INTEGRITY

by Gonzai Title: Integrity
Author/Illustrator: Gonzai
E-mail: LCSTrish@aol.com
Rating: R - violence, profanity
Summary: Angel travels back in time to the day Doyle died
Spoilers: Hero', I Will Remember You', War Zone', To Shanshu in LA'
Feedback: Please please me.
Distribution: If you had em before, go for it. If you're new, please ask.
Disclaimer: Belonging to persons other than myself and borrowed forthwith.
Author's Notes: Integrity' is NOT part of the series I began with The Best Laid Plans.' It IS a separate, freestanding story within the canon of Angel Season 1. Puh-leeze do not confuse this with any of the Plans series stories, nor should you consider it an indication I won't be writing in that series anymore.
Also, so Angel doesn't have to give a full speech on historical horticulture--according to The Language of Flowers, camellias are emblematic of excellence, steadfastness, and unending love. They are considered good luck gifts for men, and in Japan they are symbolic of a sudden death. Fir trees are indicative of boldness, fidelity, integrity, and ingenuity. In China they represent eternal affection, and branches are given as gifts for departed friends. In Greek mythology the fir was emblematic of Pan, the god of wine, music and general merriment. Doyle would approve :-)

INTEGRITY

"Freedom gets harder every day
The battle was a brave mistake
Crosses line every hero's grave...

Who knows the real reasons why?
The trick is to spin the wheel tonight
Sorry, but you just ran out of time."

- 'Calico', Bill Bonk

"Don't work your stuff, because I've got troubles enough...
When one act of kindness could be deathly."

- 'Deathly', Aimee Mann

"What do you think of this one?" Cordelia asked.

"One what?" Wesley had been researching the latest demon Angel had encountered, and as a result had been ignoring Cordelia for most of the day, mostly to his own relief. The only reason he heard her this time was because he was quite frustrated with his lack of success, and was more than ready to think about something else.

"This one. It's kind of square--I mean shapey-square, not not-hip square, although I guess it's kind of that too," Cordelia tapped the photo to which she was referring as she turned her catalogue so Wesley could see it.

He was more than a little mortified to discover she was comparison-shopping headstones. "Um, Cordelia, I'll grant you this is a dangerous business but isn't it a little bit morbid to be shopping in advance for such a, uh..."

"Oh! It's not for me."

"It isn't?" Offhand Wesley couldn't recall Cordelia having mentioned anyone in her family having died recently. His frown grew deeper as he considered the other possibilities. "I hope you're not looking on my behalf. Vampires or no, I wasn't planning on meeting my maker in the near future. And I certainly hope you're not intending for me to, uh, have an accident. You're not, are you?"

Cordelia gave him her newly-patented you're such an idiot' stare. "Wesley, you moron, I'm trying to find something for Doyle."

This didn't leave Wesley any less confused. Knowing the who didn't dispense with the why--or the how. "Firstly, how were you expecting to pay for this?"

"Nabbitt. Got some cash left over from his last pretend-to-be-pals-with-the-geek adventure."

"Oh, I see." Reasonably explained, at any rate. "Now may I ask why? It was my understanding there wasn't a...there was nothing to warrant a grave."

"There wasn't," Cordelia answered matter-of-factly. "We got him a marker at a cemetery anyway, but it's so small you can't find it with a detailed map, directions and a tour guide. I want to get him something better. He deserves a lot better."

"Who deserves better?" Angel asked as he entered the room, ostensibly for coffee.

Wesley wasn't about to try to explain. He was quite certain it wasn't his place to discuss Doyle in any manner. Particularly since Wesley still felt Angel treated him like the second child in a family where the beloved first child had died. He bore some resentment yet for being held to the standards of someone he'd never met.

But Cordelia forged ahead. "Doyle does. I think we should get him a real headstone."

Angel sagged at the knees somewhat at the mention of Doyle's name.

"You know, because that thing there now is pathetic, I mean, that's all we could afford then but now we have a little bit of money and--"

"I don't want to talk about it," Angel cut her off and left the room swiftly, fleeing for the sanctity of the remnants of his apartment.

"The topic never gets any easier for him," Wesley said out loud. Besides the overall awkwardness of the subject, Angel didn't seem to have dealt with the loss well at all, and Wesley was just as happy to not to discuss it.

"Well, it's about time it did!" Cordelia snapped. "I'm sick of this." And she took off after Angel.

Wesley decided to time this one. Five minutes,' he thought, then I rescue Angel.'

"Why don't you want to talk about it?" Cordelia demanded before she was even in the apartment. Angel had already retreated to the replacement for his favorite chair, one of the few pieces of furniture he'd put in since the apartment was cleared for living again. Fine with her; by the time she was through, he would wish he was part of the chair.

"I just don't," he answered weakly.

"Well, what if I want to talk about it? Because that's how people deal with these things, they talk about them, except I don't have anybody to talk about it with because you're the only one who would possibly begin to understand and you run into the Batcave every time I bring it up!" Cordelia threw herself into the only other chair with as much huffiness as she could muster considering what she really wanted to do was cry. She had wanted to cry for three weeks now, ever since she had finally changed the calendar to November (granted, it was the fifth before she finally remembered to do it, but anyway) and realized it was almost one year since Doyle's death.

Angel didn't look directly at her. "I'm sorry."

"You have to do better than that."

"I guess I should." Angel faced her. "You've been thinking about him a lot lately, haven't you?"

Cordelia nodded and a tear did escape. "It's a year next week."

Angel shuddered. "I know. I try not to think about it."

"Well I can't not think about it. He's been gone more than twice as long as I knew him and I still keep looking for him to come in the office every morning and instead Wesley comes in and it's not Wesley's fault but it just, it..." She bit her lip. "I keep thinking there has to be something more I can do for him and it would help if you would at least humor me."

"Okay. I'll humor you. I'll take a look later tonight. I promise," Angel told her.

"I'll quiz you on it tom--" Cordelia didn't get a chance to finish her thought because her thoughts had just exploded into jagged, painful beams of light and dark that ripped her from her head down to the base of her spine. She was vaguely aware of Angel's hands, but mostly she only felt the pain. And saw the monsters. It was several minutes before she could get her breath back enough to speak.

"Angel, did you like Night of the Living Dead'?" she gasped.

"No. Too autobiographical," he told her. "You need ice or something for your head?"

She shook her head no, but that hurt more. "Aspirin, though. And maybe a flaming torch."

"What was it?" Angel brought her the aspirin, with water.

"Some wacky guy down at the cemetery, casting spells and whatever, he's going to raise the dead. Whole army of rotting zombie type guys. Ick factor, maximum."

"An army?"

"Hundreds."

"Sounds like fun."

Is he nuts?' she thought. "For who?" she asked.

Angel simply smiled.

"Okay, listen up. This here creature of the night tells me there's gonna be a whole mess of zombies needing us to waste em all out here tonight. And if he's wrong about that, I'm gonna test out some new stakes on him. Either way, I'm gonna be happy, right?"

Gunn wasn't kidding in the slightest. He wouldn't have had any use for the vampire if Angel hadn't kept bringing him side work involving busting heads and pissing off rich white people. Now that, he enjoyed. And as long as Angel kept the fun stuff coming around, Angel could keep coming around. He didn't relish turning the floor over to Angel though.

"The best way to take down a zombie--" Angel started.

Not in my church,' thought Gunn. "--is to torch their asses. Or you can hack off some heads. Sounds kinda like taking out your kind, don't it?" he demanded from Angel, though with a wicked grin.

"Yeah. Just like it," Angel smiled back grimly. He got the point.

"Move out!" Gunn commanded, and his people went to their positions. Gunn turned back to Angel, now far more serious. It was party time. "Where we looking for these Republicans to pop up? And what are we doing about the party chairman?"

"Cordelia says he's in the southeast corner of the cemetery. He can only raise the corpses within 100 feet of him, according to Wesley, so if we catch him early we shouldn't have more than thirty or so to deal with," Angel advised.

"Nuts."

"You were hoping for more?"

"Always."

"Or you could help me take out this idiot," offered Angel.

"Not a chance. He's human, he's too easy. You get him," Gunn wanted to get in his fair share of the fun. Angel could have the boring job.

"Suit yourself." Angel headed for the south end of the cemetery and Gunn ordered his army to follow.

"Gunn is nuts," Angel told Wesley.

"You just realized this?" Wesley asked with sarcasm.

Angel shrugged. Sometimes it was good to have a nut on your side, and Gunn was often helpful in that area. And the number of bodies he could provide was even more helpful, especially for an evening like this. Angel was hoping they could interrupt any raising of the dead in advance, and Wesley was prepared to read some reversal spells as necessary. Gunn's troops might not be needed, but if they were...

"According to Cordelia, our date for this evening should be--"

"Right there," Angel said, hacking the head from a rotting corpse even as he said it. The zombie fell to the ground in numerous pieces that melted back into the ground. "Not quite as impressive as dust, but it'll have to do."

"Oh my." Wesley had been so occupied with Cordelia's directions he hadn't noticed they were surrounded by the walking dead.

"Gunn! Yours!" Angel hollered, and pulled Wesley past several more zombies. Angel had sighted the one person who wasn't dead. He might have been about forty years old, and he was thoroughly non-descript looking. Like those guys you find out years later buried kids under the house,' Angel thought to himself.

"Stop right there. And not another word," Angel halted in front of the fellow and tried to grab him. "Wesley, undo this thing."

Wesley started reciting the reversal spell even as their perpetrator decided heading for the hills wouldn't be a bad idea. Angel hadn't thought such a bookish looking fellow would run and lost a step as a result. The man ducked and darted around the graves, taking particular care to avoid the zombies of his own creation. But it wasn't long before he slipped in a patch of mud and fell over a partly open grave. Angel grabbed him and yanked him up.

"Let go of me! I didn't do nothing!" squawked the wanna-be hellraiser.

"Nothing? Trust me, the living dead are something--else," Angel told him. "What do think you're--"

Something struck Angel in the head, hard enough to send him staggering. His prisoner broke loose, but this time instead of running he pulled out a spell book and started frantically chanting in Latin a spell Angel could barely hear or understand--something about time, or a year, it sounded like--but he didn't have the time or wherewithal to understand it before the zombie hit him again. This blow was enough to send Angel falling to the ground, and he was unaware of anything else.

Angel woke up nursing a colossal headache and rather surprised to be alone. He had expected Cordelia and/or Wesley to be keeping an eye on him until he woke up, and he was a little disappointed neither of them were there. His head hurt so much he decided he might as well try taking some aspirin. It didn't work on vampires, not to his knowledge anyway, but sometimes the placebo effect worked.

He staggered into the kitchen, poured a glass of water and tossed down two pills. He turned and sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the pain to dissipate. It did, but even as it did, a new headache started. This new one was caused by the gradual realization that he had awakened in his own bed...the old bed. The one that was in the apartment before Vocah blew up the building. In fact, his bedroom looked exactly like it had before then. And the kitchen was exactly the same too. Gradually he comprehended that his apartment was intact.

"What in the hell?" he asked out loud. Now his head was spinning as well as aching, as he tried to think of how his apartment could have been restored overnight. Even if they had the financial wherewithal, the time factor was impossible. Maybe he was dreaming...but his head hurt to much for it to be his imagination. A hallucination? He concluded it would be best to ask Wesley, if he was in yet.

Angel started up the stairs, but his head wouldn't permit him to bound up at his usual speed, and he wasn't to the top yet before he heard voices. Cordelia, being bossy. That was a relief to hear. But then he heard who she was bossing, and the shudder ran the length of his spine and continued onwards to his feet.

Doyle.

Angel froze where he was standing, straining to listen and gripping the handrail so hard he thought he might split it. He climbed the remaining stairs as quietly as he could, then hung back inside his office to watch what was happening in the main office.

"All I'm asking you to do is stand here and read the cue cards. I'll tape them to the wall, so even you can remember what to say," Cordelia wasn't nearly as helpful as she thought she was.

"Good to know ya think so highly of me," Doyle growled lightly. "I can hardly wait."

"You don't have to. I rented a totally cute little camera, see? I'll run it, you just read, I already found a guy who'll produce it and then, ta da, Angel Investigations has its very own commercial."

"I hate to think who'd air it," commented Doyle. "Probably get turned down by public access."

"Wow. I never knew you were more negative than Angel. Maybe I'm wrong and you should be the spokesman for the Pessimists Club."

"Darlin', that would be the Optimists. An' they're the opposite."

"You have no imagination." Cordelia rolled her eyes.

Doyle snorted. "You have no idea."

Angel watched Cordelia filming Doyle's painfully awkward attempts to read the file folders taped to the walls for several minutes before he slunk back down to the basement. Doyle was alive. He had been standing right there in front of him, nattering with Cordelia like nothing had ever happened to him...'because it hasn't yet,' Angel finally realized. Doyle and Cordelia had filmed the commercial' the same day Doyle had died. Doyle was alive, but he would only be that way for a few more hours.

Angel sank into his chair, trying to absorb the possibility that he really had been thrown back in time. Was it really a year ago? Had he traveled in time? And if he had, how? He dimly remembered hearing the idiot with the zombies reading off a spell, had the guy gotten him out of the way by sending him to another time? It was a possibility. And if that was the answer, could he get back to the proper time--and if he could, would he even want to? There were so many things that had happened in the last year he wouldn't mind changing, if he remained misplaced in time. But it was a certainty that he was here now, that Doyle was alive, and that the events that would culminate in Doyle's death were going to start shortly.

"Can I change this? Should I change it?" Angel asked himself out loud. As he thought about it, the can' part didn't really seem like it would be that difficult. He had played out the different scenarios in his head literally hundreds of times since Doyle had died, identifying each place and time where he could have done something differently or better that would have changed that night's eventual tragic outcome. He knew of at least a half dozen things he could change easily and without raising any alarms on the part of Doyle.

But should he?

Doyle's death was a mistake--Angel's mistake. There were so many mistakes he'd made that day, and failing to realize what Doyle was intending to do in time to stop him was merely the last and biggest of them. Doyle should not have died that night, his death was Angel's responsibility, and now he had an opportunity to correct his mistakes and erase the costly price Doyle paid for them.

But the Oracles had said Doyle's atonement was perfect. If they meant it, wouldn't that mean Doyle would have gone on to a better place? And, deep in his heart, Angel knew Doyle had died satisfied, knowing the good he had done and the lives he had saved that night. Should he take the chance that Doyle might never have another opportunity like that? Did he even have the right to take that chance away from Doyle? But were the Oracles telling him the truth?

Angel was still brooding over his options hours later and didn't notice at first when Doyle unsteadily walked into the room and balanced himself against the doorway. Doyle waited there for a moment in case Angel might see him, then sought the vampire's attention.

"Ahem," Doyle began, "Ya said ya would be comin' up later. It's way later an' you're still down. In more ways than one, so it would appear."

Recovered from his initial start, Angel simply stared at Doyle, observing and recording everything about Doyle he could see, hear or smell. The one thing he had been able to decide upon was that he wanted to remember more about Doyle than he had before. He would not take his friend for granted this time.

"Hello? An' would ya quit starin' at me like ya never seen me before? I'm startin' to think ya did forget a day, just not the right one."

Among the other things Angel noted was that Doyle was holding his head and didn't look well. He had a vision,' Angel thought to himself, and he knew he had already changed history. He had been upstairs when Doyle had the vision the first time, and had helped him back into the office. This time, Doyle had to go looking for him, and Angel felt a twinge of regret.

"Sorry. I wasn't--I've been doing a lot of thinking."

"So I gathered. Must be nice, this thinkin' thin'. Hard to do when your head keeps crackin' open without so much as a warnin'."

Angel grimaced. Act like you don't know,' he reminded himself. "You had a vision?"

Doyle started to nod but clearly the motion renewed his headache. "Nasty one, not that they're nice ever. Bunch o' demons, the harmless kind, Listers they looked like. They don't bother nobody, keep to themselves mostly. But someone's after em."

Angel tried to nod as though the information was new to him. "Any idea who...or what..."

"Nah. Couldn't see that much. Just that they're hidin' an' they need us."

"Okay. We'll go look for them as soon as it's dark."

"Fair enough." Doyle gingerly set himself into a chair. "You all right, then? I thought you was doin' a little better w' the whole Buffy thin' earlier but you look worse now. Maybe worse n me right now, not that it's a contest I wanna win."

"I'm still thinking about that. And about time, and how I've changed history," Angel chose his words carefully. Maybe Doyle could give him a clue as to what he should do, but Angel wasn't about to let him know what was supposed to happen today. "Suppose the Mohra demon did things in those twenty-four hours I didn't know about. Things that would change history in ways I can't even fathom. What if stopping the demon from doing those things, caused worse things to happen? For that matter, what if I, or Buffy, or someone else did something that day that didn't happen the second time? What if someone came up with the cure for cancer that day but didn't when the day started over?"

Doyle frowned. "I thought I told ya already I can't think straight right now. It hurts too much." He slumped down in the chair and sighed. "Ya can't begin to know what else might have happened. It's just too much to be worried about. Ya solved the problem--problems, I guess-- at hand. Those are the only ones I'd be worried about."

"You think I did the right thing then? Setting things straight with regard to the demon, and not worrying about the rest?"

"Right. I gotta tell ya Angel, you're a classic for takin' the responsibility for everythin'. I half expect ya to take the fall for OJ Simpson," Doyle concluded.

Angel couldn't stop the half smile from crossing his face. "Doyle, that's what I mi--what I like about you," he recovered before the wrong word got out.

Doyle looked at him quizzically. "Now you're talkin' funny too. Ya sure you're up to bein' a hero tonight?"

The penultimate word hurt and erased the remainder of the smile from Angel's face. "I am if you are," he answered grimly.

Angel tried to offer Doyle a helping hand to get him up the stairs but the half-demon stubbornly refused assistance. "If the Powers need a messenger so bad then they ain't gonna let me fall down the stairs," Doyle groused.

"We could take the elevator," suggested Angel. He was still feeling badly about making Doyle have to go looking for him.

"Too late now," Doyle walked gingerly through the office. "Hey Cordy, I found the former scourge of Europe."

Fortunately Doyle had his back turned to Angel at that moment, because certain of his words stung, and Angel was sure some expressions crossed his face that would have tipped off Doyle. But Doyle didn't see and Angel breathed in relief.

"An' now he's not only wacky about Buffy, but he's all weird about havin' messed w' time too. As I think about it, doesn't that make me the normal one here?" Doyle settled himself on Cordelia's desk, much to her annoyance.

"Normal in what universe?"

"Well, I'm just sayin', comparatively."

Angel had forgotten how much he missed listening to the two of them needling each other. There was some unidentifiable component in their verbal sparring that was missing between Cordelia and Wesley, and it wasn't until he heard Doyle again that Angel realized it. But if he wanted to hear more of it, he would have to get to work regarding tonight. "Doyle filled me in on the vision. I need you two to find me a truck."

"A truck?" Doyle looked at him oddly.

"You mean your car isn't grungy and gloomy enough?" Cordelia inquired.

Angel caught himself getting ahead. He knew they would need a truck eventually, but the others wouldn't know that. He scrambled to cover himself. "Well, ummm, Doyle, you said there were a lot of demons, didn't you?"

"Ah, yeah, a dozen at least."

"Excuse me? Did you say demons?" Cordelia was staring at Angel like he was an idiot. Not unlike the way she usually looked at him.

"Right. Demons. Harmless ones. If we're going to, uh, help them, we probably would have to...to...get them out of wherever they are, and...my car's not big enough for that many."

"Yeah, I suppose not. But how d'ya know we ain't just gonna knock the head off whatever's after 'em right there?"

"I, uh, don't. Better safe than sorry though."

"Oooo-kaayy. Rescuing demons now. Never a dull moment here. But as long as it's not coming out of my insignificant paycheck," Cordelia pulled out the phone book.

"It won't. I promise."

"An' I know I can do better than the book anyway. Gimme the phone, darlin', I know somebody."

"That's why I'm doing this myself. I prefer renting from people who collect payment in checks, not kneecaps."

"Legal ones, I swear they're legal," Doyle wasn't convincing her.

"Forget it."

"I have to talk to someone. I'll be back before dark. Have the truck ready by the time I get back," Angel pulled on his duster without ever taking his eyes off of Doyle. Now that he had him back, even for a brief time, he hated to leave his friend.

"I will if ya promise to stop starin' at me."

Cordelia and Doyle watched Angel leave. "Is it just me or is Angel even more inexplicably weird now than he is all the time?" Cordelia asked out loud. She had been hoping for an improvement in Angel's mood after Doyle's pep talk earlier, but she should have known better than to get her hopes up.

"Actually, I'd say yeah. Angel's always kinda out there but all a' sudden, he is really out there...almost like he knows somethin' he's not tellin' us," Doyle noted. "I better have another chat with him when he gets back."

"Oh no you don't, I'm talking to him this time," Cordelia corrected.

"You're gonna talk to him?" Doyle looked like he couldn't decide whether to be shocked or break up laughing.

"Hey, you said you were going to get him out of the whole my-Slayer-left-me funk, and now he's worse. There is no way I'm letting you talk to him again, he'd probably turn into Angelus or something," Cordelia wasn't so much annoyed with Doyle as she was with Angel, but she wasn't going to let Doyle know that.

"Suit yourself, then, Princess. I gotta tell ya though, I'm thinkin' of chargin' admission to watch you try to cheer up Angel."

"Good. With the number of paying customers we have, any way I can get the money for that dress I saw last week I'll take."

"Don't worry about it, darlin', I'll buy it for you," Doyle was making those weird faces at her again, like he liked her or something.

She snorted. "You get the same paycheck I do. What were you going to pay for it with?"

Doyle thought about it. "My boyish charms?"

"You couldn't buy a candy bar with those."

"Seriously though, there's a horse in the sixth race I got a ten on, I know she's gonna come in for me, 15 to 1. I'll get ya that dress, an' one of those drinks ya like that ya gotta search for the drink in it."

"Mochachinos?"

"That's the one."

"I'll believe when I have it. And I'd rather have Angel straightened out first. He's giving me the creeps." She meant that too.

Getting to the docks was far simpler than trying to get into a ship during daylight. Angel had to wait for some cooperation from a cloud and sprint to get aboard the Quintessa with a minimum of scorching. The captain wasn't any happier to see Angel this time than he had been in the original history, and the first mate was in the office, too. Angel had hoped the mate wouldn't be around. Still, Angel knew he could be very convincing.

"I'm not in a position to do anything for you right now," the captain told Angel.

"You will be. We need to talk--alone," Angel looked at the first mate and emphasized the last word.

"He stays."

"He goes." Angel gave the captain his best burning stare, and the captain backed off and sent the mate on an errand.

"What do you want?" the captain asked nervously.

Angel paced around the ship's office. "There are favors owed me. I'm cashing in. Tonight. You don't ask questions. You don't tell anybody who hired you. I'll be bringing a group of people here tonight, people who need to get out of town quick without being seen. You get them out of town, your debt is paid."

"I can't do it tonight," the captain whined. "And this ship isn't meant to carry people. And then there's customs and--"

"Did Big Randy tell you...what...I am?" Angel gave the man a thin smile.

"He--sort of."

"Then you'll do it. Trust me when I say I haven't eaten lately."

The captain gulped. "I'll--I'll do what I can."

"I knew you'd see things my way," grinned Angel. "And by the way, what I said about not talking--that includes your crew. Including the mate. Nobody knows. Got that?"

"Gotten."

Angel was feeling fairly satisfied with himself by the time he got back to the office. There was a truck waiting outside the building, and the ship would be ready when they got there. And the mate knew nothing he could tell the Scourge. Things were working out well.

"ANGEL!" Cordelia shrieked the second he set foot in the office. "Help! Doyle!"

Angel bolted for the office. Doyle was lying on the floor, writhing and convulsing in pain. "A vision?"

"I don't know! It's never been this bad before--or this long, it's been minutes already!" Cordelia was distinctly worried about Doyle this time, a change Angel didn't have time to appreciate.

He grabbed Doyle's shoulders and picked him up from the ground. "Doyle? Doyle, can you hear me? Doyle!" Angel pressed Doyle's face to his chest and held him tightly. "It's a vision, it won't--it can't hurt you, wake up, please wake up," Angel begged.

Slowly, Doyle stopped jerking and shaking, and his breathing evened somewhat. But he didn't open his eyes, and his fists and jaw were clenched tight. Angel laid Doyle on the couch carefully. "Cordelia, get him something...whiskey, maybe, something strong."

Cordelia did as she was instructed without argument. She also brought some ice and a towel. "It must be something really bad," she said softly.

Angel found himself shivering. "Maybe," he answered. "Doyle? You want some whiskey?"

"Yes." Doyle had some trouble getting the word out, but no difficulty getting the shot of whiskey down his throat. He fell back on the couch, exhausted. "Worst one...ever."

"Duh, we figured that out," with the crisis over, Cordelia returned to her usual tone.

"Can you tell us?"

"Burned. I got--burned. Some...light...pain...and it burned." Doyle coughed a bit and Cordelia brought him some water.

Angel could already see the Beacon flashing and hear Doyle screaming in his mind. He thought he was changing things, but was he? He couldn't think of another reason for Doyle to experience his own death, unless it were still going to happen.

"I could feel I was dyin', an' then I felt you pull me away from it," Doyle continued, looking at Angel, "but then it burned even worse...a whole lot worse. I didn't think nothin' could hurt like that."

"Ewww," whined Cordelia.

"Isn't that--more detailed than you usually get?" Angel asked, failing to hide to shock in his voice.

"Hell, yeah," Doyle started to retort, but it hurt his head too much. "I don't usually see that much, I ain't never felt that much before either."

Angel was getting very worried now. "Maybe...maybe you should stay here tonight, rest a bit," he suggested warily. "I think I can find the place from what you told me."

"I seem to recall the last coupla times, you didn't," groused Doyle. "I'm comin' with."

"All right," Angel agreed reluctantly. He didn't want Doyle going but offhand he couldn't think of how to stop him without telling him the rest of the story as well. "And Cordelia, you're coming too. You'll need to drive."

"I'm what?"

"She's what?"

He had done it again. "If there's going to be fighting...someone else will have to drive the people we're saving..."

"I thought we were saving demons."

"Whoever...I'm sure you'll be okay, Cordelia," Angel hoped that sounded better.

"I better be."

Angel and Doyle left Cordelia waiting in the truck while they went into the tenement building. Doyle was still wobbly from the intensity of the most recent vision and Angel had to steady him more than once. Angel also found himself trying to back off and let Doyle do the searching. Angel had never thought trying to remember what you should and shouldn't know could be so difficult, and the best he could do was pretend to follow Doyle.

"Somebody left here in a hurry," Doyle noted as his flashlight revealed an abandoned dinner table. "Still warm. I smell somethin'."

"So do I," Angel was relieved to hear Doyle say that. Now he could 'happen' to find the Listers by smell without Doyle catching on. "The smell's coming from right around...here." Angel tapped the floor, intentionally hitting the wrong spot a few times before hitting the one that resounded with a hollow sound. The Listers were there, same as the first time.

And from there things went much as they had the first time except that Cordelia was already there with the truck, and Angel knew the ship was ready. Angel was impatient to move everyone to the ship, but he realized that at a minimum, Doyle would know something was up. So he let things take their course for a while, which included 'learning' about the Scourge.

Angel listened silently as Doyle told his story about the Scourge, Lucas, and his first vision. It was as horrifying a tale this time as it had been the first, and Angel had no problems pretending it bothered him. "We're not going to have any problems with the Scourge tonight," he tried to reassure Doyle.

"I wouldn't be holdin' my breath about that," Doyle answered cynically.

"We found them in time, we have something we can move them in. And there's a ship captain who owes me a favor and if memory serves his ship is supposed to pull out later tonight. I can pull some strings and have the Listers on it."

"I hope you're right."

"I think I am. Just do me one favor, all right?" Angel asked quietly.

"What's that?" Doyle asked.

"Keep an eye on the youngster, what's his name?"

"Rieff, I think. Got a bit o' an attitude to him," Doyle noted.

"No kidding. He might have enough to cause some trouble. But watch him, and you and Cordelia get all of them to Dock 16. A ship called the Quintessa. I'll meet you there, I'll have it ready when you get there." Angel sucked in a deep breath, unnecessary except that he needed it to calm his nerves. "Please be careful."

"Yeah. Will be."

Doyle hadn't known Angel was that good a judge of character, but the vampire had nailed it regarding Rieff. The teenager had tried to take off before Doyle and Cordelia were able to get his family down to the truck, but Doyle caught on and caught Rieff before he got past the street. While Cordelia helped the others get on the truck, Doyle had given the young man a few lessons in life. To his own surprise, since Doyle hadn't previously thought he'd have anything worth saying to anyone, but he hoped the words would mean something to Rieff.

Things were uneventful on the drive to the docks, and initially they were uneventful there too. True to his word, Angel had the Quintessa available and ready, and the Listers were stowed away in the cargo hold within minutes. The ship set sail only a few minutes after that, with no sign whatsoever of the Scourge, and Doyle was ready for a scotch. Assignment over, time to kick back, he thought. Except one thing was bothering him, and he figured he should mention it to Angel before they left.

"Ya ever think this all went a little too easy here?" he asked Angel under his breath. Cordelia had gone ahead to the truck and already had it started.

Angel seemed very surprised by the question; so surprised he nearly tripped over his own feet. "We--we're due for an easy one," Angel answered weakly.

Angel was just too weird today, he knew too much about what was needed, and the job was way too easy, especially after that last vision. Something must be going on, Doyle knew for certain now. "What do ya know that I don't?" Doyle demanded.

"Nothing," Angel responded. For all the times Doyle had seen Angel bluff with others, he had never had a moment's difficulty himself knowing whether the vampire was telling the truth or not and right now, he knew Angel was lying.

But he didn't get a chance to call Angel out on it either. Without warning, Angel stepped towards him, shoved him hard to the side with one hand and caught an axe by the handle with the other. An axe, it occurred to Doyle, that had been destined to make sure my head and my body parted company on less than good terms. Doyle hadn't heard or smelled the spectacularly ugly demon that had intended his death, but Angel had seen it at the last moment, and Doyle silently thanked the vampire for that one. Angel was able to make relatively short work of the demon, but Doyle could already hear more coming.

"Doyle, we're getting the hell out of here," Angel gasped. "Run."

Doyle didn't need to hear it twice. He bolted for the truck and threw himself in the passenger side, bumping a surprised Cordelia in the process.

"What was that all about? Can't you just get in--oh my God, what is that?" she squealed. Before Doyle could get the truck door shut a demon grabbed hold of his foot. Doyle kicked at the demon's face with his other foot and was just barely able to free himself in time to slam the door shut. Angel leapt in the other door and unceremoniously shoved Cordelia into the middle of the seat as he hit the gas. Doyle couldn't see if they were being followed, but Angel drove like they were for several blocks until he was satisfied no one was behind them.

"Okay, that was scary," Cordelia announced. "Who were those ugly guys?"

"The Scourge," Doyle said more to himself than to her.

"The what?"

"Army of demons, don't like humans, like part-human demons even less. They were the ones after the Listers," Angel informed her rapidly.

"And now they're after us?" Cordelia asked in her best please-say-no voice.

"Yes, but I think I lost them," Angel answered.

"I think ya did too," Doyle added. "Thanks, man, I owe ya for that one. Never saw him comin'."

"I almost didn't either," Angel started to say when Cordelia screamed.

"ANGEL LOOK OUT!"

They had just entered an intersection with a green light and even as Cordelia screamed Doyle saw the SUV running the red light and about to broad-side the passenger side of the truck. 'He's heading right for me,' Doyle thought as he stared into the headlights and had a brief idea of why animals stare at the lights.

Angel hit the brakes hard and yanked the steering wheel harder, sending the truck skidding across the intersection. The SUV clipped the truck's rear bumper, skidded off to one side, then righted itself and sped away. Angel pulled the truck out of the intersection and stopped it.

"Are we all right?"

"I think so...hey, he ran a red light! You can't do that! And he just took off, what a jerk, where's the police when you need them--" Cordelia was off in full rant.

"Doyle?" Angel called him.

Doyle was still staring out the window in the direction the SUV had come from. He could still see the headlights coming towards him, and even though the idea was a ridiculous, the thought kept pounding in his head. "He was gonna kill me," he said out loud.

Cordelia stared at him. "Excuse me? Kill all of us, not just you," she snapped. "Just you first." She turned to face Angel. "Can you believe--Angel?"

Doyle forced himself to look away from the window and towards Angel. Angel was staring straight ahead. He was pale, and he looked a little ill. "Maybe he was," he said softly.

"Why?" Doyle whispered. "Why's he after me?"

"I--we--we should go back to the office," Angel said weakly.

"Do you know why?" Doyle asked again, more insistently.

"No, I don't." Angel started the truck and drove off, with a lot more caution than before. It wasn't a lie; but it sounded to Doyle like a half-truth. Angel knew something. If not exactly, then generally.

Angel had never had so much difficulty driving as he did on the way back to the office. He couldn't feel his hands or his feet, and his mind was on everything but driving when it needed to be on that job and doubly so. The attack of the Scourge hadn't struck him as particularly odd, after all, they'd known the Scourge were coming at some point. But in retrospect, the suddenness of the attack on Doyle was out of character for the Scourge. Subtlety was not one of their more prominent traits.

And even though logically it was impossible, Angel knew Doyle was right about the SUV--it had run that red light with the intention of killing Doyle, with himself and Cordelia simply happening to be there. And both incidents had happened after the time, in the original history, that Doyle had died. After he had changed history. Angel swallowed hard and hoped he hadn't done something very wrong.

There were no available parking spots on the office's side of the street, so Angel parked the truck on the opposite side, grateful simply not to be driving anymore. Doyle helped Cordelia out of the truck, then they walked to the back to inspect the damage. "The fender's banged up pretty good. Lester's gonna want plenty extra for that," he called to Angel.

"Great. I'll call first and warn them," grumbled Cordelia, and she trotted across the street.

'Terrific,' Angel thought. He walked towards the back of the truck to see for himself. "You know any good--" Just as Angel reached the back of the truck he saw it coming. The same SUV, hurtling down the street and bearing down on Doyle, just yards away. Without a word or thought Angel grabbed Doyle and hauled him out of the way, both of them falling on the sidewalk even as the SUV slammed into the back of the truck. Now with significant front end damage, the SUV reversed and sped off once again. The windows were tinted too darkly for Angel to see who--or what--was driving.

"Jay-sus! Was that the same one?" Doyle's breathing was ragged and he looked terrified. 'Not unreasonable,' Angel thought, 'considering he's supposed to be crushed right now.'

Doyle stared after the escaping vehicle. "That was the same--I musta really pissed off somebody," Doyle muttered.

"Or I did," Angel said quietly to himself. Doyle heard him, but Angel wasn't concerned about that right at the moment. Now he knew he must have damaged the timeline somehow by keeping Doyle alive. Doyle's death must be important to the Powers for them to try so hard to kill him. And Angel didn't know how long he could keep saving his friend.

"Doyle! Angel! Are you two--oh, we so cannot afford to pay for this truck!" Cordelia's loyalties were a little bit divided as she dashed back across the street.

"Glad to know ya care so much," Doyle muttered.

"We're both all right," Angel told her, "but the truck isn't what we need to worry about now."

"Then what are we worrying about? That truck wasn't cheap."

"I think he means me, darlin'. An' the target on my back," Doyle was having some trouble standing up and Angel helped him back to his feet.

"That was what I meant. You need a drink?" Angel asked Doyle, half for Doyle and half for himself. He couldn't remember the last time he wanted a drink this much. And the look Doyle gave him was more than enough agreement.

Angel and Cordelia helped Doyle across the street and into the office. He was shaking badly and the scotch didn't help much. Angel downed one himself while he gave Cordelia a more detailed explanation of the Scourge, much to her displeasure. "Like I so did not want to know all that," she complained.

Angel studied the glass in his hands. "I want you two to stay here tonight. Especially Doyle. At least until we know what's going on here."

"No complaints here, man," Doyle staggered to his feet. "Maybe tomorrow it's just a bad dream. I hope."

"So do I," Angel agreed, as he and Cordelia followed Doyle to the elevator. Doyle was reaching for the elevator door grille to open it, his fingers just inches away from the metal, when Angel smelled something. He wasn't entirely sure what he smelled, just that it was wrong. Instinctively he grabbed Doyle by the collar and jerked him back.

"What the hell was that for?" Doyle protested, losing his balance and landing in a heap at Angel's feet.

"Angel, what's wrong?" Cordelia asked.

Angel stared at the elevator, breathing in deeply and trying to figure out what was wrong about the smell of it. It smelled almost like something burning, heat..."Cordelia, get a cup of water," he ordered. She scooted back to the office and returned with the water without question.

"Both of you stand back," he instructed, and threw the water at the elevator door. The electricity sparked wildly in all directions when the water struck it. Something was wrong in the wiring. Angel wondered how much voltage Doyle had almost taken. He could see Doyle was wondering that too...or maybe he had been before he had fainted.

Cordelia got another cup of water and threw this one herself, in Doyle's face. It had the desired effect, as Doyle came to spluttering and complaining. "What was--what happened?"

"We almost had Kentucky-fried Doyle is what happened," Cordelia announced. "Is there anything left in LA that isn't booby-trapped?"

Doyle now remembered and clearly he wished he didn't. Angel wished he didn't either. More so, he wished he didn't have a pretty good idea of what was going on. Still, he should make certain. And under the circumstances, he'd have to take Doyle with him, if for no other reason than to make sure Cordelia wasn't accidentally killed as well. "Cordelia, stay in the office. And away from the elevator."

"Duh," she told him. "Where are you going?"

"To see the Oracles. We need to know what's going on here."

The trip to the post office was comparatively ordinary, once Angel cut the electric to the elevator anyway. There were no attempts or other untoward events regarding Doyle in the sewer, not that it was any comfort to the half-demon. As they entered the portal to the Oracles, Doyle was nervous and shivering. Not because of the Oracles though, that Angel knew.

"Ya gonna be quick, right? I don't like thinkin' what might--"

"Not a minute," Angel assured him. He performed the rituals quickly. "I beseech thee--"

There was an explosion of light, thunder and smoke inside the room. Angel waited for the smoke to clear, expecting to see the Oracles' temple, even though that was an unusually dramatic entrance. But when the smoke cleared, he was still in the portal. And Doyle was gone.

"What--" before Angel could even finish Doyle was thrown back through the door into the portal. He fell against the back wall, shaking uncontrollably, sweating, and paler than Angel had ever seen him.

"Doyle? Are you all right?"

Doyle nodded very slightly. He was still staring at where the door had been a second before.

"They let you in? They didn't let me--"

"Yeah, I know. Can we get the hell out of here?" Doyle asked, his voice trembling.

Angel nodded. He gave Doyle a hand getting to his feet. "Did they tell you anything?"

Doyle didn't even look at him. He just wobbled his way out of the portal in total silence.

"Doyle? It might be important."

"I don't wanna talk about it. I wanna get out o' here."

Doyle had some trouble walking a straight line on their way back to the office. His brain was thudding painfully inside his skull not unlike the way it did after a vision, and his body felt like it belonged to someone else and he'd just borrowed it for the day. Angel walked just behind Doyle, with one hand steadying, and, to an extent, steering him while Angel kept an eye out for the next sudden near-death disaster. Which Doyle was certain would be imminent.

"Any time now," he muttered to himself. He had never wanted to know what it was like to be on death row, but he supposed he was finding out now. It occurred to Doyle he had the appropriate person on hand to ask, if he really wanted to know. What the hell,' Doyle thought, if I'm going there anyway.' "What's it like?" he asked quietly.

"What?" Angel sounded worried.

"Dyin'. Maybe I should get an idea."

"Don't say that. Please don't." Angel's voice cracked a bit.

"Tell me an' I won't ask again."

Angel didn't answer right away, and Doyle was about to speak when Angel finally did. "It hurts. And it's cold. But...I was already turned. I don't know about--normally."

"Okay then. Hell. What's that like?" Doyle was afraid of the answer, afraid of the needing to know the answer, but still he had to know.

"Imagine the worst images of it you've ever seen or heard. Multiply by ten. It's a start," Angel answered hesitantly.

"Swell."

"You're not going there--"

"How would ya know?" Doyle demanded. He had been unsure of a lot of things about his life, but he had no problem being clear on what would happen after his death. He was half-demon, demons were evil, and he knew where evil went.

"You're not evil. I know you don't believe that, but you're not."

"Damn straight I don't believe that."

"Half, Doyle. The other half is human, remember? At worst you end up in between. You have no idea how much evil is required to go to hell."

"You're Irish, man. You raised Catholic?" Doyle didn't have to look back to know the answer. "Me too. So I'm in it deep no matter what."

Angel didn't respond for a while. Doyle's body felt like it was even less his own with each step, and his head pounded more. His chest was tight, and breathing was getting tricky. He wondered if he might suffocate before the Powers tried to assassinate him again. Did Angel even know if the Powers were behind this? He decided he'd better tell Angel about the Oracles. "Ya still wanna know what the glitterballs told me?"

Angel stopped and turned Doyle around. Doyle started to reconsider when he saw the burning in Angel's eyes. Anger, and pain, and more guilt than Doyle ever thought existed. Maybe not such a hot idea, but then he'd already opened his mouth.

"They told me I shouldn't be there, well no kiddin' I said Angel's the one who asked in. No, says the girl, you're not to be alive. You're already dead, the man tells me. An' I'm back w' ya an' that's the whole shootin' match right there." Doyle was gasping for air by the end but he too afraid he wouldn't be able to finish to stop.

Angel turned away without a word and, without warning slammed his fist into the sewer wall. He didn't turn back to Doyle. Doyle decided to keep talking. " s funny, ya know, I drink a little too much--" Angel cocked his head to the side a little "--okay, a lot too much, an' I'm not exactly livin' on the legal side of the ledger, so I guess I've been half tryin' to get myself killed, but now I'm not so sure I really wanted t' do that this soon."

"You won't," Angel told him between gritted teeth. "I won't let it happen."

"Well that's reassurin'," Doyle answered sarcastically. "Ya gonna babysit me then?" Honestly, Doyle couldn't think of any way to stop the Powers That Be from doing whatever they pleased. They were in charge of him, and of Angel, and of everything else and if they wanted him dead, well, maybe he ought to be making out his will.

"I'll figure out something," Angel growled. "We're almost to the office."

Doyle stopped dead in his tracks. Angel knew what was going on, and he knew why. He'd had at least some idea all along, and he'd gotten out of telling. 'No more,' thought Doyle as he set his jaw and bit back more than a little anger. "You know damn well what's happenin' here don't ya? Tell me now. I ain't movin' before then."

Angel tried to give him a push forward. "We're almost back--"

Doyle shoved Angel back. "Now. Tell me now," Doyle had never felt anger towards the vampire before, but now he was fired up. Angel was hiding something that was going to get him killed, the least he was owed was the reason and he was going to get it.

Angel fell back against the sewer wall and sagged against it. He actually looked defeated, something Doyle had never seen before. "I changed time again," he said softly.

"You what?"

"I had a chance to live today over again and I took it and I changed it," Angel repeated. "I had to. I couldn't lose you again."

"Lose...me?" Suddenly everything in the last hours--the vision, Angel's behavior, the attacks and the Oracles--made a perfect, horrifying and sickening sense in Doyle's mind. Angel changed time, because I was supposed to die today. I'm supposed to be dead right now. And the universe is doing its best to finish the job. Doyle thought he might throw up.

"I'm--I'm sorry Doyle. I had no idea what would--I just thought I was saving you, I didn't know," Angel looked close to tears.

But Doyle didn't feel sorry for the vampire, only for himself. And he was getting angry again. Completely, totally, blisteringly angry. Angel didn't have any business changing the fate of someone else, much less my fate. "So ya saved me for a death sentence, is that it?" Angel nodded reluctantly. "I was supposed t' die helpin' the Listers, wasn't I? Fightin' the Scourge? Somethin' just a little less stupid an' pointless than gettin' run over in the street?"

Angel didn't answer, and Doyle knew that was exactly what was supposed to have happened. Somehow he had died doing some measure of good for someone, and Angel had taken that away from him. Taken away the only chance he had to make up for what he'd done to Lucas. Took away from him the one thing he wanted more than anything in his life.

"Ya didn't do it for me, ya did it for yourself." Doyle was a little shocked to find himself enraged now, but he acted on it all the same and punched Angel as hard as he could. Angel didn't even try to stop him, and Doyle felt even angrier. For the first time in his life he felt totally, utterly blinded with rage and helplessness. He continued hitting Angel, and Angel continued to allow it, until finally Doyle was too exhausted and the pain in his head was too sharp for him keep up his rage. He collapsed weakly against the wall, desperately trying to catch his breath.

"I deserved all of that," Angel said quietly. "You're right. I did this for me. You--you died on your own terms and I shouldn't have interfered with that. I was wrong. I was wrong and I am so, so sorry."

"Yeah, well that's really goin' to turn back time again an' fix this." Doyle answered coldly. He wasn't burning anymore, just freezing cold and numb.

"I'm sorry, Doyle, I am. But I don't know how to change it back."

"So I just sit around an' wait t' see how they try t' kill me next, until they finally get it right? Yeah, that's gonna be fun," Doyle said bitterly. "I can't live days like that." His nerves were already shot and his mind was spinning so fast he thought his head might fly off. He didn't think he could take any more of the pain in his head, much less the wondering about his death. The knowing it was definitely going to happen was even worse, and he knew, with as much certainty as he'd ever had, he'd rather it ended now than have to keep wondering. "I can't live now like that. I know what ya can do to fix it," he said hoarsely. "Kill me. Now."

Angel froze. "I can't do that."

"Yeah, well you're just gonna have to. Ya got me into this," Doyle unsteadily climbed back to his feet and faced Angel, their faces just inches apart, and stared directly into Angel's eyes, trying to burn through them with his own. "Get me out of it."

Angel tried to push Doyle away but instead his hands found Doyle's face. They stood staring at each other for a moment, then Angel slid his hands under Doyle's chin. Doyle closed his eyes and waited, fearing the next moment and hoping he wouldn't feel his neck snap. Then Angel took his hands away. "I can't. I'm sorry, I can't."

Doyle sank down onto the ground. He couldn't keep living knowing he would die at any moment. He just couldn't.

Angel leaned back against the sewer wall and stared up at the ceiling. He shouldn't have told Doyle what was happening. It was bad enough he had taken away Doyle's chance to atone and save others, but now Doyle knew he had done that. And hated him for it. He hadn't wanted Doyle to hate him for this. He should have done him the favor of a quick death besides, and he couldn't even do that. It felt worse to him than anything Angelus had ever done.

But he couldn't stand here forever either, and neither could Doyle. Cordelia had to be worried about them by now. Angel reached down and touched Doyle on the shoulder. "We have to go back. Cordelia..."

"Uh-huh. Right. How do I tell her I'm a dead man walkin'? Think she'll understand?" Doyle snapped.

"She would have done the same thing I did."

"Somehow I really doubt that."

"You don't know what she was like without you." Angel was beginning to despair of getting Doyle to even move.

"I don't wanna know." Doyle awkwardly climbed back to his feet. "But I'm gonna tell her what you've done." And he started off towards the office.

Angel sighed and followed him. 'When he tells Cordelia, she's going to hate me too and she'll have every right,' he thought miserably. Doyle didn't bother to see if Angel was behind him or not, nor did he approach anything with caution. He didn't care anymore, Angel knew.

Were it not for Doyle's shakiness, Angel wouldn't have been able to keep up with Doyle. And he still found himself trailing Doyle into the office, where he was surprised to find Cordelia waiting with what appeared to be a possible client.

"It's about time you two came back," she squawked, even as the man looked on. "Mr., uh, Kupton here, he came in right after you left. And we have no coffee."

The last thing Angel expected, or wanted, was to see a client. Certainly not at this time of night or under these circumstances. "I--I'm sorry, what was it, Mr.--"

"Kupton!" yipped Cordelia.

"--Kupton, but I don't think now's the best time and--"

"I know it's very late, but it's extremely important and I don't have much time and I'm told you can do these things," Kupton said earnestly. He looked close to forty and appeared vaguely upset about something, although Angel wasn't sure if it was about his problem or the long wait. And there was something else about him Angel couldn't put a finger on, probably since his mind was otherwise occupied right now.

Cordelia pulled Angel to one side and hissed at him. "This guy is really, really making my skin crawl. Can't you do something to get rid of him?"

"All right, all right, I'll get rid of him," Angel whispered back to her. "Mr. Kupton, I'll give you a few minutes but that's all I can afford right now. If you want to come in my office..."

"Yes, yes, a few minutes is all I need, thank you," Kupton darted into Angel's office and Angel followed him. Doyle was already in the office with the bottle of scotch, and Angel got the impression Doyle had gotten at least one glass and probably more down in the few minutes he'd had alone in there. As much as Angel would have preferred to have sent Doyle out of the office for a minute, he also thought it would be much easier to leave Doyle in there than try to budge him, given the current hard feelings.

"This is my assistant, Doyle," Angel said quickly. "I told Mr. Kupton he could have a minute."

Doyle glanced sideways at Kupton. "Ya got a problem?" he asked disinterestedly. "Join the club." Doyle was still very agitated and he didn't stay in his chair for more than a few seconds before he was on his feet again and pacing the room.

Angel tried to ignore Doyle for the moment so he could take care of Kupton and get the guy out of there. "So, what can I help you with?"

Kupton was pacing around the office as well. "I need to have someone killed."

"I don't do that sort of thing. Vampires, demons, yes. Humans, no."

"He can definitely get demons killed for ya." Angel glared at Doyle. Doyle ignored Angel, poured himself another glass of scotch, and walked over to the window to stare out at the street below.

"This is a special circumstance," Kupton said with urgency.

"Aren't they all?" Doyle muttered, staring out at the street.

Angel wasn't convinced in the slightest. "You'll have a lot of explaining to do--and a lot of begging--before I'll believe that."

"There are a lot of things involved you wouldn't understand," Kupton insisted. He stopped pacing the room long enough to lean against the far wall, a few feet behind Doyle.

"No kiddin'," Doyle retorted, but half-heartedly. He didn't have to say anything further, Angel knew Doyle was still wondering when, and where, and how, and trying not break down from those thoughts.

Angel knew the feeling all too well himself. 'This was not the best time to see a new client,' he thought to himself, and besides the onerousness of what Kupton was asking, his refusal to give details wasn't exactly in his favor. Angel decided he'd had enough and the best course of action would be to send Kupton on his way. He looked away from Doyle and Kupton long enough to put his hands on his desk and start to stand up. "Mr. Kupton, I think you really have to..."

He didn't finish. He couldn't. Kupton had a gun. He must have pulled it in the instant Angel had looked away. And before Angel could react, Kupton stepped forward and raised the gun, aiming it at Doyle. Doyle still had his back to Kupton and couldn't see the gun, but Doyle could see Angel's expression.

"Angel, what--"

Angel could only scream. "NO!"

Cordelia was glad Angel and Doyle had come back because Kupton was getting on her nerves. Angel Investigations had hosted a lot of weirdos in its short time, but none had ever given Cordelia quite the same chilly feeling that Kupton did. When he first came in she was merely annoyed at the bad timing, and hadn't anticipated the man producing a classic case of the jitters in her. But as time wore on, her nerves were disintegrating and playing the perky receptionist was getting remarkably tough. She hoped, fervently, that Angel wouldn't take whatever case Kupton had, even if he could afford to pay for it. For once, she was willing to take mental comfort over material.

Of course, Angel and Doyle had been acting pretty weird themselves of late, but at least in their cases she understood why. Although the whole 'Doyle in danger' thing was old already, even after just a few hours. She wondered if they had learned anything useful from the Oracles, but just as quickly forgot her wondering when she heard Angel yell. She had barely half a second to ponder what would make Angel cry out like that before she heard the gunshot.

No surprise Kupton was creepy then--he was a creep! Cordelia didn't bother looking or asking, she hid under the desk without a second thought. As she peered out from under the desk, she saw Kupton run from the office, still holding the gun in his hand. She didn't budge for at least a minute, holding her breath so she couldn't be heard and willing every muscle in her body not to move, just in case he was still out there waiting for her.

But he wasn't. And she hadn't heard a word or a sound from inside Angel's office. Carefully and quietly, Cordelia peeked out above the desk and saw no one in the office. Slightly relieved by that but increasingly worried about what might have happened, she wordlessly stepped inside Angel's office.

The first thing she saw was the blood. It was splattered against the wall near the window, some of it on the window. Oh god. Angel or Doyle? She couldn't see either of them, and she hadn't heard them since Angel's scream. Or could she? When she stood perfectly still and concentrated, she could just hear the slightest of sounds. From the floor. She wondered why the room smelled of scotch, and saw the broken glass by the window. She took a step forward and then she could see them.

Angel was sitting on the floor, soaked with blood, clutching Doyle's motionless body against his own and rocking him slightly. She didn't see it right away, but then she noticed the trickle of blood below Doyle's jaw and followed it up to the small hole just above his ear. Considering the blood on the wall and on Angel, the hole on the other side of his head's an awful lot bigger, she thought to herself, and then she ran back to the kitchen and threw up.

As she rinsed out her mouth, Cordelia knew what she was going to have to do now. She called the police station before going back in Angel's office, and told Kate she'd better come over. It was easier than she thought it might be, especially since her feet were so numb she wasn't clear on where exactly they were. But the words she wanted to say came out. She hung up the phone and went back to Angel, who hadn't moved at all.

"Angel," she said softly. He didn't react. "Angel," she said again, with more determination in her voice. This time he looked up.

"I couldn't stop him...couldn't help him..." Angel whispered.

He was blaming himself already. Angel would blame himself for sunrise if he had half a chance, she thought vaguely. And she knew Angel would fall apart completely if he blamed himself for this one. 'If he hasn't already,' she thought. "Shhh," she told him, touching his cheek lightly. "I know you tried. Let me take him."

Angel shook his head. "I--can't."

"You can. Let go," she told him more firmly, putting her arms under Doyle's body and tugging slightly. Angel let go of Doyle.

It occurred to Cordelia at the last moment Doyle might be too heavy for her, but he was lighter than she had expected. She dragged his body a few feet away from Angel, taking care not to look at the far side of Doyle's head. She didn't want to see that. Looking around the office, she spied Angel's duster and took it down. It was almost big enough to completely cover Doyle.

She paused before she pulled the duster over Doyle's face. His eyes were open and staring, and his mouth was open slightly as though he'd been about to say something. There wasn't any pain or fear in his eyes, just surprise. She stroked his cheek and letting her fingers run across his face. 'I'll never get to say goodbye,' she thought to herself, and on impulse she kissed his lips lightly. They were still warm, and she wondered what it would have felt like if he could have kissed her back. "We'll never know, will we?" she asked him, and pulled the duster over him.

Angel had yet to move from the floor where she'd left him, and Cordelia wasn't sure if he'd even blinked during that time. She went back to him and pulled upwards on him by his shirt, taking care to grab a section of shirt not soaked through with Doyle's blood and his--'don't think about that,' she willed herself. "Get up, Angel." He didn't even try to stand. "Angel, get up. I can't get you up by myself," she nagged at him, and after several more yanks on his shirt Angel finally rose shakily to his feet, never once taking his eyes off the still form covered by his coat. With a further series of tugs, pulls and yanks, she was finally able to lead Angel out of his office and into the front office, where she maneuvered him onto the couch. She sank down into the couch beside him to wait for the police.

About the last thing Kate ever expected to get was a call from Angel's secretary. Kate had pretty much written the girl off as a flake, and besides, Angel was definitely more the do-it-himself type. The girl--what was her name...Cordelia, that's right--had only said there had been a shooting at their office.

When Kate arrived, she was even more surprised. Angel was huddled on the couch in the main office, covered with blood and gore, shaking and mumbling to himself. Cordelia met Kate at the door, and clearly she wasn't doing a lot better.

"What happened?" Kate asked.

"We had this total ooh-ugh client here, he was meeting with Angel and Doyle and I guess he must have shot Doyle, I was out here, but there was a shot and he ran out and Angel was in there with Doyle," Cordelia rattled off at lightning speed, which Kate recognized as the only way Cordelia could have told it. She was holding it all in and she was going to break, soon.

"In Angel's office?" Cordelia nodded. Kate paused to regard Angel for a moment. He already was broken, something she wouldn't have thought possible.

It didn't take Kate more than a minute to size up and figure out the situation from looking around the office. You didn't have to be a genius to know how quickly and surprisingly this must have happened, which explained a lot about Angel's condition. She did spend more than a minute with the body. Doyle had seemed like a nice enough fellow, certainly decent enough that he couldn't have deserved this. 'Thank God Doyle didn't know, because Angel's got enough pain for both of them,' she thought.

She gave the forensics people permission to go ahead and went back in the main office. Cordelia was trying to give a statement to a uniform but not doing well with it. Kate interrupted them. "Who did this? Did you get a name from him?" she asked Cordelia.

"Something K, um, Kupton, I think," Cordelia answered, shaking.

"Kupton?" Kate asked sharply, then thought better of it. "Did you get an address or a number or--"

"He gave me a business card..." Cordelia dug through the top drawer of her desk. "This was it."

Kate looked over the card. Lee Kupton. Just what she was afraid of.

"Do you know who--who this creep--"

"Professional," Kate sighed. "A hit man's hit man. Angel pissed somebody off."

Cordelia didn't say anything for a moment. "Well, maybe, Angel always seems to be annoying people but maybe it was Doyle who got someone upset, he owed a lot of money and hung around with the ickiest people, maybe you should ask...him...oh God, Doyle's dead," Cordelia finally broke down.

Kate was actually fairly impressed with how long Cordelia held together. But she had more pressing things on her mind, like just how many people Kupton could kill before she could finally pin something on him. The jerk was on Wolfram and Hart's payroll and they always got him off. And then there was Angel.

Kate passed Cordelia to a sympathetic uniform and sat next to Angel, who didn't appear to notice her. "Angel?" Nothing. "Angel?" she asked again, putting a hand on his shoulder this time.

"I couldn't stop him," Angel mumbled.

"I wouldn't think so," Kate responded. "The guy was a pro. Superman couldn't stop that guy. It's not your fault."

"It is, it's my fault, I should have--have..."

"Angel, let me tell you something I learned. The more people you've helped--the more it hurts when you can't help someone. You start thinking that you can always change things, but you can't. And then when you can't change one it cuts bad."

"I did change it," Angel whispered.

Great. Angel was definitely losing it. "No, you couldn't. And that's not your fault." Kate wondered if she was getting through to him at all. She had seen a lot of cops fall apart after the one domestic or the one robbery that they couldn't intervene in. And those cops hadn't lost their friends as a result. "I'm sorry, Angel. He was a good guy. And he'll forgive you."

But she could see he didn't believe that part at all.

Cordelia couldn't stop watching the tape of the commercial. After the second time, Angel couldn't stand to see it again and by the fourth time he didn't want to hear it, but she kept playing it over and over, in every free moment for two days. She should keep watching it. She won't have it forever,' Angel thought painfully.

He would never forget the commercial. Not after the hundreds of times Cordelia had watched it. Certainly not after Angel had brought Cordelia back to the remains of the office for the first time after the bomb. She had raced into the office, searching desperately for something, before rushing back to him. "Angel! Please, please tell me it didn't go kerblooey with everything else!" She had been on the verge of tears. And then he realized she'd meant the tape of Doyle. Cordelia had definitely changed, he thought. The old Cordelia would have been upset over losing a bottle of fingernail polish. The new one missed her friend. Then he had an idea.

"Cordelia," he interrupted. "Maybe you should take the tape home with you, keep it there?"

She wheeled and turned on him, about the last thing he had expected. "And what about you? Are you just going to forget about him? What he looked like, what he--what he sounded like, he--" she was starting to cry again. Angel put his hands on her shoulders and held her in front him.

"I won't forget him, Cordelia, not ever," he told her. "Neither will you. I just can't--I can't watch it. You should have it."

"Yeah, right. I can get sobby any time I want." She pulled away from him, stopped the tape, yanked it out of the machine and stalked out of the office.

"That was...smooth," Angel said to himself. Cordelia had been getting ready to leave anyway; Doyle would be buried in an hour. And Angel couldn't attend, daylight and all that. Automatically he started to go into his office before he remembered, and then he couldn't.

He hadn't been able to walk through the office yet; he had been going to and from his apartment through the street, which was a little dicey in daylight but preferable to going into his office. The police tape had come down yesterday, but neither he nor Cordelia had been able to summon the nerve to go in. Sooner or later they would have to; it needed to be cleaned up. Angel wondered if there wasn't someone they could hire to do it for them, but the truck and Doyle's burial arrangements had already strapped them for cash. And Cordelia couldn't even look in the direction of that room. He was going to have to do it himself.

The first day had been the hardest. Kate had insisted both he and Cordelia take something--he didn't even know what they were taking--but what ever the pills were, they had helped him sleep. They weren't enough to keep him asleep for long, but the few hours he did get was enough to clear the shock and numbness from his mind and return his brain to some semblance of function. Angel almost wished he wasn't functional again; washing away the numbness left only the pain, the guilt, and the emptiness. There were no pills to help with the grief. The pain was far worse this time than originally, and not only from knowing how much he had to do with Doyle's death. It hurt even worse to know that Doyle had died angry with him.

So everything was the complete opposite of the first time; Doyle had died without pain this time, but that was the only aspect that was better. Angel would never have thought the horror of the Beacon would be a good death, but now he knew it had been. And he was to blame.

He and Cordelia had been fortunate in that Harry was still in Los Angeles. It hadn't been difficult to find her, although telling her had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. But after she had a good cry, it was Harry who had the wherewithal to make the arrangements, such as they had been.

Only the three of them plus Kate had gone to the memorial. Angel almost wished he hadn't. It had been good for Cordelia to go; she had talked to Doyle for a long time and put a piece of her jewelry in his hands, 'so he'll remember me', she told Angel between tears. But she had felt a lot better afterwards. Angel hadn't been able to do anything but let his fingers trail across Doyle's face while the guilt burned through him. He couldn't found any words he could say to Doyle, nor could he think of a gift to give him, and he had returned home feeling worse.

And now it would be only Harry and Cordelia at Doyle's burial. They tried but couldn't convince the cemetery to permit an after-dark ceremony. He would be alone in the office the rest of the day. It was just as well.

After collecting what he needed to clean the office, he closed his eyes and walked inside. He stood just inside the doorway, unable to move, and for several minutes he couldn't force his eyes open. When he finally did, there was nothing in there he didn't expect to see. The police had made a bit of a mess but Kate had ensured they cleaned up somewhat better than usual. The only places that needed work were the wall and the floor. The blood was still there. And...some other things that had been part of Doyle that Angel didn't want to think about.

He dropped to his knees, leaned over the stains on the floor and started scrubbing. Normally the sight and smell of blood would have set the demon inside him to churning, but this blood didn't excite the demon and for that Angel was thankful. He couldn't have handled that, too. He spent hours on the floor, making sure there was no sign remaining of what had happened there, before moving on to the wall. By the time he finished the wall, the sun had gone down and he was able to clean the window as well.

Once the window was clean, Angel sat in his chair for the first time in days and stared at the bucket of bloody water on the floor. Strangely, he felt better than he had when he had started, almost as though he had cleaned himself as well. But he also felt guilty about erasing the only indications that Doyle had ever been there in any manner. The guilt and pain filled his gut and moved up until it overwhelmed his mind, and then, finally, he cried.

Angel didn't move for what felt like hours, even long after he had been able to bring his emotions under control again. He heard Cordelia unlocking the front door, and, deciding he should greet her, started to stand up. Without warning there was a snapping sound as the chair broke. Off-balance and completely surprised, Angel wasn't able to regain his balance before his head struck the wall. His head exploded in pain and flashing lights before it went dark.

Angel's head hurt. His head hurt even worse than when he had wakened a couple days ago, Angel thought vaguely. 'In fact,' he thought, 'I do believe it's going to split open and I'm going to scream.' "Aaaghh!"

"Well, well, well. The hard-headed honky wakes up."

Now that was not a voice Angel had expected to hear. If he had heard anyone he would have expected Cordelia, finding him out cold on the floor of his office after the utter indignity of falling over in his own chair. Angel had to think a minute before he could even come up with a name to match that voice, and thinking hurt. A lot. Thinking about why on earth Gunn would be there, months before they had ever met, hurt more. Angel forced his eyes to open.

He was lying on the new', Salvation Army reject couch Cordelia had found for the semi-rebuilt office. The couch was emblematic of the state of disrepair the office had been in when he left to tackle the zombies a few days ago, it dimly occurred to him. Angel was too tall to fit on most couches, including this one, and his legs were draped over the arm. Gunn was sitting in a chair facing him and watching him with far too much amusement.

"Anything to make you happy," Angel moaned.

"It's workin' too," Gunn assured him.

Wesley came into the room with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. "I don't know if these will help, Angel, but I thought it would be worth a try."

Angel grimaced a bit before forcing a smile. "You're right Wes, they won't help." Not with his head whirling like this and not just from the blow. He must be back in the present, although the how was as much a mystery to him as how he'd wound up in the past in the first place. He tried to sit up but lost his balance and fell back down, at which point it occurred to him the couch was rather, well, damp.

"See? My idea worked. Halfway, anyway. Let me know if he ever sits up again," Cordelia noted.

"Your idea?"

"Ice water. Always worked before."

Gunn's grin was getting bigger. "And she was kind enough to let me do the honors. I wanted to see if you were gonna melt."

"Very funny." Angel gave sitting up another go and this time he made it, however painfully. "What happened?"

"You got clocked by a zombie dude. A heartening sight it was too," Gunn chuckled.

"I'm about to throw you out of here," Angel growled.

Wesley interrupted. "That wouldn't be sporting though. If it weren't for Gunn we wouldn't have found you at all."

"No, if it weren't for that zombie dude runnin' off before I could torch his rotting ass I wouldn't have found him," Gunn corrected. "He goes runnin' off while I'm tryin' to kill him, rude as can be, he clocks you a good one, then goes after the geek who called them all up in the first place. The wuss just stands there reading some mumbo jumbo and the zombie rips him all up to shreds while he's doing it."

Angel's memory was slowly coming back to him and he was beginning to remember this. "What kind of mumbo jumbo?" he asked.

"A reversal spell. Trying to send the undead back where they belonged in the first place. I believe the gentleman realized a little late that raising the dead was somewhat less that a brilliant idea, but he was reading the wrong spell," Wesley recited.

"And he got eww yucky dead. Serves him right," announced Cordelia.

"He got his, for sure," agreed Gunn.

"You were found out cold atop a grave marker," Wesley continued. "We brought you back here and now you're up."

Angel noticed Cordelia fidgeting. "Something else?"

"You left it out, Wesley. I told you to tell him, can't you handle a simple little thing?"

"Left what out?"

Wesley looked ill. "The marker you were found on, was Doyle's."

Angel felt shaken. Had he imagined everything that had happened? Although that would explain a lot. "Cordelia...I--forgot. How did...what happened to Doyle?"

Cordelia actually flinched a little. "The Scourge...the Beacon...are you freaking out?"

"Oh. I'm sorry, I just--didn't remember for a moment." He hated bringing it up, but he had to know if he imagined everything. And he had. Everything had been explained, hadn't it? He fell on Doyle's grave while hearing what he thought was a time spell, knocked himself out, and dreamed he had traveled to the day Doyle died. The whole thing had been one big, horrible dream. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Oh gross. He's going to puke." Cordelia wrinkled her nose.

"No I won't." But he really didn't feel good. "Maybe I should go back to sleep for a while."

"Suit yourself." Gunn got up to leave.

"Hey, Gunn? All of you? Thanks. Really. I mean that."

Gunn snorted. "He's hallucinating."

"Hallucinating and freaking out at the same time," corrected Cordelia.

Epilogue - Five days later

Cordelia had been sitting in her living room and staring at the blank television for almost three hours when the knock at the door came. She knew what she wanted to watch, but was having trouble finding the courage to turn on the tape. The knock came as a welcome relief from her dilemma, although she couldn't imagine who would be there at this time of night.

She should have known better. Angel stood to the side of the doorway, his head against the doorjamb and his hand still in mid-air, not because he was about to knock again but because he didn't have the motivation to let it fall back to his side. He looked terrible. "Angel...what...is there something wrong? Nothing bad happened did it?" she asked cautiously.

"No," he shook his head. "Not tonight, anyway."

"Not tonight? You show up at my apartment this late, you better be making sense," she scolded him lightly.

"I want you to come with me," Angel said dully, ignoring her comment. "I have something to show you."

"What?"

Angel simply looked at her, his face haggard. It dawned on her that he had been crying. Up until that moment she hadn't sure he was actually capable of that. And she trusted him anyway. "I'll get my jacket." Dennis had already brought it. "Geez, Dennis, just shove me out the door why don't you," she grumbled as she put it on and walked out the door.

Angel didn't speak a word as he drove and Cordelia didn't want to disturb him. Whatever he was thinking, it had to be worse even than her thoughts. Because it was that night; one year ago tonight, they had lost Doyle. Of course. That must be what was wrong with Angel; her own insides had been aching and burning all day and her mind tortured with memories of their friend, Angel's day must have been worse.

They stopped at the cemetery and Cordelia realized what Angel had in mind. She didn't object. Maybe it'll be good for him. Maybe for me. For both of us, she hoped. She could never remember how to get to the tiny stone that marked Doyle's grave, so she followed Angel's lead as she always had. But when they arrived at that section, she couldn't see the minuscule, flat piece of granite that marked Doyle's place.

"Angel, where--"

Then she saw it. In the same spot. It wasn't too large, or fancy, or ostentatious. It was just average size, average style, but much bigger than what had been there before.

"I ordered it a few days ago," Angel finally spoke, hoarsely. "I hope...it's..."

Cordelia stepped closer to read it. The inscription was simple and to the point: "Allan Francis Doyle, 1972-1999, A hero will be remembered forever."

"It's fine, Angel. It's perfect. He would have liked it if he were here. Of course if he were here he'd be complaining about how much being dead sucks," she added, smiling a bit at the thought even as the tears began flowing.

"You were right. He deserved a lot better." Angel opened his coat and pulled out a flower and a small tree branch. Cordelia hadn't realized he'd had them. He gave the small branch to Cordelia. "It's a fir branch...it means integrity, eternal affection...it's a gift for departed friends."

Wow, she thought. Perfect. Angel must have spent a lot of time looking for this. She took it from his hand and walked to the new headstone. She dropped to her knees at the base and laid the branch across the top of the grave. "You're right Doyle--I'll never know. But I'll never stop thinking about it...or you..." she stood and stepped back before she started bawling like a baby, even though she thought Angel might understand.

She cast a glance at the flower Angel still held. "A camellia," he answered without her asking. Angel stooped at the graveside and laid the flower crossways to the branch. "You always deserved better, Doyle. I hope you found it. I loved you."

As he stood and turned away from the grave, Cordelia could see Angel was crying. She put an arm around his waist and he didn't object, but put his hand on her shoulder. They walked back to the car together, and he drove her back to her apartment, and neither of them spoke.

Angel walked her to her door, but when he turned to leave Cordelia had a thought and called him back. "Angel? I was just...I was thinking...I was going to watch this and...I'd feel better if you watched it with me." She assumed he knew what tape she meant; on this, of all nights, she wouldn't be watching another one. But he still looked at her a little oddly, like he wasn't sure what she was asking.

She turned the television back on, started the tape and curled up in a ball on her couch. Angel slowly sat down beside her, staring at the television.

She had watched the tape so many times it was getting a little grainy now, but it was clear enough. "If ya need help...then...look no further. Angel Investigations is the best!"

Angel stared at the screen in shock. "Oh..."

THE END

©copyright 2000 Gonzai

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