' up, jus' that I don't wanna be here then." Doyle wanted out of the room, now, badly. And Angel couldn't see how keeping him there would improve the situation.

"Fine. I'll try to figure it out myself then." Angel opened the door in defeat. As Doyle inched towards it, Angel stopped him. "Never. I would never. It wasn't me who did it," he told Doyle painfully.

Doyle didn't quite face him. "Doesn't change the end of the story though, does it?" he said quickly and ducked out of the room.

Angel sat in his office, alone, for the rest of the day. By nightfall, he already knew what he would have to do.

Dennis was very surprised and a touch jealous when Cordelia came home with Doyle. She hadn't mentioned anything about a date tonight, and she certainly hadn't said anything about sleeping over. Dennis liked Doyle as Cordelia's friend, but he wasn't so sure he liked Doyle being more than that. He would have to talk to her about that later. Dennis was thankful to Doyle though, and to Wesley and Angel, for doing the spell that allowed him to whisper thoughts to Cordelia. He wouldn't have minded being able to speak to all of them, but he was happy enough he could at least talk to his roommate now.

"Dennis! I'm home!"

Dennis sighed a ghost sigh and went into the foyer, closing the door and locking it behind Cordelia and Doyle, who startled a bit at the door closing behind him.

"Thanks, Dennis, but sneakin' up on me ain't a good idea right now, I think ya oughta know," Doyle told him, unnecessarily. Dennis knew as soon as he saw Doyle that something wasn't right with him. He looked ill and exhausted, and had the aura of fear around him that came with too much terror in too short a time.

"Dennis, Doyle's staying here tonight. He has the creeps so bad he can't sleep at his place," Cordelia explained.

'No kidding,' thought Dennis to Cordelia. He had already forgiven Doyle for coming over without notice. Dennis hated nightmares. He was grateful for being a ghost, at least in that regard. He couldn't have nightmares anymore.

"You want something to drink? I mean, something not alcohol-ly?" Cordelia asked Doyle.

"Nah. I just wanna pass out right here," he answered as he collapsed in a heap on her couch. Dennis helpfully pulled off his shoes and set them neatly at the end of the couch.

"I guess so. You looker deader than Dennis. Sorry, Dennis, no offense," Cordelia added.

'None taken,' Dennis thought to her as he fetched a sheet and a blanket from the closet and put them on the couch for Doyle. Then he retrieved a pillow and made a show of fluffing it before dropping it on the couch. He wondered how many clothes Doyle was going to take off. Hopefully not many. He felt sorry for the half-demon but not that sorry.

Doyle didn't even bother with his clothes and made only a haphazard attempt at the blanket. He flopped down on the pillow and curled himself up in a ball. "Thanks, Princess. I owe ya a big one," he said sleepily.

Cordelia paused in the doorway for a moment before responding in what Dennis thought an uncharacteristic manner. "You're welcome. Get some sleep."

Ordinarily Dennis would have tagged along with her immediately, but he had conceded Doyle was at least presently harmless. He tugged off Doyle's pants and shirt, and pulled the blanket over him, before he followed Cordelia. Doyle was fast asleep and didn't even notice.

Dennis arrived in the bedroom in time to put Cordelia's clothes in the hamper and turn off the light for her.

"Dennis, are you jealous of Doyle?" Cordelia asked.

'Hmmm, yeah, I guess,' thought Dennis. He couldn't lie to Cordelia; she always knew when he did.

"Well, don't be, okay? Please?"

'If that's what you want.'

"And could you keep an eye on him tonight? Wake him up if he starts the nightmares again?"

She was so pretty when she asked nice. 'I will, I promise.' He pulled up her covers and went back to the living room.

It was barely an hour before Dennis felt the air changing in the room. The atmosphere was becoming charged with static electricity, which Dennis hated. Not just because it shocked him as he moved, but because it meant there was a magic happening, and he could tell this one was a dark magic intended to cause pain and suffering.

Within minutes, Doyle began squirming and moaning. He tried to run in his sleep and knocked over the coffee table. Dennis caught it before it hit the floor and moved it away from the couch. Doyle was crying out in his sleep now, and he was terrified of something. Dennis could feel the magic forcing the terror on Doyle and he became very, very worried. He tried to wake Doyle, but no amount of shaking roused him from the nightmare. Dennis decided this was an assignment for a corporeal being and went to wake Cordelia.

"Dennis, I just went to sleep, what're you..." Cordelia groggily scolded him when he pulled the pillow out from under her head. Then she heard Doyle screaming in the next room; she woke up immediately and ran to him. "Doyle! Doyle, wake up!"

Doyle didn't respond to her at all. Instead he kept screaming, and he kicked his legs and pounded at the air with his hand. One hand; the other lay still near his head. She tried to shake Doyle, but Dennis was too afraid Doyle would hit her by accident to allow her to get too close. After a few minutes Doyle slowly stopped flailing and lay still.

'Maybe now he'll wake up,' thought Dennis, and nudged Doyle. He did wake now, crying and sweating.

"It's okay, Doyle, it's over now," Cordelia awkwardly tried to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"It's not over, Cordy," Doyle told her. "It's just startin'." He pulled her close to him, put his face against her chest and cried.

Dennis kept quietly to himself. Doyle was right, he knew; this was only starting.

Wow. So Doyle really wasn't kidding about the nightmares. Cordelia felt sorrier for him than she ever had, and wondered if Doyle would ever sleep again, but after a while he finally went back to sleep. And as she fell asleep herself, she wondered distantly if Angel was having nightmares too, since he didn't seem to be sleeping much either.

When she awoke the next morning, Doyle was gone, although the blankets were strewn all over her living room.

"Swell. Can't he even leave a note like a normal creep?" she asked out loud. She stalked into the kitchen. "Where'd he go anyway?"

Dennis was waiting for her in the kitchen. 'He went to the office.'

"Already? Pretty early for him." She sighed. "Guess I should go there too."

She showered and dressed while Dennis made breakfast for her, then she headed to the office. She hated to think what Doyle might get into there without her to supervise.

When she arrived, the front door was locked and her key failed to unlock it. Or at least, the door wasn't opening. It felt like there was something heavy against it, too heavy for her to push the door open. She knocked on the door, hoping Doyle would hear her and move whatever it was that blocked the door. But no one came to the door.

"Fine," she said to no one in particular, and went to the back door. This one unlocked and opened without incident, and she was several steps inside the office before she realized her shoes were sticking to the floor. "Now wh--"

Any complaint she was about to issue was ended when she saw what she was standing in. Blood. A lot of it, thick and tacky but not dry yet. She swallowed hard. Okay, maybe Angel dropped some things when he came in last night and didn't bother cleaning up.. Yeah, that was it. And when she got her hands on him, boy was she going to...

The blood had puddled in front of the door after dripping down the steps. There was a lot of it on the floor, stretching out towards the main office, and the source of it appeared to be behind the couch and near the railing. That must be where Angel had dropped it...but there was an awful lot of it. And when she looked ahead of her, she could see someone's foot sticking out in front of the couch. No, not someone's. Doyle's.

Cordelia woke up with a shriek. She was on the verge of hyperventilating when she realized she was awake, and she had just had a nightmare. Dennis hovered nearby, his worry clear. 'Are you dreaming too?' he asked her. 'I couldn't wake you.'

"I'm okay, Dennis. It was a nightmare, that's all. Oh boy, I hope that was a nightmare."

"Cordy? You all right, I heard ya yellin'," Doyle staggered into her room looking more haggard than ever, but to her he was a beautiful sight. She had definitely been dreaming.

"I--um--I had a nightmare. I'm okay now," Cordelia advised him, a little embarrassed.

Doyle stopped dead in his tracks. "What kind of nightmare?" he asked slowly.

"Just a creepy one, that's all. Not much to it. I'm fine, really," she tried to assure him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Had t' be somethin' for ya to scream though. Ya sure you're all right then? I kinda think I'm gettin' expert on these things lately."

Cordelia started to tell him again she was fine, then it dawned on her just how relieved she had been to see him walk in the room a moment after she thought he might be....again..."I'm all right, but you know--I think I might be better if you stayed in here with me....just sleeping! I mean, just, I think, I want somebody here with me but keep your hands to yourself."

But Doyle appeared to have understood exactly what she meant the first time. "Darlin', I can't sleep alone either. Move over."

"Dennis? You okay?"

'I'm okay if you are.' Dennis failed to hide worry in his voice, but Cordelia detected the worry was not about Doyle.

"All right then," she said with relief and scooted over.

Doyle crawled under the covers but stayed on the far side of the bed. "G'night Princess. I hope we both get some sleep."

"Umm, yeah." Now that he was actually in there with her, it didn't feel nearly as awkward as she had thought it might. "Doyle?"

He grunted.

"Thanks."

But Doyle was already asleep. Completely, totally, astoundingly asleep. And it occurred to Cordelia that he had been when she woke him with her scream. If the nightmares had been keeping him up for a week--they had him up a couple hours ago even--why was he suddenly sleeping?

But Cordelia's mind never worked overtime, especially not at night, and in time she fell asleep listening to the steady, relaxed rhythm of Doyle's breathing. And she started dreaming again, the exact same dream she had just had. She recognized it almost immediately and tried to wake herself, but she couldn't.

She was back in the office, standing in the tacky pool of blood decorating shoes she had been proud of a moment before. She was staring at the foot extended beyond the couch, the foot she was sure was Doyle's. Cordelia didn't want to see what was behind the couch, much less if that was where the blood was coming from, but she had to look. Something forced her to walk forward, sometimes stepping in the stream of blood and sometimes not, towards the front of the office. With each step she could see a little more, and fear spread throughout her body because the more she saw, the more she knew it was Doyle, and that he was dead.

Finally Cordelia reached the edge of the couch. She desperately fought the need to look at what she couldn't quite see yet and knew she didn't want to see, but she had to. She took the last step.

Doyle's body was slumped against the railing, except for his left arm which hung awkwardly from the knife driven through his hand and pinning it to the railing. Doyle's knife,' she thought dimly, the one I gave him for his birthday.' The blood was pooled around his body much as it had been by the door, and it had come from his neck, spilling out and across his body from the two jagged holes at the base of his throat. She recognized them for what they were. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes that nearly convinced her to invite him in after all those dates, were open and glassy. And full of pain and terror like she had never seen before in her life.

All she could do was stand and stare. Even knowing it was a dream, she couldn't wake up, and she couldn't take her eyes off the bloodied corpse that had been her friend. She didn't see or hear as someone walked up behind her.

"Surprised? It's a present for you! I hope you like it."

At the sound of Angelus' voice, she started screaming.

Doyle woke up when Dennis shook him. "Cripes, Dennis, now what?" he started to complain sleepily and then he saw Cordelia shaking. "Is she havin' another one? Cordy? Cordy girl, wake up now. Please." Doyle shook her but she didn't wake at all.

"Oh man, not her too. Please, not her." Doyle wished he could talk to Dennis, but all he could do was feel the spirit's intense worry. Dennis knew something he couldn't tell him, Doyle understood. Something not pleasant. But then, Doyle had a lot of not pleasant this week.

Finally Cordelia screamed and woke up. Doyle tried to touch her but she jerked away in fear. Then she saw who he was and finally knew she was awake again. She threw herself against him and buried her face in his chest, sobbing.

"Please don't die again, Doyle, please don't," she cried.

"I'm tryin' not to, Princess, I'm tryin'," he told her. Wonderful. Two years of trying to get her in his arms, and now that he had her there he couldn't even think of doing something other than holding her while she cried, and trying not to cry himself.

Neither of them slept the rest of the night. Cordelia cried for hours while Doyle held her and rocked her gently. As morning finally approached and light began streaming into the apartment, Cordelia was finally able to stop crying. 'Good thing, we're out of tissues', Dennis thought.

"Ya gonna be okay now, Princess?" Doyle asked.

"I guess. I don't know." Cordelia started to brush her hair out of her face. "Oh God, I probably look like Dennis' Mom now."

'Not hardly', Dennis told her.

"Ya don't look any worse than I been lookin' lately," Doyle contributed.

Cordelia stared at him. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

Doyle opted to ignore that. Not a bad idea, in Dennis' opinion. "Ya think ya could tell me what ya dreamed? 'Cause I'm havin' 'em, an'...an'...Angel, he's havin' 'em too," Doyle asked hesitantly and a little fearfully.

"The same dreams? Or different?" Cordelia asked back.

"We think the same. Angel told me, he dreams he watches Angelus...he watches 'im kill me. I dream about Angelus killin' me too," Doyle told her shakily.

Cordelia was shaking outright. "I dreamed I came into the office and I--I found you--dead. And then Angelus walked up behind me..."

"S'okay. Ya dreamed it." Doyle took her hands in his. "We just gotta hope it's not real. But I'm thinkin' it's gonna be."

'It will be, soon,' Dennis whispered to Cordelia.

"It will?" Cordelia asked. "Are you sure Dennis?"

'There's black magic here. It will bring Angelus back. It's very powerful,' Dennis added.

"What's he tellin' ya?" Doyle asked.

"That it's a magic doing this. Is it--is it a spell? Do you know who's doing it?" Cordelia asked Dennis.

Dennis wished he did know. All he knew for certain was there was a powerful dark magic about. 'No. I only know it's strong. And...ancient. It feels old.' Suddenly Dennis thought of something. 'It feels like Angel, like the spell about him.'

"You mean, like a gypsy spell?"

'Could be.'

"Dennis says it's an old magic, maybe like the gypsies...do you think..." Cordelia was now in full-blown worry.

"Maybe that's it. Maybe..." Doyle paused, as though remembering something. "The other night, Wesley, he saw somethin' strange. I hate sayin' it, but I think we better talk t' him."

Wesley hadn't much cared for being in the office of late himself. Doyle was never particularly hospitable to him, but the half-demon had been nearly intolerable over the past week. Angel wasn't worth the effort of late either, and the crankiness from the two of them was having an effect on Cordelia as well. He could only hope it would all blow over shortly.

Instead the doorbell rang at an insanely early hour, waking him instantly. Fortunately, it hadn't woken Harry. Wesley pulled on a robe and hurried to the door, hoping to get there before the bell rang again and possibly woke Harry. He was very displeased to find Doyle at the door.

"Why on earth are you here?" Wesley demanded of Doyle.

"It's really unpleasant, Wesley," Cordelia answered from behind Doyle.

"I'm quite aware of that," Wesley snipped.

"No, the reason we're here is unpleasant. Any problem between the two of you is totally and completely not my problem and therefore, I can't hear you," Cordelia grumbled, pushing past both of them and into the apartment. Doyle shrugged and followed her.

"Come in," Wesley said sarcastically.

"Too late." Cordelia was already in the kitchen helping herself to some juice.

Doyle uneasily shifted from foot to foot before Wesley finally figured out what he wanted. "Fine. You may sit," he instructed, rolling his eyes.

Doyle dropped onto the couch and Cordelia sat beside him.

Wesley sat across from them. "Now, why are you here at such an outrageous hour?"

"We got an exclusive sneak preview of a major problem coming to a vampire near us real soon," Cordelia announced. "Dennis says the gypsies are part of it."

"Dennis says?" About the last thing Wesley expected was input from the ghost.

Doyle sighed. "Me an' Angel, we've been havin' these nasty nightmares all week, an' tonight Cordy started havin' 'em too. We think they're gonna be real. An' Dennis says there's a dark magic happenin', somethin' old like the gypsies, an' that it's gonna bring Angelus back."

Angelus...the mention of the name was enough to freeze Wesley's blood. A return appearance was about the last thing he had ever wanted to hear about. "You're absolutely sure it's Angelus?"

"Am I sure? Well, he's tortured me t' death every night this week, I think I can recognize 'im by now," Doyle snarled.

"It's him, definitely," Cordelia added.

"It's who?" Harry had been awakened by the commotion.

"We're having an Angelus problem," Cordelia informed her.

"Oh. That's...bad." Harry said.

"Yeah. As bad as it gets." Doyle was pointedly not looking at Harry.

Wesley was even more frustrated now that Harry was awake. "Well, what do you expect me to do about it?"

"We were hopin' ya knew somethin' about the gypsies an' their magic so we can stop this," Doyle answered in aggravation. "'specially since ya were sayin' ya saw one the other night." Doyle paused. "The same night I started havin' the nightmares, now that I think about it."

Wesley had completely forgotten about the incident the previous week until Doyle mentioned it. He slapped a hand to his head as it finally occurred to him that Angel and Doyle had begun acting oddly the very next day. He should have realized sooner, certainly once Cordelia had mentioned the gypsies.

"Gypsies? Aren't they the ones who turned Angelus into Angel?" Harry asked.

"Yes. And they can reverse the curse if they so choose...and God help us if that's what they've chosen."

"Since neither of us know what you guys are talking about, how about telling us what you are talking about?" Cordelia insisted.

Wesley looked at Doyle. Doyle shrugged.

"Is that all 'o 'em?" Doyle sounded exhausted.

"Pretty sure that's it." Angel was still in vamp form and all of his senses were working to try to detect any more vampires that might have remained. He couldn't hear or smell any more of his fellow demons though, and reverted to human. "Where'd Wesley go?"

Doyle shrugged. "Probably in his pants." Angel glared at him. The bickering between Doyle and Wesley was bad enough, and he didn't care to hear any more of it tonight. "Okay, okay. Last I saw of 'im, he went out in the alley. Big help he is."

Angel gave Doyle another withering look before going into the alley to look for Wesley himself. Wesley might not have been the strongest warrior on the block, but contrary to Doyle's opinion it wasn't like him to duck out in mid-fight. Something must have happened for Wesley to leave suddenly.

The alley was dark and quiet, and there were no signs of anything living in it. Angel relaxed a bit, and headed towards the street to see if Wesley might be out there. As he passed a dumpster, Wesley jumped out at him with stake in hand and Angel was barely able to catch Wesley's arms before he did something regrettable.

"Oh! Angel! Quite sorry, I thought it was a vampire--well, an evil vampire, as opposed to you of course, but I wasn't sure--"

"Wesley, shut up." Near-stakings tended to irritate Angel, and at the moment he was sharing Doyle's opinion of Wesley. Fortunately Wesley, unlike Doyle, usually clammed up when so instructed.

"What are you doing out here? The fight was in there," Angel asked with annoyance.

"I--I saw something I thought I should investigate further," Wesley answered, a little weakly.

"Whatever it was, it better have been really, really important. If it wasn't..."

"A woman, dressed somewhat like a gypsy," Wesley answered quickly. "She was watching us, almost as though she was expecting to see us. When I saw her she fled. I just thought that was so odd..."

"A gypsy? In Los Angeles?" Angel forgot his aggravation in favor of confusion. "What would they be wanting with me this time?"

"Maybe nothing?" Wesley offered hopefully. "I got a good look at her but she vanished when she reached the street."

Doyle caught up with them at that point and was about to say something, but this time Angel glared first and Doyle changed his mind about whatever he had intended to say. "Is somethin' up?" he inquired with caution.

"Gypsies," Angel muttered.

"Oh, swell." Doyle replied.

"It might mean nothing at all..." Wesley began.

"Here's hopin'."

"You think she undid the curse and took back Angel's soul?" Cordelia asked.

"Doubtful. She couldn't possibly have had enough time, and he's still Angel besides--or was. And to be honest, I didn't think she looked old enough to be that trained in the black arts."

"But she coulda had enough time to sic some magic on us, I'll bet," Doyle considered. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was. "That musta been what she was about, just passin' along the dreams so we know what's startin'."

"I'm a little more interested in the stopping part, personally, the whole Angelus thing is a little more than I need in my life right now," Cordelia broke in.

"I would say the first thing we should do is alert Angel that the gypsies are indeed about again," Wesley suggested.

Doyle cringed and he could see Cordelia wasn't any more enthused about the idea. "I'm not real interested in goin' back there," he announced.

"All three of us could go," Wesley thought. "You said the dream started with only you, so as a group we should be all right then."

"All four of us," added Harry. "I'm going."

"Not a chance," Doyle informed her.

"As he said, no," Wesley told her. "I won't take a chance with you. But if you could find out if there are, in fact, any gypsies in the area right now, it would be of enormous help."

Clearly Harry disagreed, but Doyle was firmly with Wesley on this one for a change. Even first thing in the morning, Doyle thought Harry looked radiant. Pregnancy definitely became her. A few thoughts of what might have been crossed his mind, but when he started to think of her carrying his child the thoughts became too painful. "I think we better go then," he said, his voice tight.

Angel had waited until his employees had gone home before leaving the apartment, which gave him more than enough time to write the brief letter he left behind. Unlike Doyle and Wesley, Angel hadn't forgotten about the apparent sighting of the gypsy woman. He had too much history with the gypsies to forget. As he had brooded throughout the day, he became increasingly convinced the dreams had been sent to him--and to Doyle--by the gypsies as a harbinger of what was to come. And he was now equally convinced he was going to stop it from coming.

But he wasn't taking any chances on harm coming to any of the others and so he left quietly, with only the cryptic note to explain his absence. If he didn't return before they found the note, he knew Angel was likely gone in favor of Angelus. He hoped he would find the note first.

Angel had become all too familiar with the gypsies in the last century, and he was able to find notes regarding their harbinger spells without difficulty. He also knew what was needed to cast one, and he had some idea where he could find those items. It was in this regard he had hoped Doyle could help; Doyle would have known exactly where to go and who to ask. But since Doyle was unavailable, it took Angel longer to find the necessary information than it would have otherwise.

Dawn was not far away when Angel arrived at the address he had finally obtained. He knocked on the door softly and hoped she would answer.

The door opened almost immediately. She was definitely of gypsy blood, although her dress was far more contemporary than her people would likely have approved. She was young, perhaps twenty, and pretty, but not excessively so. She could easily have been following him for some time without his notice, especially in a city of the size and diversity of Los Angeles.

"I've expected you many a time before. And now you're here," she said calmly.

"How long have you been watching me?" Angel asked her hoarsely.

"How long have you been in Los Angeles?" she asked back. "I have watched you since you left Sunnydale. I know your legend well, and your present."

"Obviously you're good at it. So why let yourself be seen the other night?"

"I had to be close to throw the spell. The Watcher--former Watcher, I should say--he's brighter than he looks and he saw. If it weren't for the spell..." she let her words trail off. She was making him more nervous and uncomfortable than he'd been when he arrived and she knew it.

Angel had to swallow before he could speak again. "Why the harbinger? What's it supposed to mean, why is it--"

She smiled and Angel didn't like that smile one bit. It reminded him a bit of Faith when she had been dark, the touch of sadistic intent and the hint that it could become real should she so choose. "I sent it to you so you would come here. And so you have."

"Why do you want me here?"

She didn't answer, instead she swiftly turned and disappeared from view. Angel knew he couldn't enter the apartment, but he tried anyway. He couldn't even see further into the room. He would have to wait for her.

He didn't have to wait long before she reappeared, dressed in more traditional clothing and carrying aspects for another spell. She set the objects in their proper placement and began reciting the spell, one he quickly recognized as dark but he understood no more than that. Angel began to feel oddly warm and could feel air rushing around him.

"What are you doing to me?" he demanded.

"You have done the greatest of evil, and no good you do shall ever be enough. You do not deserve the soul my ancestors gave you," she cried in anger.

So that was it. She was going to take back the soul, bring back Angelus--Angel tried to run, but he couldn't move. The warm air held him firmly in place somehow, trapped outside her door. She returned to reciting the spell and invited him in; the air forced him, unwillingly, inside her apartment and into the magic circle she had placed in the room.

"NO! You can't do this, I'll hurt people, you can't--" her voice seemed to be drifting away from him and it felt like it was dragging the soul out of his body. Smoke began rising around him, blinding him until he could see nothing else.

The office appeared quiet and empty when they arrived, but none of them wanted to go in all the same. Cordelia was disinclined to go in, even with a very much alive Doyle standing next to her, but she was even less inclined to listen to Doyle and Wesley debate who was going in first.

"You two brave fighting guys work something out while I go in and find out what's up, how's that sound?" she announced, putting on a large cross and keeping a stake handy as she walked into the office without waiting for an answer from either of them. Sheepishly, they both followed her in.

The office was just as empty as it looked, with no sign whatsoever of Angel or Angelus. In fact, the office looked exactly the same as it had when she had locked up last night. Except for a stray envelope by the coffee machine.

"Did I leave this here? I don't remember doing that," she said out loud as she picked it up. She recognized Angel's handwriting on the outside of the envelope, which was addressed to Doyle. Cordelia handed it to him. "I guess it's yours. Hope it's something good, right?"

"Mine? I don't know what..." Doyle's voice trailed off as he started to read the note that had been in the envelope. He dropped weakly onto the couch and his entire body sagged. "He's gone," Doyle informed them flatly.

"What?" Wesley asked.

Cordelia wasn't going to bother with asking. She yanked the letter back out of Doyle's hand, not that he made any particular effort to hold onto it, and started reading.

"Doyle,

If you've gotten this, then I'm probably gone. The soul part, at least. I think the gypsy girl the other night sent us a harbinger spell. I think she's been watching me, too, assigned by the gypsies to make sure...you know. I'm going to confront her, tonight. I hope I can stop whatever she intends to do. If I haven't, you'll be reading this and I want you to take Cordelia and Wesley and get as far away as you can. Please believe I would never knowingly hurt any of you.

Angel"

"Hoo, boy," Cordelia was feeling suddenly chilled. And hoping that the dreams were accurate and they were safe, at least for the moment. She turned to Doyle. "So, where are we going?"

"Going where? What on earth--" Cordelia stuffed the letter into Wesley's hands and after a moment of reading he stopped acting like an idiot.

Doyle waited until Wesley finished reading the letter to speak. "We're not goin' anywhere," he said firmly.

"Uh, Doyle? I think Angel just specifically told you--"

"I know what he told me. An' I know what's gonna happen, at least t' me, if I hang around. But we can't just pack up an' leave Angelus t' kill half the people in LA."

Wesley made a face. "He's right, unfortunate as it may be. We can't allow Angelus to roam free. We should at least try to stop him."

Cordelia couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Have you two always been nuts and I never noticed? Well, I did notice, I just didn't think it was this bad."

"Cordy, this is bigger 'n us. A lot bigger..." Doyle's voice trailed off, then he began speaking again with, much to Cordelia's shock, a previously unknown authority. "Okay, we know what starts this. So, nobody comes in here alone from here on out."

"And we find the gypsy girl," Wesley added.

"No, we don't."

"No? You have a better idea?" Wesley clearly didn't like the idea of Doyle was taking over. And Cordelia wasn't at all sure she liked the idea either.

"Yeah, I do. She's not on our side, right? She's not gonna help us. We gotta find others, ones that see the big picture and might help. If the trail takes us to her, it does. But she's not our first concern." Doyle got up and started pacing the office. "Wes, find out if Harry learned anything. I'm gonna take Cordy and check some of my guys. We'll meet back at Cordy's tonight. Before sundown."

"Why, precisely, should we follow your instructions?" Wesley asked icily.

"'cause the alternative is followin' yours, an' all that gets us is tea," Doyle snapped back, then he swallowed hard. It occurred to Cordelia that Doyle was afraid of something, Angelus she assumed but maybe something else. Doyle tapped the letter against his palm lightly. "Angel seems t' think I can handle this, maybe I can. Cordy?"

During this exchange, it had dawned on Cordelia that Doyle was much more attractive when he took charge. Much more. Even if he was scared. "See you, Wes. Gotta visit some guys named guacamole."

Doyle rolled his eyes. "Guido, more likely."

Angel was suddenly and rudely awakened by the first rays of sunlight scorching his body. The odd part was that while his body quickly leaped to its feet and scampered away from the burning rays, it did so without any instruction from him. He tried to open his eyes, then realized they already were open through no action of his own. He had no control over his own body or its actions. In which case...

"Wakey wakey, soul boy!"

Uh oh. Angelus.

"Hope you're ready for a ride, I am. High time I was in charge around here."

No, you're not in charge here. I am. I'm still here.

"Here, yes. Running this gig? No. So sit back and watch, we're gonna have some fun. Not that you could do anything else, but watching has its own merits. You know what I mean."

Angel slowly realized he was in the same position he'd been in during the dreams. He could see and hear what Angelus saw or heard, but Angelus controlled his body completely and he could do nothing but bear witness. He wondered if that was what the gypsy girl intended, or if it was accidental.

"Who cares? She freed me! Hey, I might even let her live for that. Of course, she already took off. What is it with women anyway? Just when you want to get to know them a little, maybe drain some blood--boom, they're gone."

Angel mentally sighed. He usually would remember what Angelus said and did, but he always wished he never remembered. It wasn't worth knowing.

"Like you're better. Newsflash, soul boy--you're not. Now, I'm taking off before the sun fries my mind--that would be you, wouldn't it? You know what would be really, really enjoyable? Going back to your office, maybe some of those charity cases you call employees are there. Wouldn't that be a party?"

No, it wouldn't, thought Angel. Not that it would slow down Angelus in the slightest. And it didn't. Angelus found his way into the sewers and eventually back to the office, although it took him half the day to find it. Angel was tremendously relieved to see the office was empty.

"Don't get comfy, pal 'o' mine. They've been here. All of them. The place reeks of them. And they'll be back soon enough. I can wait."

Angel had noted his letter was missing. He couldn't help feeling a little satisfied. Going to be a long wait, he thought, because they're not coming back.

Dennis scared the living daylights out of Wesley when he opened the door before Wesley could even knock.

"A little warning, Dennis, please," he exclaimed.

Harry wasn't nearly as surprised. "Never mind him Dennis, he's jumpy today," she told the ghost cheerfully. "Are they here?"

"Yes. And we're jumpy too," Cordelia advised them as she met them at the door. "You didn't see any vampy guys on the way over? I hope not?"

"Fortunately, none, but the sun's only just gone down. Did you have any luck?" Wesley inquired.

Cordelia frowned. "Don't ask. Just--don't."

"I don't think Cordy thinks much of some of the people I know," Doyle noted as Wesley and Harry joined them in the living room.

"Some of the people you know don't appear capable of thought. They only know how to--touch," Cordelia said with an exaggerated shiver.

"Cordy, I told ya not to get that close. They don't call 'im Octopussy 'cause he's seen the movie fifty times, ya know. Although he has," Doyle added.

"I don't want to know, do I?" asked Harry.

"I certainly don't," Wesley said emphatically. "But did this, uh, presumably a person, have anything useful to say?"

"There's a girl, he thinks she's a gypsy, been buyin' some stuff from 'im. Hasn't seen her lately, but I got her address. The place was empty, but I found a letter there from someone else sounded like they might be a gypsy too. I'm gonna check in the morning. You guys find anythin'?"

"The dreams are a harbinger spell," Harry told them. "The gypsies can send dreams that foretell the future. Although I don't know why she would send them to you."

"A warning?" Cordelia suggested.

"There are better ways to warn of impending doom, certainly more specific ways. And if it was a warning, why run off? She could have simply told us," fretted Wesley.

Dennis had been listening to their conversation silently and doing plenty of his own thinking. The magic he had felt could have been a harbinger spell, but those weren't usually dark spells, not as dark as the one in his home last night. A warning wouldn't be dark--suddenly Dennis understood. 'It's a trap,' he told Cordelia urgently.

"What?" Cordelia said it so abruptly she had the full attention of everyone immediately.

'A trap. Warnings aren't dark magic. The spell was dark because the intent was dark.'

"Dennis thinks the dreams were sent as a trap because they were evil," Cordelia announced to the others.

"Ya mean she's settin' us up for somethin'?" Doyle asked Dennis. Then, almost immediately, he knew. "No, she set up Angel, that's what. She wanted him to come after her, an' she sent the dreams to make him go look for her. She wanted him."

"So she can undo the curse where and when she wishes, I'll hazard," Wesley added.

"An' since Angel didn't come back, she prob'ly did it already. An' Angelus is out there for sure," Doyle realized.

"Maybe we should have left, you know, like he told us to?" Cordelia suggested sarcastically.

"Maybe." Doyle whistled. "But there's gotta be somethin' we could do t' undo the curse she put on 'im."

"So, what, we call Willow? That wasn't fun the first time," Cordelia reminded.

"But we have no idea if it's the same curse, perhaps Willow couldn't help," Wesley pointed out. "Possibly only other gypsies would know how to stop it. And we can't look for them, or anyone else, until tomorrow, not with Angelus about."

'I guess everyone's sleeping over tonight?' Dennis asked Cordelia.

Cordelia couldn't remember the last time she had slept on a couch, and wasn't enthralled to be sleeping on one this time. But it was better than sleeping in a chair, anyway; Doyle was awkwardly crammed into a chair that couldn't possibly have been comfortable. But he was completely asleep all the same. She was reasonably sure Wesley and Harry, who were in the bedroom, were also asleep. Only she was having trouble.

But eventually she did go to sleep. And at first, it wasn't a problem. But then she felt herself sliding back into the nightmare and was powerless to stop it.

"It's a present for you! I hope you like it."

Angelus' voice alone was enough to freeze her blood. She couldn't turn to see him. She couldn't even move.

"You should have heard him scream. Lovely sound. Turns out he's not so brave when he doesn't have a damsel in distress to rescue. That would be you. Always needing someone to bail you out of trouble. Where's Daddy when you need him?"

"Shut up." She was shocked to hear the words coming out of her mouth, but she meant them all the same. "You can't talk about Doyle like that, and you can't talk to me that way."

"But I am." His voice was so close this time she nearly jumped through the wall. "I can talk to you any way I want as long as I say the magic words. Movie deal, I think they are. Anything that makes you feel important. Those words are more important than demon-boy, aren't they?"

Cordelia still couldn't move, but she could feel Angelus run a clawed finger down her back, starting at her neck and moving ever so slowly down, down, until it reached the top of her pants and started tugging there.

Angelus chuckled. "Movie deal. Give me what I want?"

Cordelia jammed her elbow backwards into Angelus' stomach as hard as she could. He was surprised but not nearly enough.

"Bitch!" he snarled at her. Suddenly she felt his nails rip through her back from shoulder to waist, tearing open her skin and leaving her bleeding. "Now I get what I want," he growled. Angelus grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to turn around, to see his face, to see Doyle's blood on his fangs.

She heard the back door to the office open but couldn't look or speak.

"Cordelia? Are you here? Why is the front door--"

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Wesley stop as he saw what remained of Doyle, and what was holding Cordelia.

"Well, looky here. The office poof. What would you like with your tea today? Watch me finish her, or shall I do you first?"

Cordelia woke with a shriek and dove into the waiting arms of Doyle. Then she realized it wasn't only her who was shrieking.

Doyle was so exhausted that sleeping in the chair seemed a minor price to pay for some rest. The nightmares never came upon him this night, and it bothered him not one whit that he had no other dreams. The sleep was enough.

But it wasn't long before Dennis woke him anyway, and Doyle didn't have to ask to know why. Cordelia was shaking on the sofa, lying fully stretched out and trying to stay still. Doyle could take a guess what she was dreaming.

"Wake up, Cordy," he begged her, even though he knew she wouldn't wake until the dream let her. It was only another minute or so before she did wake, screeching and throwing herself into his arms. It was only a moment though before Doyle realized she wasn't the only one screaming. There were screams coming from the bedroom, too.

Doyle wrapped his arms around Cordelia and helped her to her feet. "Ya weren't the only one this time, were ya?" he asked her quietly. She shook her head silently. "What he's going to do to me..." her voice trailed off and she cried.

"Francis!" Harry came flying out of the bedroom. "Wesley! He--he--" Harry saw what Cordelia was doing. "Both of them?" she asked in a small voice. Doyle nodded..

All of them conceded there would be no more sleeping tonight.

Angelus made himself at home in Angel's apartment, much to Angel's distress. With Angelus, making himself at home tended to be a destructive act. And many of Angel's personal items were now destroyed. He was sure Angelus was enjoying torturing him, too, but as long as he was the only victim, he would forbear. It was others who concerned him, and he tried his best to hide that from Angelus. But sharing a consciousness made that impossible.

"The sun goes down in what, less than an hour? I can hardly wait. Snacks everywhere and I'm hungry. Tell you what--I'll pick one out just for you. What do you like, a pretty blond thing I'll bet. That cop would taste fine, wouldn't she?"

Shut up.

"Excuse me, did I disturb you? It would be hard not to, I mean, I'm way disturbed so what would that make you?"

Angel tried not to think at all, which was remarkably difficult.

"I think I'll stick to the neighborhood tonight. Because you know, when word gets out about my dinner habits, your friends will come back to the office looking for me. How long should I take to kill them? I was thinking a couple hours each would be about right."

'No you won't either,' Angel thought. They were gone from the city--at least, he hoped. He hoped Doyle heeded his warning, but then Doyle had a bad habit of sometimes being as noble and self-sacrificial as Angel himself. He could only hope this wasn't one of those times.

"I'm doing him first. But you already knew that. You wouldn't happen to know what brings out his demon? I was just thinking taking off those spikes, one at a time, slowly--that could be a lot of fun."

Angel mentally gritted his teeth.

"I'm too hungry to wait for the sun. Maybe someone's working late. Wanna come with? Forgot. You have to."

Angel tried to will Angelus to stay in the apartment but he had no influence whatsoever. Angelus gleefully bounded up the stairs and through the office into the main hallway. He didn't have long to wait before a patron of another office entered the hallway, not seeing Angelus in the shadows. Angelus let the man pass, then stepped out behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey buddy, you got the time?" he asked.

The man turned around. Upon seeing what was behind him, he hollered and tried to run. Angelus easily grabbed him by his collar and held him off the ground. "I guess you don't have any more time now, huh? Since you're dead." Angelus cocked his head to one side in amusement. "You know, you should work for Federal Express. Because you're going to be sending my message."

Giggling to himself, Angelus slowly, deliberately carved letters across the man's face. Angel felt sick when he saw what Angelus was writing on the terrified man. The others would come back if they heard about this. And Kate would be out to kill first, ask later--not that it would be a bad idea under the circumstances, Angel thought.

Angelus started to bite the man, who had been reduced to a whimpering blob of jello, then came up with a better idea, at least by Angelus' standards. "My penmanship was just so good, I hate to mess that up. So I won't," he informed his victim, and snapped the man's neck. He dropped him on the floor. "Hey, he was just for practice," Angelus crooned. "Now I'm ready to get in the game."

As much distaste as Wesley had for Doyle--and, perhaps, a little jealousy of what Wesley thought was Doyle's inexplicably elevated role with Angel--he nevertheless had to concede the Irishman had plenty of reason to dislike him. After all, he'd hunted him, killed him, and crippled him, oddly enough in that order. 'And now,' Wesley thought glumly, 'I've been unpleasant with him all week when I had no idea what he experiencing.' Now that Wesley had seen it himself, all he could do was shudder. And allow Doyle to take charge without further complaint, even though he had plenty of reservations about the idea.

Doyle's first decision had been that all of them were staying put in the apartment until sunrise. And the morning news bulletins on the television seemed to indicate that was a wise move, if one with tragic results for others. There was one announcement after another of savagely murdered persons found in the general vicinity of Angel's office, most chillingly a man found in the same building with words carved into his face. 'Guess who's here?', the man had been marked.

Upon hearing that, Harry had thrown up, and Doyle had slammed a fist into the wall. Clearly it was the work of Angelus, and just as clearly Doyle's decision to stay and attempt to stop Angelus was correct. 'And if he's wrong,' Wesley considered, 'he dies first.' Although given what he'd seen in his own nightmare, he was no longer certain that wouldn't be a positive thing.

After dropping Harry off at home, Wesley, Doyle and Cordelia were now venturing outside the city, to the address Doyle had found in the gypsy girl's apartment, in the hopes of finding other gypsies. Wesley found it hard to believe there could be more than a scattered few in California, but then, Angel's presence might give them motivation to reside here. And, indeed, the door was answered by an elderly gypsy woman.

"Hello, ma'am, we were hopin' ya could help us--" Doyle didn't get a chance to finish, as the old woman almost immediately began shrieking in fright and ran back into the house.

"Nice job. Never knew you were that terrifying," noted Cordelia.

Doyle sighed. "I didn't do nothin' an' ya know it."

"That doesn't help us with the instant problem," Wesley started to say, then realized they were surrounded by gypsies. Armed gypsies, who appeared particularly wary of Doyle.

"Hey fellas, we come in peace, ya know?" Doyle squirmed.

An particularly old and wizened man came to the still-open door and regarded all of them, though especially Doyle, for what felt like an hour. Then he said something in Romany and the younger gypsies withdrew their weapons. The elder man returned his gaze to Doyle. "You are not human," he informed Doyle.

Doyle shrank back a bit. "Well, half."

"But he's a good not human, he's not all evil or growly or--I'm shutting up now," Cordelia initially jumped to Doyle's defense but when the old gypsy's eyes stopped on her she backed off nervously.

"This I know. I know what he is as well I know you too serve the powers," he told her. He turned back to Doyle. "I am Jozef, and these are my tribe, of the Kalderash people. You would not seek us without trouble, true?"

"Yeah," Doyle answered slowly, still unsure of where they stood with Jozef. "We think... maybe...a member of your tribe mighta put a spell on us. A harbin'er spell. An' that she mighta done somethin' else t' a friend of ours."

"The cursed vampire?" Suddenly Jozef's interest became intense.

Doyle nodded. "We were thinkin' she might--well, we're pretty sure she took his soul back. We know Angelus is back, he killed a lot last night."

Jozef's face turned deadly serious. He said something to one of the gypsies, who promptly left. Jozef turned back to Doyle. "We keep watch on the vampire. I have called for the girl you speak of, for it was she who was to be watching."

Girl or not, Wesley thought it was high time they got to the point. "If she has taken back his soul, we must stop him. We need your help."

"If this she has done, we will help you." The younger gypsy returned, with the same young woman Wesley had seen the week before.

"That's her!" he exclaimed. "What have you done! Do you know--"

"Hush!" Jozef ordered. He turned to the girl. "They believe you have loosed Angelus. Speak the truth."

Before the members of her tribe, and particularly under the withering gaze of Jozef, the young woman rapidly crumbled. "I--I have done what they say. I have brought forth the demon." Suddenly she turned angry. "He does not deserve a soul!"

"This is not for you to decide, only for the elders," Jozef told her angrily. "What spell did you use?"

"The curse of Tezal," she admitted.

"We have the power to undo this curse," Jozef told Doyle. "The soul remains, but it is dominated by the demon. The demon must be trapped, and an act of the soul present, to bring the soul back to dominance."

"I gotcha on the trapped part," Doyle agreed. "But what's an 'act of the soul'?"

Wesley thought he might know. "Something material done or created by Angel, I believe."

Jozef nodded. "The younger the act, the better. It is needed to bring forth the soul that created it."

"The letter he wrote t' me," Doyle said sharply. "That's the last thin' we know he did before the demon took over." Doyle stopped to ponder. "He's back in his office, that's where the killin' was last night. But that's where the letter is too."

"No it isn't," Cordelia interrupted. "I took it with us and left it at my apartment. On the dresser, I think."

"I'll go an' get it. Wes, you an' Cordy take Jozef to the office an' I'll meet you there," Doyle ordered. Wesley disagreed with that idea; he thought Doyle's earlier order to stay together was a far better idea. But he bit his tongue.

"Hey soul-boy! We're taking a trip."

Not in daylight, we're not, Angel told him. He was still sickened from his bystanding position for Angelus' not long completed killing spree. And he was still hoping beyond hope his friends were gone. He would know soon enough, if they appeared at the office..

"We're not sticking around that long. I have a better idea of what to do with them, and I'd rather catch 'em one at a time. Lasts longer that way. But I'm not telling you where. It's a surprise for you too."

While the others went to the office, Doyle went to the apartment. Doyle tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. "Dennis! Open up, it's me!" he hollered. But the door still wouldn't move. Doyle already knew Dennis' abilities against corporeal beings were extremely limited; really, the ghost could only affect inanimate objects, and still he had to defer to the living. "Don't make me pull rank, Dennis. I gotta get somethin' Cordy left. It's real important."

Dennis still held the door shut.

"Fine, I'm comin' in anyway," Doyle grumbled, and put his shoulder into the door. Dennis had to let him in, and did. Doyle nearly fell into the living room. 'Great,' he thought. 'I'm our fearless leader and I can't even win an argument with a ghost.'

"Den, I need that letter Angel left us. Cordy said she brought it here. Dennis?" No answer. 'What the heck got into him?' Doyle wondered. He hoped the ghost wasn't that upset about the recent upswing between him and Cordelia. But he didn't have time to ponder Dennis' motivations; he had to get that letter, now. As Cordy had said, the letter was sitting atop her dresser. Breathing a sigh of relief that Cordy kept better track of this letter than she had with most of the office documents, Doyle stuffed the letter inside his jacket and turned to leave.

Standing right in front of him, blocking the doorway, was Angelus.

Angelus was no longer talking to Angel, but Angel wasn't sure if Angelus couldn't hear him or simply wasn't bothering to listen any more. In either event, Angel tried his best to shut off his mind from Angelus. He was certain, and correct, that Angelus would gladly put extra effort into torturing Doyle just for the pleasure of torturing Angel. And Angel was already afraid of what Angelus might do to Doyle.

"I'll give you a hint--women hate it when you go through their things," Angelus sang happily.

The crossbreed was so startled, not to mention terrified, it appeared to have forgotten to breathe. Angelus decided to see what the little pest would do if he got closer and started walking towards it.

"Whatcha got there, pal? Piece of paper? Supposed to be important?"

The little mongrel dodged him and ran for the door. It was a lot faster than he had expected, and it got just past the bedroom door before Angelus was able to grab it. He tossed the smaller demon against a wall, hard, in annoyance. "Anything you can do, I can do a lot quicker," he snarled at the thing.

"Funny though, ya didn't strike me as bein' too quick," the half-demon countered and made another break for the door. This time Angelus caught him just before he reached the front door and slammed him to the floor, hard.

"Oh, but I am. The soul thought I wouldn't figure out where to find you. But I did, didn't I?" Angelus growled. The half-demon tried to pull a knife on him but Angelus grabbed hold of his wrist easily. "Not much of a try. Now tell me--what's the deal with the paper?"

Angelus slowly squeezed the mongrel's wrist until the half-demon was writhing in pain and desperately trying not to cry out. That wasn't a problem, after all, there was no hurry. The little thing would be doing plenty of screaming before Angelus tired of the torture and finished it off. He could feel the bones and ligaments shifting in response to the pressure from his hand and it brought a smile to his face. Pain was such a delightful thing. Especially when someone else was feeling it. "Oh, come on now. I...want...to...hear...you..." He closed his hand sharply and the half-demon's wrist shattered. The creature started screaming just as he had hoped.

"Did you break something? Because you'll have to pay for it," Angelus chirped. He had just thought of something fabulous he could do with the knife when the door burst open and interrupted his game.

Jozef brought another of the elders with him as well as several items needed for the spell. Cordelia found more than one of these things to be rather gross. And they stank too. "I'm not going to smell like this stuff tomorrow, am I? Because that is so ugh!" she announced. The gypsies, who didn't smell too good themselves, simply stared at her. She decided to keep quiet.

There were a lot of police at the office building itself yet, but fortunately Kate wasn't one of them. Cordelia didn't think Kate was particularly fond of her, and she definitely wasn't fond of Angelus, so explaining things wasn't something she really wanted to do right now. Cordelia and Wesley left the gypsies in the car--still less explaining to do, Wesley had thought--and tried to go into the building but were stopped by police.

"We work here," Cordelia informed the uniform who stopped her. "Angel Investigations, on the right. See? Right there. My office."

"Sorry, ma'am, but you can't go in there."

Unfortunately for the cop, Cordelia hated being told she couldn't do anything. She would have had a fit if he'd told her she couldn't step on the cracks in the tiles.. "But we have papers and files and all that other office stuff we need to do, uh, stuff and--"

"You can't go in until we finish our investigation. There's nothing special in your office anyway."

"Beg pardon," Wesley interrupted, "But when you say nothing special--nothing at all unusual? No persons, or--"

"Yes, I mean nothing. Nobody's been in there but cops."

"Did you check the apartment downstairs?"

"I mean nobody. Now you'll have to leave."

Cordelia started to protest but Wesley dragged her off by the arm. "Wesley! How are we going to catch him in there if they don't let us in?"

"If he were here, wouldn't he have killed someone who came into the office or apartment by now?" Wesley asked her.

She had to admit, this was true. She doubted Angelus would ever let any opportunity to kill pass him by. "Okay, so maybe he's gone. But if he's not here, then where? This is a really, really big city to go looking for a vampire in a hayfield or whatever."

"He'll very much want to get his hands on at least one of us," Wesley conjectured. "Which means either..."

"Your place or mine?" Cordelia chirped.

"Oh dear Lord, Harry..." Wesley moaned.

"Not Harry, not yet. He wants Doyle first. And in case you forgot, Doyle went to my place. Alone. And Harvey Wallbanger and all that."

"Harbinger. Yes. Oh dear."

They tried to formulate some sort of plan on the way to Cordelia's apartment, given that they were neither sure that Angelus was there, nor that Doyle was. The gypsies had indicated they would need time to cast the reversing spell, and of course, they still needed the letter. If Angelus was there, then someone was going to have to first distract him, and then stall him for several minutes.

Wesley volunteered for the stalling, and Cordelia insisted on getting the letter. In addition to knowing where it was, she noted correctly she had successfully bluffed Angelus the last time he appeared. But Wesley felt she was less likely to succeed on this occasion for precisely that reason. Of course, Cordelia failed to see things that way, and was very close to giving them away as they crept into the building. "I did it before you know. It's not like I forgot how."

"Be quiet!" Wesley hissed. The last thing he wanted was to die simply because Cordelia couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"I don't think Angelus can hear us. It sounds like he's already got a playmate," she hissed back.

She was correct on that point, Wesley realized. Even as they entered the building, they could hear Angelus speaking to someone in the cruel and demeaning manner he used for torturing his victims. And as they slipped into the hallway, they could just hear Angelus' taunting near the front door. Wesley nodded to the gypsies behind them.

"He's already by the front door. I'll keep him there," he whispered. The gypsies nodded in agreement.

"God help you both," Jozef murmured.

"Thank you," Wesley answered but even as he did they heard the screams from inside the apartment. A very familiar sounding scream that curdled Wesley's blood.

"He's got Doyle!" Cordelia squeaked.

Wesley didn't know if Angelus might have heard her or not, but regardless he wasn't waiting any longer. He smashed the door in and stopped a few feet inside the doorway. Cordelia scooted in behind him, and darted to the bedroom after the letter, as the gypsies took their places outside the doorway quietly.

Angelus was crouched over Doyle, holding the smaller man's left arm in an impossibly tight grip. Wesley's stomach rolled slightly as saw Doyle's hand flopping uselessly and unnaturally above Angelus' fist.

Angered at the disturbance, Angelus lunged towards Wesley, dragging Doyle behind him, but stopped a yard short. "Don't ever, ever interrupt me when I'm killing," he growled.

"You're not going to be killing here today. I'll see to that."

"Your memory is really short, anyone ever told you that? You couldn't stop me before, and you won't now." Grinning, Angelus yanked Doyle upright by his quite broken arm, and Doyle hung from Angelus' fist at a horrifying angle. Somehow Doyle managed to hold in a scream.

Cordelia was back in the room. "I can't find it!" she squealed.

"Get out a' here, Princess. Now, please," Doyle begged. Angelus squeezed his grip tighter and this time Doyle did scream.

"Stop it! Stop it, you--you--creep!" Cordelia pulled out a stake and would have rushed Angelus herself, had Wesley not grabbed her en route and shoved her back.

Angelus simply laughed giddily. "Can you believe her? Trying to take me?" he asked Wesley. Suddenly he turned on Cordelia, viciously serious. "And I am much more than a creep. So much more. Maybe I'll even let you live so you'll hear about all the things I'm going to do to all the people you claim you care about." He leaned back a bit. "Besides, if you're looking for the letter, I know where it is. He has it--" he shook Doyle "--and I don't think you're coming over here to get it."

But even as Angelus said it, he wasn't paying full attention to Doyle. And Doyle had managed to pull the letter from his jacket. Wesley couldn't think of any way to get the letter far enough away from Angelus for either he or Cordelia to reach it. But, it turned out, Doyle had thought of something.

"Dennis!" Doyle yelled. The letter suddenly broke free from Doyle's hand, and flew across the room into Cordelia's hand. Without hesitation she thrust it out the door and to the waiting gypsies. 'One problem solved,' Wesley thought. 'Now we have the bigger one to deal with.'

"Fine, you got it," Angelus snarled. "But I have him. Now if you'll both excuse me, I'll be going now. Places to go, things to see, people to torture, my work is never done!" Angelus started to move towards the door, still dragging Doyle behind him.

"You're not leaving here. You're not going anywhere at all," Wesley informed him evenly. "We will destroy you, here and now and for good."

Angelus snorted. "Right. Sure." He glanced towards Cordelia. "What's that you say? Duh? You won't do anything to me. See, you're all so scared I'll hurt him--" he yanked on Doyle's arm again, and Doyle yelped "--you won't even come close to me. And all I have to do is not kill him until I'm outta here."

"We can take care of that problem easily enough," Wesley knew in that instant what his bluff would have to be, and his heart sank even as he drew his gun.

"That? Unless you teach it to shoot stakes, can't touch this!"

"It's not for you." Wesley announced coldly. "The way I see it, if I kill him--" Wesley trained the gun on Doyle's head "--then there's no reason why we can't take you. You cannot play chess without a pawn. You do remember that rule, don't you? Or can you even play the game?"

"Hey wait a minute, I don't remember this being part of the plan..." Cordelia started babbling but Wesley clamped his free hand over her mouth.

Doyle didn't say anything. He simply stared at Wesley in utter surprise. Wesley tried not to look at Doyle's face and raised the gun.

"Once I asked you if you grew a pair. Because I know you don't have the balls to do that," Angelus announced imperiously.

"Don't I?" Wesley inquired, and fired.

Cordelia screamed as Doyle's head fell back in a burst of blood, and he sagged in Angelus' grip. Angelus roared in disgust at the suddenly lifeless thing dangling from his grasp, and threw Doyle down on the floor. "Fine then. You and me and I wonder who wins," he growled and charged at Wesley.

Wesley emptied the gun's magazine into Angelus' chest, sufficient to stun him but not to stop him. "Cordelia, RUN!" he hollered as he scrambled to find his own stake..

"Nobody takes my kill," Angelus howled and lunged at Wesley. But Dennis yanked the rug out from beneath him.

Wesley managed to leap out of the way just before Angelus would have landed on top of him. He tried to stake the raging vampire but missed, cutting the angry creature on the arm and further enraging him. He could hear the gypsies chanting now and knew he needed just a few seconds more.

"I seem to recall you said we'd never be able to touch you either," Wesley announced sarcastically.

"You missed. And you don't get a sec--" Angelus stopped dead in his tracks and began screaming as the gypsies' chant grew louder.

"NO!" the vampire roared. "I am not going back! I WILL NOT!"

The room filled with smoke and fire, choking Wesley as he grabbed Cordelia and dragged her out of the apartment. The entire building shook and rattled as the vampire's roars were drowned out by the chanting. The gypsies read the last line of the spell and lightning flashed inside the apartment. Then it was quiet. Deathly quiet.

"Did they kill him?" Cordelia whispered.

"I don't--I don't think so. This was only a reversal spell...it was, wasn't it?" Wesley asked Jozef.

"We cannot kill with a spell. We can only undo what is done," Jozef replied. "Angelus is gone. You must see for yourself what remains."

Wesley nodded and took Cordelia by the hand. "We have to see," he told her.

"I don't want to." She yanked her hand away. "And you killed Doyle! Again!"

He smiled at her weakly. "Perhaps I didn't." He hoped.

"What?" Cordelia dashed inside and straight to Doyle. Wesley followed cautiously behind.

Doyle still lay where Angelus had thrown him, silent and unmoving, and there was blood on the floor beneath his head. "Doyle? Doyle!" Cordelia cried, shaking him.

One eye opened. "Is tha' vampire creep gone?" Doyle slowly opened both eyes and made a half-hearted attempt to sit up, before the pain encouraged him to reconsider that idea. He noticed Wesley. "Nice shot. Let me in on this a little sooner next time, would ya?" he groaned.

"What are you talking about? What happened?" Cordelia was about to go into a full fledged hissy fit.

"I missed. And I meant to," Wesley remarked.

"Ya cut me good though," Doyle muttered, putting his good hand to his head and investigating the badly bleeding gash along the side of his head. "Not sure ya didn't take a hammer to me, too."

"Just enough to convince a vampire, that's all."

"Convince a vampire of what?" Angel asked weakly. Wesley had forgotten about him and evidently Angel had spent the time trying to wobble to his feet across the room. He froze when he saw Doyle. "What did I do to you?"

"You turned Doyle's arm into a can of toothpicks," Cordelia announced.

"But that's all that was done here," Wesley added quickly. "The gypsies turned you back before anything further happened."

"The gypsies?" Angel asked slowly but even as he did he saw them outside the apartment, watching him. Jozef walked inside and looked Angel in the eye. Angel trembled and backed away.

"You carry the greatest evil on the earth. I cannot always undo what is done. Remember this and never question my people again."

Angel nodded slowly. "The girl?"

"Will be disciplined. She had no authority." Jozef regarded Angel with a gaze that shrank Angel back even further. Then he turned and left.

"C'mon darlin', it's not a penmanship contest or nothin'," Doyle complained. He was stretched out on Cordelia's couch, pillows courtesy of Dennis, and was as close to comfortable as he'd been in several days. Being out of the hospital was a huge improvement, and staying with Cordelia was an unexpected bonus. Except that Cordelia had already devoted more than five minutes to putting a perfect signature on the cast that covered his arm from above his elbow to his fingertips. He wanted very much to put his arm back in the sling and lay it across his chest, which he had already found was the least painful place for it to be. "Today, all right?"

"You let Harry take her time," Cordelia pouted.

"She went first. It didn't hurt yet. Would ya please finish?"

"Fine. Be that way. I was done anyway," Cordelia finished and made a point of stabbing his thumb with the pen. "Besides, the doctor said you were supposed to keep it elevated. I'm sure he meant more than five minutes."

"Owch. Okay, okay." Doyle sighed. At least his head only needed stitches. All right, a lot of stitches, but Wesley's aim had been perfect, and the bullet had damaged nothing but flesh. Meanwhile, his arm now contained the better part of a hardware store. Cordelia could have elevated it with a magnet.

"Dennis wants to sign it too."

"Sure, why not?" The pen rose up in the air and Dennis scribbled a note near Doyle's elbow.

"What did he write?" Harry asked as she came back in the living room with a cup of coffee for Doyle.

"You can stay here anytime," Doyle read, a smile spreading across his face. "Thanks Den." The pen twirled in the air.

"At least he's not jealous of you anymore," Cordelia noted.

"He was? You were? Aw, c'mon Dennis!" Doyle needled the ghost. Fortunately Dennis took it in good humor; he gently picked up Doyle's arm and laid it across his chest.

"I'm back," Wesley called from the door.

"Great!" Harry perked up. "You should sign Francis' cast. We all have."

"Really," Wesley said evenly as he entered the room. Doyle wasn't sure yet if he wanted Wesley to sign it, and Wesley appeared equally ill at ease with the idea.

"And I put tea on for you," Harry added as the pot started whistling.. "Be right back."

Cordelia, seeing the looks being exchanged between Doyle and Wesley, decided to leave them alone. "I'll help you," she chirped, and hurried into the kitchen after Harry.

Wesley sat on the chair opposite Doyle. "I--I take it you're doing well?"

"As long as I don't try to fly to the Middle East," Doyle answered. "I think I'd set off every metal detector on the planet."

"I see."

"If you meant my head, it's fine. Just cut." Doyle decided they may as well get it out in the open. "I thought you were really going to kill me."

"I wasn't sure that I wasn't," admitted Wesley. "It would have been for the greater good, you know. It wouldn't do to have Angelus running amok."

"I know. I understand." Doyle ran a finger up and down the length of the cast. "Bein' as I already knew what he was gonna do t' me, I was kinda half-hopin' you would kill me. Angelus is not a nice guy."

"Of that, I'm keenly aware."

Doyle didn't speak for a while as he thought about whether to tell Wesley what he really thought. "When I told you to kill me, at the bus stop--I meant it. An' I wasn't unhappy 'bout you shootin' me later. I wanted to die back then. Not sure I didn't wanna this time."

Wesley appeared shocked. "You're not going to--"

"Nah, nah," Doyle assured him. "An' the other day was just 'cause I didn't wanna be Angelus' playthin', a bullet looked better 'n the alternative. I'm all right now. But I 'spose I should work on bein' okay with you. Wasn't like ya haven't been tryin' to oblige me all these times. Ya ain't all that bad."

Wesley was surprised, and in a backwards sort of way seemed a little flattered. "I've always liked to think so. I imagine that 'okay' might be a goal we could work toward."

Cordelia and Harry were giggling about something from the kitchen and Cordelia shrieked loudly. "I might even be more'n okay," Doyle added with a sly grin.

"She does seem to be, ah, more receptive lately," Wesley added.

"So ya gonna do it or what?"

Wesley didn't understand. "Do what?"

Doyle tried to raise his arm, briefly forgetting but getting a very definitive reminder of how much that hurt. "Sign the damn thing," he asked between grimaces of pain.

"Oh, yes, right," Wesley looked for the pen. Dennis handed it to him..

Wesley was just finishing when there was a knock at the door. "Were we expectin' more company?" Doyle asked. He paused. "Do we even know anyone else?"

Wesley frowned at him. "Your failed social life is quite your own problem. I'll answer it."

Doyle was surprised to see who followed Wesley back in. Angel hadn't come to see him in the hospital, and Cordelia had said he really hadn't been speaking to her or Wesley, although to hear Cordelia tell it she and Wesley weren't entirely unhappy with that development. Neither of them were in a hurry to set things right with Angel. They were both a little put out by Angel's failure to let them help him, not to mention the allowing himself to be trapped so easily part. Doyle, however, had been anxious to see the vampire. "I was thinkin' you weren't never comin' to see me," he announced.

Angel sat across from Doyle, his extreme unease obvious. Wesley remained standing, equally ill at ease, until Angel finally decided Wesley wasn't going to take a hint. "Doyle and I need to talk, Wes," he muttered.

"Right," Wesley agreed, but didn't budge.

"Now, Wes," Doyle ordered, and Wesley hesitantly went to the kitchen..

Angel watched him leave. "I didn't know he'd take orders from you," he said in bewilderment.

Doyle shrugged. He hadn't known that either. "Somebody had t' take charge, an' I did. He got used to it." Doyle thought briefly. "Maybe he shoulda been the one in charge. I damn near got us killed."

"If Wesley had been in charge, you'd all be somewhere else and Angelus would be wreaking havoc still. You did what I would have done," Angel added.

Doyle stared at Angel. "Then what took ya so long?"

Angel studied his feet, and it occurred to Doyle that Angel had yet to make eye contact. "I don't know what you're supposed to say to your best friend after you've tried to kill him."

"Oh." At first, that was all Doyle could think to say. But a better answer came to him. "Maybe ya could say next time I won't try t' fix thin's on my own an' make 'em worse. I guess I oughta say that one too, although I guess I kinda did already so never mind."

Angel finally looked in his direction, at least. "You don't seem to be taking this seriously."

"Well, given that I think you're 'bout as responsible for this--" Doyle tried to move his arm, but it hurt too much "--as you'd a' been if you'd sent me t' run an errand an' I fell on the way...Angel, I know it wasn't you did this t' me. I know all about havin' a demon just waitin' to pop out. The demon did this, not you. I ain't mad at ya."

"You should be."

"Can't we just say we both messed up an' let it go? I wanna."

"I can't. Knowing what Angelus could do to the people I care about, what he would gladly do given half a chance..." Angel shook his head. "I can't let him have another chance. I can't stay, Doyle."

It finally dawned on Doyle why Angel was there, and a dull pain settled in his stomach. "Please don't leave," he whispered.

"I have to," Angel answered softly, and without looking at Doyle, he swiftly left the apartment.

Doyle sat silently in shock and disbelief for a long time before Wesley stepped in to see what was happening. "It's been rather quiet in here. Where's Angel?" Wesley asked. Doyle didn't answer him. "Doyle?"

Cordelia and Harry now came into the room as well. "Something up?" Cordelia inquired.

It was a long time before Doyle could force the words out.

"Angel's gone."

THE END

©copyright 2000 Gonzai

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