It's a Tolerable Life

by Gonzai Title: It's a Tolerable Life (Pt. 8, 'Plans' series)
Author: Gonzai
E-mail: LCSTrish@aol.com
Rating: R - violence, some profanity
Feedback: Are you kidding? OF COURSE I want feedback!
Distribution: If you've posted my stuff before, all yours. Others, let me know where it's going first.
Summary: While his friends search for him, Angel learns why they need him
Spoilers: Every single darn one of 'em through To Shanshu'
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I just mess around with them.
Author's Notes: OK, so sue me for dragging out the overused 'It's a Wonderful Life' theme. But it was both the best thing I could think of given my little unwanted exercise in writing myself into a corner and besides that, rewriting the whole first season as a newscast was a hoot. We're picking up maybe ten days after the end of 'Harbinger.'

IT'S A TOLERABLE LIFE

"Our yesterdays are on a loop: a marathon of heartbreaking moments
I live with it every day, for every step I have to pay
The only thing that they can't take, is the guilt that spirals in my wake."

- I Live With It Every Day', Barenaked Ladies

"Are you decent yet? I mean, I have never, ever taken that long to get my clothes on, what are you doing in there anyway?"

Doyle grimaced, partly from Cordelia's muffled complaints from outside the bedroom but mostly from the pain of trying to get his arm, cast and all, into his shirt sleeve. Dennis was trying to help but it wasn't working. "More or less decent," he called back to Cordelia. "I just can't get my shirt on, that's all. Hard t' do when ya can't bend your arm."

"So hurry up and figure something out already. I need to get in there or I won't look half as good as I need to for my very important job at an office with no boss and no work. And if you don't hurry up, I'll send Wesley in after you."

"Darlin', I think that constitutes a threat."

"Well, that's how I meant it. Get the picture?"

Oh yes, he did. "Clear, yeah." 'But that doesn't make this any easier', Doyle thought. He simply couldn't move his arm enough, even with Dennis' assistance. And he really hoped Wesley wasn't even there yet. Doyle wasn't sure what was more humiliating right now, not being able to drive himself, or not even being able to be ready to leave when Wesley showed up to give him a ride to the office.

And while Doyle and Wesley had agreed to at least try to be nicer to each other, it wasn't necessarily an easy task. Doyle's mouth had always worked in a time zone somewhat ahead of his brain, which probably had a lot to do with why his mouth frequently encountered someone else's fists. Getting his brain to override what his mouth wanted to say, especially to Wesley, was proving remarkably difficult.

Doyle also realized he was about to have to watch what he said; he could hear Wesley and Cordelia arguing outside and before he could even protest the bedroom door opened and Cordelia shoved a very flustered Wesley into the room. They regarded each other for a minute while Wesley composed himself. "Good morning," Wesley finally said.

"I'll take your word for it," Doyle replied. "Haven't looked outside yet."

"I would expect not," Wesley answered, sizing up Doyle as he said it.. "I'm, mm, given to understand you're having a problem this morning."

Doyle frowned. He didn't mind help from Dennis, since Dennis couldn't talk, at least not to him, but he did mind help from Wesley. But at the same time, he wasn't getting anywhere and so he conceded defeat. "Can't get the damn shirt on," he muttered.

"I see," Wesley said, and Doyle could tell he was trying not to unleash an insult. "Might I suggest trying a different shirt? Possibly one easier to work with?"

"I like this one," Doyle grumbled.

"Fine. Wear it after the cast comes off," Wesley was losing patience already. "We need to be going to the office." Wesley fished out a different shirt and, with a distaste that Doyle was certain was directed at both the shirt and himself, pulled it over Doyle's arm. "I trust you can manage the rest yourself."

"Yeah, I can." Doyle had more he wanted to say but knew he shouldn't..

"I'm leaving in five minutes," Wesley sighed, and walked out.

Doyle wondered on the drive over if Wesley and Cordelia actually wanted to go to the office. He knew he certainly didn't, and he was even more reluctant to go into Angel's apartment, even when the books they needed were down there.

'Your apartment', he tried to correct himself, but it didn't work. Despite having lived there for nearly a year before he had moved out just a few weeks ago, Doyle had never once thought of Angel's apartment as home. Nor had he considered it to be his place, or even the place where he lived. It was always Angel's apartment, and he had never once thought of himself as anything but a temporary guest. Now that the apartment was legally in his name, the feeling hadn't changed. It wasn't his home. It was Angel's. And it needed Angel in it.

After Angel left, Wesley found the legal documents Angel had left for them. Angel had directed that the office and Angel Investigations were now owned jointly by Wesley, Cordelia and Doyle. Angel had also directed his apartment lease be retitled to Doyle. But Doyle didn't want the apartment or the business; he wanted Angel back. Although he had missed Angel when he had been trapped in Seattle, Doyle was surprised at just how much more he missed Angel now. He was certain there had to have been something he could have said to Angel to keep him from leaving, and he blamed himself for Angel's disappearance.

Oddly enough, Wesley and Cordelia seemed to be more upset with Angel over the whole Angelus thing than Doyle was, especially odd since he was the one who actually was injured. The whole demon side thing, Doyle supposed. I understand how hard it is to control that side, all the guilt and the responsibility that comes with having the demon, and they don't. They think it should be easy to hold the demon in, but it never is. I wish they could understand. Maybe they'd help me find Angel then.

Doyle had decided last night, at the moment when he knew Angel wasn't coming back of his own accord, that he would have to find him. But he didn't know where to start. And furthermore, although he had found the book Wesley wanted, getting it down from the shelf was going to require two hands. Damn.

"Wesley!" he bellowed, half-hoping he wouldn't get an answer.

"Yes?" Wesley called back down in a voice that clearly announced he didn't want to answer.

"I found your book. An' I can't get it down by myself." He hated not being able to do things for himself again. Although he had a definitive and fairly newfound appreciation for the simply joys of being able to stand and walk, Doyle was beginning to think he'd rather have broken a leg than his arm.

"Right." It was only one word, but it was more than enough to remind Doyle of how little Wesley wanted to give him any help. Angel would have gotten the book and handed it to him without a word or complaint. Wesley came down the stairs in no great hurry and removed the book from the shelf. He started to turn to go back up the stairs, hesitated, then changed his mind and turned back to Doyle. "Thank you, Doyle, for finding it." Wesley turned to go back upstairs.

"What d'ya need it for?" Doyle asked softly, slumping against the bookshelf.

"Beg pardon?"

"Angel's gone. What d'ya need that for, if he don't need it?"

Wesley frowned. "The business is ours now, as I recall. We'll have to carry on with it as well as we can."

"It's not ours. It's Angel's. We're nothin' without him an' we all know that."

"Did you have a point? He isn't coming back." Wesley had been dodging this subject since Angel had left, and he clearly wasn't about to change his stance now.

"How long does it take to get a book? I could have read it by now," Cordelia informed them, coming down the stairs to find out what she was missing.

"Doyle doesn't think we should bother to work without Angel," Wesley told her.

"I didn't say that," Doyle retorted. "It's just--I think we oughta be tryin' to find him. Maybe we can get him to come back."

"Doubt it," Cordelia answered, but not as rudely as usual. "He is one stubborn broody-boy and he won't be back a second before he wants to be. If ever. It's just us now."

"But I can't help thinkin' we should at least try. I sorta...I have this really vague memory, I don't remember when or what but Angel told me why ya can't run away from your troubles. An' he can't either. We gotta try, Cordy," Doyle was borderline begging and he knew it, but he knew of no other way to convince her, and without her he would never convince Wesley.

"Doyle," Cordelia took his good hand in hers, "He's not coming back. He's probably living it up on the Riviera by now, or at some other place we'd all rather be than here."

Angel carefully stepped over the passed-out drunk whose legs extended far beyond the edges of his cardboard box. Although Angel had been here a few days, the drunk didn't appear to have budged an inch from the spot in all that time. Angel wouldn't have had to step over him at all if it weren't for the open sewer that used to be the sidewalk at that area. There were some very lovely places in Mexico, but this wasn't one of them, Angel considered. All the same, he thought no one would think to look for him here, and that was precisely the reason he had chosen it.

He finally arrived at the front of the flophouse where he had taken a room. He didn't need to open the door; only one hinge held it to the door frame, and it dangled awkwardly and wide open. Nor did Angel need bother to check in, as the clerk was also passed out drunk. The man had been conscious long enough to check Angel in and take his cash, but the cash had quickly been converted to a quite considerable supply of tequila, much of it still stowed behind the desk.

The bannister broke off in Angel's hand even though he'd barely set his hand upon it. He held in a curse, considering that yesterday his foot had gone completely through one of the steps and he had been briefly stuck there, to the amusement of the other tenants. A broken bannister was a much smaller inconvenience. With a sigh, Angel continued on to his room save for kicking a sizeable rat out of the way.

His room wasn't unlike Cordelia's first apartment in LA. The water was the same color and the insects nearly as prevalent. The mattress was stained and lumpy, and there were no bedcovers. No blanket either, not that Angel really needed one. The only aspect of the room, and for that matter the whole building, which was not absolutely bottom of the barrel was the television set. Angel hadn't wanted one, but every room came with one and the clerk hadn't wasted a second trumpeting that fact. And so Angel found himself rooming with an unwanted 15 inch television set as the only functioning appliance available to him. 'Doesn't mean I'm ever turning the thing on,' he growled to himself.

But it was already on when Angel re-entered his room. He knew he hadn't turned it on, not even once. Had someone broken in? He stopped to sniff the air. Yes, someone had. Someone who was still in the room, waiting for him.

"Hello, Angel. Long time."

Angel turned to see Whistler. Angel hadn't seen Whistler in years, and he had assumed the demon had moved on to other territory. He hadn't expected to see him again, and certainly not here, of all places. "What are you doing here? And why did you turn that thing on?"

"To answer your first question, I'm here to talk you out of making a very big mistake, not that you won't go ahead and make it anyway. Regarding the second, there's a reason and you'll find out soon enough." Whistler plunked himself down on what passed for a bed. "Really, I thought you'd be a little happier to see me."

"Why should I be? You turn up out of nowhere years after carefully making sure I get sent to hell, should I have made a cake?"

"Would have been a start. No food worth having in this place, I've noticed." Whistler looked him dead in the eye. "So, what have you been eating around here? Back to rats? I doubt there's any really convenient way to pick up some pig's blood, short of doing the pig yourself."

"They eat here too. Consider that your answer."

"Considered." Whistler stood up again and strolled around the room. "Why don't we get to the point, Angel? You've abandoned your post, as it were. AWOL. Vamoosed. Splitsville. And the powers, shall we say, aren't amused. You need to go back to Los Angeles."

"I can't."

"Nearly 250 years to practice your answer and that's the best you can give me? I'm disappointed."

"That's the only answer I have. I'm a danger to the people I care about, I can't stay there."

Whistler snorted. "You think you're a danger to them? Ever thought about who else might be a danger to them?"

Angel considered for a brief moment telling Whistler everything he felt as Angelus, including just how much Angelus had enjoyed hurting Doyle. He had enjoyed that so much that Angel had been briefly unsure if it was Angelus or himself that liked it so much. He opted against revealing that. "No one as bad as Angelus."

"Oh, really? How about the shysters, Wolfram & Hart? To start, of course."

"Wolfram & Hart would never even have known about my friends if they weren't my friends. They would be better off not knowing me."

"You absolutely sure about that?" Whistler grinned. "I mean, that's a pretty significant statement to make, not quite up there with a marriage proposal but close."

Angel grinned back sarcastically. "Oh, yes. They would be better off if I'd never come to Los Angeles in the first place."

"As long as you're certain then." Whistler took a long, studied look at the television set, which was presently featuring an infomercial. "I think I can find something better than this on."

"I can only hope, can't I?"

Whistler didn't answer; instead he fiddled with the dial briefly until a newscast appeared. "That's much better. Neither of us need to know about Rogaine. Now, where were we? Ah, danger and all that."

"Congratulations. Now leave."

"Not yet."

"I see. And why not yet?"

Whistler shrugged. Angel was more than a little aggravated and was about to physically remove Whistler when something on the news caught his eye. A familiar face. A familiar face that shouldn't be there because it shouldn't be anywhere but in the depths of hell.

"In other news today, prominent Los Angeles entrepreneur Russell Winters announced a agreement between his company and the noted law firm of Wolfram & Hart to open a new law school in the Los Angeles area. Mr. Winters was reportedly very pleased to be a part of this project."

Winters was cheerfully shaking hands with various of his board members and staff from Wolfram & Hart, and many of the attorneys looked very familiar as well. Winters grinned happily into the camera. "I'd just like to say how pleased I am to be of assistance to Wolfram & Hart in helping the young people of this area attain their dreams of the legal profession. A good lawyer is good to have, as I well know."

"Yes, you would know, wouldn't you?" Angel snarled softly. "But I killed you."

"No, you didn't." Whistler interrupted.

"I know I did. I watched him burn."

"But that was when you went to LA. And now you haven't gone to LA, see the difference? And Russell's alive--as much as a vampire can be, I suppose--and kicking."

Angel stared at Whistler blankly.

"You don't get it? You said you should never have come to LA. Boom, you haven't. You've never been there, never met anyone there, never saved anyone there. I gotta say, the place was different without you. Of course, LA was a pretty different place long before you got involved."

"You can't--can you do that?"

"Already did. Enjoy the news."

"In other news today, the body of a young stockbroker was found in her apartment this morning. Reports indicate she was viciously attacked and disemboweled by an unknown assailant. She was last seen alive at the local nightclub known as D'Oblique.. Police have not named any suspects. The investigation continues as over two dozen patrons of the nightclub, including an undercover police officer, have been found brutally murdered in the last six months."

"No, no, no. I destroyed that demon with my own hands."

Whistler raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, my hands and some fire."

Whistler shrugged. "When you were there."

Something stuck in Angel's mind. "Didn't she say something about an undercover police officer?"

"Yeah, true. That was a sick one. Check this out."

Angel looked back at the television and saw the bar at D'Oblique. It was just as outdated and trite as it had been the night he took Doyle and Cordelia there. He recognized many of the people from his brief appearance there. And he saw Kate, sitting precisely where she had been the night he met her.

"Look familiar yet?"

"Yes. Very." Angel watched as Kate stirred her drink with less than enthusiasm. A young man sat at the bar next to her. Angel recognized him as one of the demon's conquests, the one he had been fighting in the apartment when Kate tried to arrest him. The 'screech', the other patrons called him. He smiled at Kate awkwardly.

"I think I got the bartender's attention. You need anything? It's on me."

Kate hadn't even realized immediately he was talking to her, or at least she pretended she hadn't. "Oh! Uh, yeah, sure, I could use another. Don't know how much it'll help though." She smiled back weakly.

"Thank God for alcohol. Otherwise we'd never forget the day at work, right?" The screech was trying almost too hard, Angel thought.

Angel turned back to Whistler just in time to see the demon had kicked back with a bottle of tequila. "Where'd that come from?"

"Guy at the desk. He's tossed down a dozen already, with the worm. He'll never notice I, mmm, borrowed. Best brand too--free. Take your pleasures where you can."

"Not in my place, you don't."

Whistler rolled his eyes. "Your place, please. And you're not watching the show. It's great. Lots of sex and violence."

Angel started to respond, then turned back to the television. The picture on the screen was too dark for him to figure out what he was seeing at first. He was able to make out the figures of two people in bed, and it dawned on him, much to his displeasure, that he was watching Kate and the screech. "I thought she had better taste than that," he muttered.

"She's a good cop. Gotta do your job," Whistler grinned.

"But that..." Angel stopped dead when he saw what was happening. He felt sick to his stomach as he watched the Talamour demon burst out of the screech and burrow itself into Kate as she screamed in pain and horror. Angel bit at his lip. "That's not how it happened."

"Suit yourself."

The picture on the screen had changed. Now Kate was back at D'Oblique the next night, aggressively searching for an evening companion--a companion who was doomed. And this show would repeat regularly, over and over, as the television displayed night after night of different people coming into the bar and leaving with a demon-infested lover. Dozens of people. Dozens of people who shouldn't have died. Angel slammed his fist against the television.

"Get out," Angel growled.

"Me or the television? C'mon, the show's barely started."

"I'm telling you to get--"

"Police continue the search for Lindsay Kinsalla, the 27-year-old Orange County resident who disappeared from her apartment last week. Police have questioned Ms. Kinsalla's reputed boyfriend, noted physician Dr. Ronald Meltzer, regarding her disappearance but he has not been charged. Dr. Meltzer was a suspect last year in the disappearance of Melissa Burns, who was found brutally murdered and dismembered five months ago."

The photograph on the screen showed Kinsalla to be an attractive young woman, who resembled Melissa somewhat; then the newscast switched to film of Meltzer leaving the police station. He was vigorously protesting his innocence to the television crews, but Angel knew better. He had killed both women.

"Would you believe he's already fixated on another girl? Took him what, a few days? What a piece that guy is," Whistler mused between slugs of tequila.

"He's in pieces. Under a construction site, where Doyle and I put him," snapped Angel.

"Nope. He's still cruising. And Doyle never even heard of the guy, which, having been briefly personally acquainted with Doyle, I find amazing."

"Fine, I'll play it your way. If Doyle never met him, why not? What happened to Doyle if I never came to LA?"

"Patience, Angel, patience. Good things come to those who wait. Of course, so do some really crappy things, but that's not the point." Whistler took the last swig from the tequila bottle, then made a grand show of slowly and deliberately chewing the worm. 'Disgusting,' Angel thought.

"I can't sit here an' wait for Angel to change his mind. He won't. I gotta talk to him. With or without your help," Doyle told Cordelia and Wesley. Doyle had made the decision to forge on without them long before he brought up the subject, but he still hoped for help. At the very least, he was going to need someone to drive him, he glumly acknowledged. But so far his arguments weren't working. There had to be something he could say...or do...he had an idea. He put on his best look of defeat, sat down in Angel's favorite chair, hunched over, and put a finger from his good hand in his mouth.

Cordelia didn't even give him a chance. She grabbed his arm and slammed it down onto his thigh. "Allan Francis Doyle, don't even think about it!"

"Think about what?" he said in what he hoped was bewildered innocence. "Ya tryin' to break the other one for me or somethin'?"

"Just don't--do that." Cordelia let out a long breath and sat on the couch. "I can't even think of where he might have gone. He wouldn't go back to Sunnydale, but other than that..."

"You're gonna help me look?" Doyle asked hopefully.

Cordelia threw her hands in the air. "I don't need Angelus in my life, but I could stand to have Angel back. At least with Angel to use for comparison, you two have personalities. Besides, he's the only one who can make you two quit fighting with each other."

"I think that was a yes," Doyle noted with relief.

"So I can either go my own way, or join the two of you in a wild goose chase. Lovely choice." Wesley sighed. "Very well, consider me in."

"Thanks Wesley. I mean that," Doyle added. Although in the back of his mind all he could think was how easy that was. Suckers. Though he wished he didn't have to remind them of his weaknesses just to get a ride.

"Hello, anybody besides me actually trying to think of where Angel went? I hope he went to San Francisco, I always wanted to go there."

"Doubt it, Princess. He won't want us to find him, I'm sure of that," Doyle thought out loud. "He'd go somewhere where he thinks we wouldn't think he would go so we won't think to look there."

Cordelia wrinkled her nose. "Was that supposed to make sense?"

"Which means a large and very crowded city where a vampire wouldn't particularly stand out. And likely not that far away," added Wesley.

"San Diego?" Cordelia chirped.

Doyle looked at Wesley. Wesley shrugged indifferently. "Good a place as any to start. I know some people there, I could start askin' around."

"A young man believed to be a resident was found hanged at the Pearson Arms Apartments this morning. Although a full report has yet to be received, police expect the death to be ruled a suicide."

Angel recognized Cordelia's apartment without a moment's hesitation. "I suppose you're going to tell me Dennis is still stuck in the wall?"

"Who's Dennis?" Whistler punctuated the question with a belch.

"And what about Spike and Marcus? I think your little show has some plot holes in it."

"You never went to LA. Why should Spike? Don't even bother asking about Buffy--no reason for her to hit town. And as for Marcus...you know how vampires are. That sort of thing doesn't make the news."

He was right about that, Angel knew. But obviously Cordelia wasn't living in that apartment. Something must have changed. "Where's Cordelia?" he snapped.

"Still in LA. Still pursuing beauty and wealth, but I think she found something a little different than fame." Whistler gave a wave to the television and flopped back on the mattress.

Angel forced himself to turn back around, expecting to see Cordelia on the screen. He did, but she was in the background chatting up some very reluctant Hollywood types. He was watching the party he had gone to with Tina, and Tina was chatting with Margot as she got ready to leave. But on her way out, Tracy and his goons took her. Took her to Winters.

"What do you want?" Winters asked her.

"I--I--don't know?" Tina was sobbing with fear.

"You know what you want. You want to be beautiful and famous, the actress everyone adores," Winters continued. "That's right, isn't it?"

Through her tears Tina nodded.

"Well, that what's I'm going to give you," Winters told her as he changed his form, and without a second's hesitation sank his teeth into her as she screamed.

Angel turned away. "I know how it ends."

"No, you don't."

Angel paused, then looked back. Winters had finished feeding from Tina and now he was feeding Tina his blood. He was going to turn her into his child. He was doing the only thing worse than what he had done to her before.

"No!" Angel slammed his fist into the tiny table the room provided and it broke into pieces. He stood motionless, as he thought of what Tina had become, what she doomed to, what she likely had been doing since then. She deserved better than that. Even death was better than that, and who better than he to know?

"Commercial's over, now back to our program," Whistler sang.

Angel forced himself to look again. Margot was having yet another one of her parties. She had invited Cordelia again, and the two appeared to be having a wonderful conversation. Then he saw Tina enter and join them, and after whispering something to Margot, Tina led Cordelia somewhere away from the party.

"Margot gives absolutely the best parties," bubbled Tina.

Cordelia was having a fabulous time--and probably not a completely sober one, Angel realized. "I know!" she squealed. "There are so many people here, some of them I might even have heard of--this is great!"

"And it gets better," Tina told Cordelia, her voice growing colder. "Have you heard of Russell Winters?"

"Mmmm...isn't he the guy who produced that movie about the--no, that wasn't it--but he's done something really important, right?"

"Many important things. And he's interested in making you an integral part of his next project."

"Really?" Cordelia was so tipsy and delighted she wasn't seeing the look in Tina's eyes.

"He sent me to bring you. Immediately."

"She's not..." Angel started to say but Tina had already changed, and her teeth were already in Cordelia's neck. There was nothing he could do but watch as Tina drank from Cordelia. Then Tina turned Cordelia. Angel's knees seemed to have vanished on him and he sank to the floor, staring at the television in shock.

"I always thought she'd make a great vampire. Being as she's cold to start with and all," Whistler mumbled to himself.

Ordinarily Angel might have ripped out the demon's throat for that. But now, he was too frozen to move, too shocked to speak.

There was yet another glitzy party in progress, this one in an absolutely fabulous home that Angel recognized. After all, he'd broken into it. Winter's house. And through the house and the party Winters strolled with Tina on one arm and Cordelia on the other. As they passed through one room after the next, from time to time Winters would nod at a particular guest and Tina or Cordelia would nod back. Angel knew those guests would be snacks for Winters shortly. And if he were feeling generous, he might let Tina and Cordelia have some.

"Oh, I absolutely have to have this!" Cordelia crowed, completely distracted from the task at hand by a colorful scarf at a sidewalk stand.

"For God's sakes, Cordelia, can't you stop shopping for five minutes?" Wesley complained. He was to his own surprise worrying about Doyle, who was due back several minutes ago, and didn't care to listen to Cordelia's material wants.

"When you see what you want, grab it. Because if you don't, the next girl will and she'll be the one getting the compliments at the next party at Nabbitt's," she harrumphed.

"Not another one already, is there?" Wesley hoped not. Although he did have to admit that comparatively speaking, Nabbitt made him feel socially adept.

"Saturday!"

"I don't have to go, do I? I don't care to explain Angel's absence."

"Like anyone besides us will notice. Give me twenty dollars."

"Pardon?"

"I don't have enough to buy this. I'm borrowing."

"Cordelia--"

"Walk. Fast. Now. An' don't look behind us," Doyle suddenly appeared between them and with his good arm gave Cordelia a no-arguments shove forward. Fortunately for Wesley and for Doyle's bad arm, Wesley took hints well and started walking quickly. Doyle was out of breath and sweating, Wesley noted.

"Can I assume it didn't go well?" he asked icily. Doyle's 'friends' had a very bad habit of being unpleasant, even the human ones, and Wesley was nearly afraid to wonder.

"No. It went fine," Doyle gasped. "Did ya know how hard it is t' try t' run with one of these thin's?" He tapped the cast on his arm. "That's one thin' I was hopin' I'd never learn but I think I just did."

"That doesn't sound like it went fine," Cordelia noted, and started to look behind her.

Doyle yanked her forward again. "It went fine, I got what we needed. Except then Manny had t' go an' bring up some old subjects an' he's under the totally mistaken impression I owe him money an' where the hell did you leave the car anyway?"

Wesley planted the palm of his hand on Doyle's back and shoved Doyle in the direction of the car. "I left it precisely where I parked it while you were in it."

"Really?"

Wesley opened the car door and Cordelia stuffed Doyle inside. Even as they drove off, Wesley saw several very ugly looking fellows dart into the street, looking for someone. "I don't suppose they work for this Manny fellow?"

"Assume yeah, 'cause I'm not gonna look an' have 'em see me."

"Wow. Doyle has a rare good idea. I'm going to take notes," Cordelia announced.

"Not funny, Cordy, not a bit. An' not that either of ya care or nothin', but Manny's got a butcher friend, that's why I was talkin' with 'im. An' his friend has all o' sudden started gettin' overflow orders for pig's blood."

"I don't suppose you found out where this blood is going?" Wesley was finally satisfied they weren't being followed.

"Tijuana, he said. Somebody down there's just ordered a lot. An' I wonder who."

"Seriously. I mean, what sicko would want that icky stuff--oh, I get it. Angel's ordering it."

"Cordelia..." Wesley drew out the last syllable.

"Yes?"

"Duh."

The television had returned itself to a test pattern, but Angel was still sitting stock-still in the middle of the floor. He hadn't even noticed the cockroaches scuttling over his legs and into his duster, which he had forgotten he was even wearing.

Cordelia's a vampire. She's like me now. Except she kills. And she tortures. And she does it for Winters. And Whistler's right--she makes a great vampire, a natural talent for it.

"Funny isn't it, how she lived on a Hellmouth for eighteen years, no problem, but gets vamped within a couple weeks of coming to LA?" Whistler mused. "You never really know, do you?"

"But you do," Angel finally spoke. "You know everything that's going to be on here."

"Not exactly. The powers are telling me, but kinda at the last second."

"What are they telling you now?"

The television set suddenly renewed itself and returned to the newscast.

"One of the most controversial trials in Los Angeles history ended today with a hung jury. The racketeering and murder trial of reputed mobster Little Tony Papazian concluded after the jury was unable to render a verdict. Mr. Papazian credited the work done by his attorneys at Wolfram & Hart for his freedom and indicated his intent to sue the police for harassment."

Angel snorted. "What about the police station?"

"No lady cops for Tony to get upset about," Whistler noted. "See, even your non-effects have effects. You could have been George Bailey."

"I saw the movie. And you make a really lousy Clarence."

"Ooh. Hurt my feelings."

"Meant to. And if you happen to hear bells, it won't be because you're getting your wings."

"An odd explosion occurred on one of the ships docked at Pier 16. It is unknown at this time whether a bomb exploded aboard the container ship Quintessa, or how many people may have been injured. The ship's crew, however, is missing."

"Doyle..." Angel said softly to himself.

"He wasn't there. And for the record, he never got divorced or attacked by my red-faced distant relatives either. Seems you intervened early enough to allow him those lovely moments." Whistler swigged from the bottle. "The Listers were on the ship though. Too bad. I had a cousin who dated a Lister once."

"Too bad for the Lister or too bad for your cousin?"

"Oooh, he's getting touchy now," crooned Whistler.

"I'll touch you, all right." Angel grabbed Whistler by his coat and commenced physically dragging the smaller demon to the door.

"Hey! You can't do that!"

"Give me one reason why not."

"You'll miss the end of the story."

"Precisely the reason I'm doing this," Angel snarled.

"You'll be missing the point on top of that. Besides, don't you want to know what happened to your bookworm Brit buddy? Cause it's on."

Angel stopped dead in his tracks. Without lowering Whistler in the slightest degree, Angel turned back to the television, certain he wasn't going to like what he saw. Instead he saw Wesley, back in full rogue demon hunter garb, busily hunting down the Kungai demon in the same building where Angel and Wesley had first encountered each other in LA. And Wesley wasn't doing any better a job of tracking down the Kungai this time than he had the last time.. Trying to hold in a snicker, Angel dropped Whistler on his backside.

"Ow! Hey, that was uncalled for!"

Angel snorted. "Please. And I still want you gone. I fail to see though, what's changed for Wesley that I should be concerned about."

Whistler, still seated on the floor, glared at Angel. "Hang on and you'll know soon enough."

Angel considered another retort but given some of the other things he'd been seeing on the screen, maybe he should withhold comment for the moment. Wesley had since been soundly beaten by the Kungai,and was rather gingerly picking himself up and slinking back to his motorcycle. Problem being, the cycle wasn't starting. The engine wasn't turning over. As a matter of fact, it sounded like the engine was missing a spark plug.

"Personally, I find these things much more useful with one of these." Angel had heard that treacherous voice before. Barney. The empath emerged from the darkness with the motorcycle's spark plugs in hand.

"Very amusing," Wesley answered, trying to hide his annoyance with the unexpected and unwanted demon. "I'll have those back now, if you don't mind."

"But I do mind, y'see, we need to have a little chat or I wouldn't have a need to, heh, spin your wheels." Barney leaned into Wesley's face. "Cripes, I don't believe this. I'm scarin' you? They told me you were a demon hunter and you can't handle me?"

"I'm not afraid of you, but I've had quite enough demons already for today, thank you, and--whatever makes you think--you're an empath, aren't you? As if this day weren't bad enough."

"Oh, it's gonna get worse. I got a job for you."

"And what makes you think I'd work for you?"

"We can start with me tellin' whoever it is you work for that you just got your can kicked by a Kungai. I can follow that up by tellin' 'em even I get you nervous. They'll be just lining up to hire you then." Barney was grinning away by now. "But I tell you what--take another shot at the Kungai. I'll even tell you he went to Koreatown. Bring me that horn of his and I'll conveniently forget what happened here. What'd you say, pal, we got a deal?"

Wesley wasn't bothering to hide his distaste for Barney, not that he could have anyway. But the devious little empath did have Wesley over a barrel. "What business have you with the Kungai?"

"None of yours. I want the horn, how you get it is unimportant, just fork that one little piece over and I let you go your merry way. How about it?" Barney was absolutely tickled with himself now.

"Very well, we have an agreement," Wesley reluctantly agreed.

"Knew you'd see things my way. And I wouldn't leave a nice bike like that in the street. You never know who might mess with it," Barney tossed the spark plugs to Wesley and bolted. Wesley managed to catch the plugs on the fly.

"Bastard," he muttered.

The Kungai had gone to Koreatown to lick its own wounds from fighting with Wesley. While it took some time, and Wesley wasn't nearly as savvy about where to look as Angel was, eventually Wesley did find the weakened demon in the same place where Angel had found it. The fight was more even this time, and Wesley succeeded in breaking off the creature's horn. Seeing what the horn's removal did to the Kungai gave Wesley serious pause, but by now he was a little more concerned with what Barney might be up to, and he left the Kungai to its fate.

Barney was waiting for the horn at the hotel, where the auction would be starting shortly. "Well, well, well, nervous Nellie did the job after all. Nice work, especially since I didn't have to do it," Barney was quite enamored of the horn. He dug a few bills out of a pocket and handed them to Wesley, who took them reluctantly. "Consider it a job well done."

"And why, exactly, did I have to do it?" Wesley asked icily.

"Because our Kungai pal was on to me," Barney turned even colder. "I couldn't get near him. And you were pretty close already. Besides, getting clocked--never cared for it. Always liked leaving that part to someone else." Barney handed over the horn to an associate, who disappeared with it. "It's just too bad you had to switch sides."

"Beg pardon?" Wesley was caught off-guard.

"Such a promising career, too, but then you needed the cash. Too bad how these things happen," Barney's grin was back.

"You're a disgrace to the Pryce name," growled a familiar voice. Wesley turned to see the Council's men behind him.

"I knew you'd taken a tumble, but to stoop this low," Weatherby grabbed Wesley and handcuffed him.

Collins retrieved the cash from Wesley's pocket and added a much larger amount to it before handing it back to Barney. "We owe you one there, for lettin' us know about him. The Council appreciates your help," Collins told the empath.

"Hey, any time fellas," Barney said gleefully. He waved playfully at Wesley. "Ta ta, Wes!"

"Why you little red bastard..." Wesley started to lunge after Barney but Weatherby and Smith yanked him back.

"The Council's going to have a field day with you, you know," Collins told Wesley. "A failure and a traitor. You'll be lucky if they don't hang you."

And with that, Wesley was dragged back to their truck.

"I always did hate Barney," Angel growled.

"And you never played poker with him. That's even worse, as I can personally attest." Angel had briefly forgotten Whistler and the demon had reoccupied the bed, reclining with some more tequila.

Angel sat on the edge of the bed himself. "What did the Council do with Wesley?"

"Ahh, last I heard they found him guilty. Haven't gotten around to executing him yet, but you know how all that legal red tape is."

"What about Doyle?"

"Fixated on that now, are you?"

"You showed me the others."

"Haven't shown you everything yet. Patience is a virtue. Then again, so is sobriety. Makes you wonder what criteria they used, doesn't it?"

Doyle had spent his first few weeks with a broken arm trying to figure out what positions he could put his arm in that didn't hurt. Stuffed in the trunk of Angel's car was definitely not one of them, if his whining was any indication.

"Did I mention it's hotter 'n where Angel's been in here?" he complained before Wesley shut the trunk.

"Did I mention it's possible to enter the United States legally?" Wesley asked back in irritation. "If you could have been bothered to fill out a few simple papers while you were married to Harry we wouldn't be having this problem now."

"And did I mention I've always wanted to smuggle people into Mexico? Not?" Cordelia snipped. "We can't take you anywhere."

"Well excuse me for not plannin' on--" Wesley slammed the trunk before Doyle could finish his complaint.

"A few moments of silence. How blissful," Wesley remarked as he and Cordelia got back in the car.

Cordelia didn't answer right away, tapping her fingers nervously on the steering wheel as they approached the border crossing. "How many years in prison do you get for this? I've thought about visiting my father but I didn't want to share a cell with him or anything."

"Just stay calm and let me talk," Wesley tried to assure her, although he'd never tried to cross into Mexico himself and he was pretty unsure whether they could accomplish it.

"Oh please. You can't place an order at Starbucks without screwing up."

The line wasn't particularly long and it was only a few minutes before the immigration officers stopped them.

"Hi officer!" Cordelia flashed her biggest smile for him. He ignored her.

"Ma'am, we need you to pull over there. Please cooperate," he said with officiousness.

"Aren't you even going to ask if I have weapons first?" Cordelia asked in confusion.

"We've already been alerted to what you have in your car. Please pull over and make this easy on yourself," the officer repeated.

Wesley sank into his seat. They must have seen them putting Doyle in the trunk, that must be it. He couldn't think of any other reason why they would be stopped without even a question first. But even as he wondered, he saw a familiar face in the immigration station talking with several of the officers. Their old friend Lindsey McDonald. He must have tipped off the officers. And Cordelia was about to fly off the handle.

"Why did I let you talk me into this? I'll be in jail so long I'll get wrinkles and crow's feet and it'll all be your fault Wesley Wyndham--oh, cripes."

Another officer had driven a truck alongside the car and the moment they stopped the car, several more officers jumped out of it. Two ran to the far side of the car and dragged Wesley out of it. Two more went to Cordelia's side of the car and started to drag her out, but she recognized one of them and he knew her as well. "Well, if it ain't the mouthy chick," he chuckled. "You gonna keep your pretty little mouth shut this time?"

"You wish," Cordelia answered angrily.

"Where's your boyfriend? I always wanted to clock him again."

Cordelia had already realized there was no point lying, they were caught.. "In the trunk."

More 'officers' popped the trunk and hauled out Doyle, much to his painful protests. All three of them were dumped into the back of the truck, which promptly sped off. Inside the truck, the fake officers quickly tied up all three of them.

"What on earth is going on?" Wesley protested.

"I'd can it if I were you, Wes," Doyle advised him.

"Good advice," noted the first goon. "So you learned something the first time."

"The first time? For God's sakes, what's going on here? This is totally uncalled for, surely it's against some law!" Wesley demanded indignantly.

"Will you hit him? Please?" Cordelia requested.

The goon complied and clubbed Wesley across the head with a gun, knocking him out.

Angel was now pacing the tiny room in agitation. "I don't understand why you won't--"

"I already told you, The Powers decide when you're ready. Obviously, they don't think you are," Whistler finished off his current bottle. "But they do think you're up to seeing a few more things on the news."

Angel knew the drill by now.

"Police continue to search for the serial killer nicknamed 'The Pope'. Another victim was found last night, bringing the number of deaths attributed to the killer to eleven. Police still have no leads. In other news, six women were found dead at a chemical plant in Long Beach. Reports indicate the women died violently, and all had been pregnant, but no details were provided."

"I'll bet they weren't," Angel said grimly.

"Two adults and a child were killed in a house fire early this morning in Orange County. The only survivor of the blaze was a foster child, nine-year-old Ryan Anderson, who miraculously escaped. Anderson was living with the family after his parents and sister died in a tragic accident."

"That was no accident. Whether it was Ryan or the demon, that's the question."

"Ryan Anderson has a demon in him? Did the Mariners know that when they signed him?" Whistler inquired with a grin. Angel stared blankly. "Right. I guess a side effect of no human contact is a lack of baseball knowledge."

Angel still hadn't the slightest idea what Whistler was talking about. But the television was far from through with its newscasts.

"Retired Los Angeles police officer Ronald Lockley was found brutally murdered in his apartment in what police suspect may have been a drug-related revenge killing. His daughter, Los Angeles detective Kate Lockley, disappeared six months ago. Police have no leads in either case."

Angel continued watching the screen, expecting some mention relating to the McNamaras and their little illegal enterprise, but nothing appeared. He looked at Whistler.

"Sorry. That one actually went better without you there. The demons stayed locked up, which is where they should have been except some loopy vampire let them out. So--what were you thinking when you let them out?"

"Uhhh...I was thinking about getting out of there myself."

"Fair enough, I suppose."

"Actress Rebecca Lowell, best known for her long-time role as Raven, was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver outside a Hollywood party last night. Her manager indicated the police have no suspects or leads at this time."

Angel was even a little impressed with the way Oliver was able to look right and the cameras and lie about the whole thing.

"This entire incident--it's remarkably tragic, a truly horrible thing and I can only hope the perpetrator who took Rebecca from us will do the right thing and turn himself in," Oliver told the myriad reporters.

"Considering he knows damn well who did it...," Angel shook his head..

"Accidents will happen, but only hit and run," Whistler sang to the tune of the Elvis Costello song of the same title. "You sure you don't have anything to eat here?" Angel didn't answer.

"Police attempted to arrest a woman suspected in the rash of violent assaults and attacks in area bars and dance clubs as well as the attempted murder of a man at the Los Angeles bus depot, but the woman was able to escape police. Three officers were injured during the escape, which police spokepersons described as 'brash'."

Somehow, the station--correction, thought Angel, The Powers That Be--had managed to come up with film of Faith bludgeoning a cop with his own handcuffs and inflicting a fair amount of damage on the other cops present.

"That's our Faith," Angel said quietly to himself. "What happens to her without me?"

"Well..."

The screen refocused itself on a boardroom, which, Angel thought drily to himself, could only be Wolfram and Hart. Lindsey, Lilah, and Lee were discussing what they should or should not do about Faith.

"I still think we should approach her about working for us," Lilah said insistently. "She is a Slayer--there's no human stronger, right? She'd be an ideal assassin."

"For our own clients," snapped Lindsey.

"She's been trained to kill vampires. And if you haven't noticed, guess who's paying your salary," smirked Lee.

"She doesn't have to kill only vampires. And then if one of our clients becomes too much trouble for the firm--"

"Forget it. She's a liability and nothing else. We're eliminating her."

The picture changed to Faith in her illegally obtained apartment, curled in a tight ball on the tiny couch. Angel recognized the look on her face. Faith was pondering the universe and her place in it, a place she had never had an opportunity to find for herself.

"I still want to help her," Angel murmured.

"Too late."

The insect assassin dropped from the ceiling of the apartment and onto Faith. Taken completely by surprise, she gave the insect a good fight but he had wounded her badly from the outset and in the end, he won the fight.

"It's a waste," Angel growled. "She could have done a lot of good if someone could have shown her the way."

"Yeah, that was supposed to be your job," Whistler noted disdainfully.

"Several street youths believed to have been part of a South Central LA gang were found slaughtered in an abandoned warehouse in what is believed to have been an explosion of gang-related violence. In lighter news, computer software giant David Nabbitt continues to deny charges he regularly visited a local brothel."

"So after all that, Gunn got what he wanted. A war he could lose."

"Amazing, isn't it, how the good guys just fall right down in a row without you there?"

"Shut up. Just shut up."

"In the conclusion to a controversial trial, accused murderess Vanessa Brewer was acquitted of all charges by the jury. Ms. Brewer cited the excellent pro bono work done by her attorneys, Wolfram and Hart, and particularly attorney Lindsey McDonald for her freedom."

"My client could never have committed such a heinous crime and Wolfram and Hart is shocked that the district attorneys pursued such a wanton course of injustice. We are extremely pleased by the compassion and understanding shown by the jury in this matter and yes, we are contemplating the possibility of filing a civil suit against the district attorneys' office," Lindsey couldn't have read the statement better if the script was in his hand.

"Don't get too excited Lindsey, I'm sure you'll have to defend her again before too long," Angel muttered.

"You kidding? The broad went and did something the next day. Wow. Wish I could meet a woman like that."

"Three children and their guardian were found stabbed to death in Los Angeles this morning. The murders apparently occurred late last night and at this time the police have no leads. The children, all of whom were blind, had just arrived in the United States yesterday to be enrolled in a school for gifted and blind students."

Angel finally sat down again. It was all starting to give him a headache. "And I can only imagine what Vocah did," he sighed out loud.

"Not a damn thing. Wolfram and Hart needed him only for the raising, but since you weren't there they had no need for a raising. Besides, you already know what happened to your friends long before that."

"No, I don't either!" Angel snapped, turning and grabbing Whistler by his collar again and dragging him across the mattress. "You still haven't told me what happens to Doyle."

"You're right, you're right. Coming right up, if you still want it."

"Why wouldn't I?" Angel asked sarcastically.

"Doyle's about to learn a lesson you learned yourself a long time ago. Sooner or later, things are going to catch up to you."

Angel felt his heart beginning to sink already. The screen was showing Doyle entering his apartment, an apartment with an uninvited guest waiting for him. Griff.

"This is the last thing I wanted to be doing today. I'm getting stretch marks, I know it. And it's all your fault Doyle!" Cordelia snapped.

"My fault? Again? Darlin', I don't even know what I did," Doyle gasped in pain. He was plenty uncomfortable enough without Cordelia on his case. Santiago's henchmen had driven them back to Los Angeles and chained them up inside another abandoned warehouse. All three of them were now dangling from the ceiling by chains around their hands and wrists, including Doyle. They had broken off his cast and hung him from his bad arm, and the not-yet-healed bones were slowly pulling apart again. No, he was definitely not comfortable.

"It was your idea to go look for Angel. And look where it got us! Remind me never to listen to anything you say again." Cordelia did her best to turn her back petulantly, which wasn't very well under the circumstances.

"Ya want Angel back just as bad as I do an' ya know it," Doyle grumbled.

"I'm not listening."

"Yeah, ya are."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"I don't suppose whoever these men are, they couldn't simply kill me now and save me having to listen to the two of you," groaned Wesley, who previously hadn't had anything to say since waking up.

"Trust me, they are gonna kill ya. Just a matter of how creative they're gonna be this time. An' after the last time, I don't think they're gonna leave too much to chance," Doyle sighed. "That's the bad part about escapin', ya really piss off the people who caught ya."

"What last time? Do you actually know these people?"

Doyle forgot he'd never filled in Wesley. "These are the same guys that took me an' Cordy an' tried to charbroil us. They work for this Santiago guy, Angel had a time of it with him too."

"They are so not bright, too. I mean, you think they'd just kill us but no, they have to come up with some all pain and anguish torture thing first but we got out of it and now I'll bet demon guy is not happy," Cordelia babbled.

"Thought you said you weren't listenin'," Doyle smirked.

"Not to you."

"Lord, just strike me dead now."

"That would be a little too easy, don't you think?" The door had opened and a tall man had come in, flanked by armed assistance. "I should at least have some fun first.. You owe me that much. Certainly, these two do."

The man came close enough to Doyle that Doyle could smell it wasn't really a man. What sort of demon it was though, he didn't know. "I guess you're Santiago, huh?"

Santiago grinned. "He is a smart one, isn't he?" Santiago stepped a touch closer to Doyle and breathed in deeply. "Not bad for a half demon."

"Funny thing is I like to take the optimistic approach, ya know? I like to think of me as bein' half human," Doyle quipped, unwisely he knew but his mouth wasn't going to wait for his brain to catch up.

Santiago never lost the grin for an instant as he reached out and sharply pulled Doyle downwards. The chains yanked up both of Doyle's arms, and sent lightning bolts of pain shooting through them, but especially the left one. He didn't want or intend to, but he screamed anyway.

"If memory serves, you were the one who engineered the little jailbreak, weren't you? I was planning to grant you some extra pain for your trouble," Santiago folded his arms in amusement at Doyle's misery.

"There's nothin'...ya can do...t' me...ah screw it," Doyle gasped between the shooting pains. He had an idea, one he was sure he'd regret but all the same he wanted to get a little revenge. Certain Santiago's guard was down, Doyle kicked out as hard as he could (not very considering how much his arms hurt) and succeeded in landing a blow on Santiago's face. Unfortunately the kick wasn't hard enough to actually hurt Santiago.

And the expression on Santiago's face didn't even change. He called forward a henchman. "That one--I don't want anything left. And feel free to break his arm--more."

Santiago leaned in towards Doyle, apparently completely unconcerned about whether Doyle might try to kick him again. "A lot of extra pain. You won't even last until your vampire friend comes looking for you." Then he turned and walked out without another word.

"Way to go Doyle, you really screwed up this time," Cordelia announced.

'Oh yeah did I ever,' Doyle thought to himself between cries of pain.. The two henchmen lowered Doyle to the ground, which didn't do anything to lessen the pain of his arm. Although, feeling his feet on the ground was such a tremendous relief Doyle briefly forgot why they put him there, but he remembered soon enough when one of the men smashed his arm with a wrench. He could feel the breaks in his arm reopen and shatter, and the hardware that had been holding some of the healing bones together broke as well. He screamed, a lot.

"That's nothing compared to when we get you back up there," the goon announced gleefully, "and by the time we figure out what we oughta do with you, you'll be begging us to do it." Doyle realized if they did haul him back up by that arm, it would probably tear right off. Suddenly his mind shut itself off to any thoughts but those of desperation and he kicked the goon in the face. Fortunately this kick had a lot more effect than the one on Santiago and broke the goon's nose.

"Aawwooowww!" the man put both hands to his face and staggered to one side. Doyle awkwardly scrambled back to his feet just in time to be sent flying by the other goon. He landed almost underneath Cordelia and onto his bad arm; Doyle felt more bones snap, mostly ones he was reasonably sure hadn't been broken in the first place. His throat was already hoarse and the next scream came out as more of a rasp.

The goon wasn't nearly through, and was reaching out to drag Doyle back to his feet when he suddenly screamed himself and doubled over, landing alongside Doyle and losing his gun in the process. Doyle was in so much pain himself, it took him a moment to figure out Cordelia had kicked the goon in a particularly vulnerable area. Doyle gritted his teeth and pushed himself up with his good arm, willing himself not to cry out. He picked up the loose gun and clubbed the goon with it. "I owed ya that one," he forced out.

"Wow, Doyle, that was actually a pretty good plan," Cordelia remarked, apparently impressed.

"I didn't plan that," Doyle gasped.

"Oh, so you're still an idiot? Good, you're easier to deal with that way," she huffed. "Now get me down already."

Doyle ignored her. He wasn't going anywhere with his arm dangling and twisting, useless below the elbow, as it was presently. The only solution he could think of was to put his hand inside his shirt and hope it would serve as enough of a sling to hold his arm still, but moving it even that much was so excruciating he thought he was going to throw up.

"Hey Doyle, us, remember?"

"Yeah, I--remember," he gasped. He put the gun in his jacket pocket and slowly staggered to his feet.

"Not to be insensitive to your present plight, but the first gentleman, I'm quite sure he's sounded the alarm by now," Wesley advised.

"I'll bet." Doyle tried to turn the crank of the wheel holding Cordelia's chains, but it was half-rusted and stuck. At a minimum, it was a two hand job, and Doyle couldn't even budge it with the one hand he had available. Ever so briefly he considered whether the demon could turn it, but quickly brushed the idea away. The mere thought was nauseating. He had sworn to himself he would never, ever allow the demon to appear again and he hated himself for even thinking of breaking that vow.

"Hurry up!" Cordelia hissed.

Wesley was in a better position to see the problem. "He can't do it, Cordelia. Doyle. Doyle," he repeated insistently.

Doyle was now trying frantically to move the crank and wasn't inclined to answer Wesley.

"Doyle, they're coming. I would urge you to run, now. You can't help us."

"I have to," Doyle threw his shoulder into it but only succeeded in hurting his good arm.

"You can't. Maybe you can get out. But you have to go, now. NOW, Doyle," Wesley ordered.

Doyle leaned against the wall, biting back the pain. "I can't."

"Allan Francis Doyle, get the hell out of here right now or I'll do something worse to you. Later, I mean," Cordelia hollered at him.

"Go," Wesley ordered again.

Doyle could hear people coming now and reluctantly, in the pit of his stomach, he knew Wesley and Cordelia were right. He couldn't help them under the circumstances, and if he didn't run now he was a dead man. He looked up at Cordelia. "I'm comin' back for ya, Princess, I am," he held in tears as well as pain now.

Slowly, and with caution for his arm, Doyle slipped behind the crates that were in the room with them and searched the back wall for a way out. The only thing he could find was an air duct. Cursing his lack of luck, not to mention the size of the duct, he pried off the grill with his fingers and painfully crawled inside. It was difficult to move at all; there wasn't enough room to use his legs, his one arm couldn't advance him much, and every movement sent pain wracking through his body. But he couldn't scream, or even whimper. He'd be heard. He could hear the men assisting the fallen goon and berating Cordelia and Wesley and it wouldn't be long, he thought, before they figured out where he went. Doyle bit down on his lip and continued inching his way through the duct.

Angel sat motionless on the edge of the bed. He hadn't moved or spoken since the television had flickered off after showing him what would have happened to Doyle. Whistler, on the other hand, had grown tired of waiting for Angel and was alternating pacing the room or fidgeting in the chair.

"Are you gonna say something any time soon, because if not I need another tequila," he finally informed Angel.

Angel shivered, a considerable trick given that he was always cold. There were a lot of thoughts running through his mind, most of them ugly and hateful. He despised his own species more than ever, and had taken on a whole new hatred of some other species, at least one of which he'd never even considered hating before. But there was one question left he needed an answer to.

"These things...happened...because you say I wasn't there. But in the real world, I was." Angel stood and walked directly towards Whistler until he had him backed against the wall. "None of that ever happened. Maybe I made a difference in the last two years.. But what the hell makes you think I'm going to make one now? Where do your damn Powers That Be get off thinking I can't do good here, or anywhere, where I can't hurt my friends?"

"Because they're not done with you yet! Or with them! Happy now?" Whistler snapped.

"No, I'm not," Angel said sarcastically.

"Well that's just too bad. You can go back now--and by the way, they're about to get themselves killed without any help from you--or you can stay here, they die, the future really gets screwed up and the evil tops the good for once and for all. I did my job and frankly, I didn't enjoy it. You, Angel, are lousy company for a night in Tijuana." Whistler scooted out from between Angel and the wall, and ducked out into the hallway.

"I'm not done with you yet!" Angel roared and charged into the hallway after Whistler. But there was no one in the hallway except a rat. A rat. Angel had never given a thought to the creatures as being anything but a snack before tonight, and now he would gladly destroy them all. He picked up this rat by the tail and slammed it into the wall so hard its bones were pulverized. Then he stalked back into his room.

The television was still on, showing a test pattern. Angel kicked it over onto the floor and the tubes sparked. He was about to kick in the screen as well when he finally realized what Whistler had said. "They're about to get themselves killed," Angel repeated to himself. "What's that supposed to mean..."

Once more the television buzzed itself on. Angel had assumed Whistler was controlling it, but apparently not; the screen once more focused. Now he could see Wesley and Cordelia dangling from chains, being taunted by someone who looked familiar. Then the someone turned around. Santiago. Oh crap.

"Oh, yes, the vampire. He doesn't seem to be helping you much at the moment," Santiago was running his fingers over Cordelia's legs in exactly a manner that made Angel's blood boil.

"Well, he will!" Cordelia snapped. "And Doyle's going to--"

"Him? Found him. He'll be dead long before you will be. I might have to keep you for a while. You, on the other hand," Santiago waved at Wesley dismissively, "I have no use for. Someone kill him, please." And the screen blanked out.

"What about Doyle?" Angel raged at the television. It blinked back on. Doyle was in what looked like some sort of building ventilation system. He didn't appear trapped so much as he was too exhausted and in too much pain to continue. The picture flickered until Angel realized he was seeing the outside of the building where his friends were.

"Hold on, I'm coming," Angel said under his breath.

By the time Doyle had crawled far enough along in the ventilation system that he could no longer hear Santiago's men, he didn't care anymore anyway. Any effort he was still making was strictly in the faintest of hope he might be able to send help for Cordelia and Wesley. For himself, he only wanted the pain to end. And when his arm came loose from its makeshift sling for the seventh time, overwhelming him with the pain, Doyle gave up.

He supposed it was odd to lose hope now. The damage done to him by the Beacon had been more painful, at least as best as he could compare, and spending the better part of a year confined to a wheelchair was more humiliating. But he had Angel then, and he always believed as long as Angel was around, these things could be dealt with. Without Angel, Doyle had no hope. 'I think I got a patent on the irony here,' he thought. 'The rest of the world believes in God, but I put all my faith in a vampire. And he's gone.'

Doyle curled himself up as best as he could and laid his face on his good arm. He was getting cold, and his mind was starting to swirl inside his head. Dimly it occurred to him he was going into shock, and the best reaction he could muster was that it took long enough. He supposed he could do worse than to die in here. At the very least, in a couple of days he would really stink up the place, and that would annoy Santiago no end. Not much by way of revenge, but at least a little.

He had no idea how long he lay there before he started hearing voices. At first Doyle assumed he was hallucinating, but as the voices and noises continued he slowly realized he wasn't imagining them. He couldn't understand what was being said, but the noises sounded like doors being shut. Then he heard a voice that was loud and clear, and that he recognized.

"I'm quite aware you're in there somewhere. And that you're not capable of going anywhere else. Just as well, it will make this simpler." Santiago. Oh, swell.. "I've sealed off the system, except for where I will be filling the system with poison gas. Too bad. You have presented more challenge than most."

Santiago didn't say anything else, but Doyle could vaguely hear a hissing noise coming from the same direction. He felt no panic or distress though, only the vague idea that at least this wouldn't take quite as long as he had thought. He simply waited. And then he heard another voice. Angel's voice.

"Doyle, where are you," he heard Angel say. That had to be a hallucination. Angel wasn't here. Doyle didn't know where Angel was, but he wasn't here. Was he? Angel did have a bad habit of turning up at the last possible moment. Maybe he was here. Maybe he was in the building, searching. Doyle was getting agitated. 'What if Angel was looking for me and didn't get here in time because I gave up?' he wondered. How badly would the vampire take it? Very, Doyle guessed. Dammit.

There was no way Doyle could have moved anywhere in the duct, and even if he had the gas would take him before then. The only way out was--out. He tried to kick at the walls, but he couldn't get much force behind his kicks. Once again he momentarily considered the demon and again rejected the idea. He pulled his legs closer to his body and pushed at the wall with his knees. To his surprise, the wall buckled at one point. He pushed harder and it bulged outward. Doyle pulled himself forward enough to plant his feet against the weakened wall and gave one last push.

The wall of the duct split open and the sudden weakness in its construction, coupled with Doyle's weight, caused it to rip apart in a variety of directions at once. Doyle was spilled out of the duct and fell a few feet onto the floor. Once again his bad arm came free from his shirt, and it struck the floor hard enough to break in yet more places. He felt pieces of bone push through his skin, and then the pain overtook his mind and he blacked out.

Santiago's men were not amused by Doyle's escape, and until they finally figured out where he had gone, they took it out on Cordelia and Wesley. Cordelia was quite irritated since she had no idea how Doyle had gotten out either and being a target for verbal abuse, various foodstuffs and whatever was available in the garbage just didn't suit her at all. She was thankful, though, that they didn't pull on her too many times. Her shoulders were screaming at her and she had begun to wonder when they might just pop right out.

Wesley wasn't doing any better. In fact, Cordelia was reasonably sure he was doing worse; he had been the recipient of even more abuse than she had, and his arms appeared close to ripping off. But, not surprisingly, he was doing a better job of keeping his mouth shut. And this annoyed her even more.

"Could you maybe speak so I know you're alive? For now? Hello, Wesley?"

Wesley sighed. "I am still alive, thank you. Not really."

"Do you think they found Doyle?" she wondered out loud.

"Probably. I can't imagine why else they would leave us be for the moment."

"Maybe he got out. Do you think he'll really come back for us?"

"IF he got out, I'm sure he would. But I'm equally sure they'll kill him well before that." Wesley paused. "I suspect that wasn't what you wanted to hear."

"Duh, no." Cordelia had more she wanted to say but Santiago came back at that moment. "Oh look. The biggest creep in all of Los Angeles. And that's really saying something."

"From you, my dear, I will take it as a compliment." Santiago had a grin on his face that scared the hell out of Cordelia. It reminded her of Angelus when he had one of his nastier ideas. She started feeling remarkably cold given how warm it was in the room

"Given the terrible habit of escape attempts your little group seems to have, I'm not inclined to leave anything further outside my control," Santiago continued.

"Your control, pfft!" Cordelia sniffed. She doubted mouthing off was any brighter for her than it had been for Doyle, but like him, she just couldn't help herself. "Wait'll Angel shows up."

Santiago's eyes narrowed. "Your vampire friend will not be joining us. In fact, I happen to be aware that you don't even know where he is, and he has no idea where you are. Which I believe presents you with a problem."

"Well, you don't even know where Doyle is, maybe he--"

"I found your friend. And I can assure you he is quite dead. He irritated me far too often. You, on the other hand, I may be willing to tolerate a little longer." Santiago was running a finger up and down one of Cordelia's legs. Her body stiffened as she considered the possibility that Angelus might be preferable to Santiago.

"We don't plan on staying overnight," Cordelia snapped.

"You might want to rethink your plans. However, he will not need to worry about overnight accommodations," Santiago turned his attention to Wesley. "I fully intend to dispose of

you at the present time." "If you were expecting me to beg for my life, you are bound for disappointment," Wesley informed him.

"I won't be disappointed," Santiago laughed. "Lower him."

Santiago's men quickly moved to lower Wesley, and it was then that Cordelia noticed that they had already placed a large tub under Wesley. A tub full of water that was steaming hot. One of the men yanked off Wesley's shoes before his feet reached the tub. A minute later Cordelia knew the water was probably hotter than steaming. At least, that would be her guess based on Wesley's screams. I don't think I'm going to enjoy tonight too much,' she thought.

Angel hadn't realized how long it had been, and was a little annoyed to find that Whistler had been there nearly the entire day, but he wasn't going to knock the incipient sunset either. By the time he was back in Los Angeles and found the warehouse the television had shown him, it was night again. And slipping into the building without being noticed was not at all difficult, although Angel remembered his last encounter with Santiago and proceeded cautiously anyway.

He entered at the back of the building and found himself in a storage area, which didn't appear frequently used. Fine with him. But the room had been disturbed in one spot where a steel plate had been placed over an air duct. Probably to keep Doyle in there, it occurred to Angel. Angel smelled poison, and, somewhat masked by the poison, he could smell Doyle. "Doyle," he said softly to himself. "Where are you?"

Angel bit his lip to keep from calling out to the half-demon and tried to track the smell. He started following the pipes as they twisted through various storage rooms. From time to time he reached a dead end and had to backtrack to follow a different pipe. At one point, he heard a ripping sound followed by a thump and moved in that direction.

He found Doyle crumpled on the floor in a back room beneath a badly damaged pipe that was still emitting poison, but not at dangerous level. Doyle wasn't moving, and his left arm was no longer in its cast. It was broken again, far worse than what Angelus had done to it, and bleeding badly. "What have I done?" Angel said softly to himself. Whistler was right about him leaving. This would never have happened to Doyle, if Angel had stayed in LA and looked after his friend.

Angel ripped off his shirt and wrapped it around Doyle's arm as gently as he could, tying the sleeves around Doyle's neck to make a semblance of a sling. It would have to do for now. Doyle had shown no signs of coming around while Angel worked on him, but when Angel started to pick him up he stirred slightly.

"Annn...gel," he said weakly, staring as if he didn't understand what he was seeing. "Real?" he gasped.

"Yes, I'm real," Angel answered quietly. "I'm here. And I'm going to get you out."

"C-Cord...," Doyle was struggling to stay conscious.

Angel hesitated. He had actually, briefly forgotten Cordelia and Wesley. He had no idea where they were, and he had a sinking feeling he couldn't save them and save Doyle.

"Know where," Doyle muttered, making a failed attempt to get to his feet and jolting his arm enough for him to cry out. Angel lifted him carefully and held him upright. "Save 'em."

"Tell me." 'I'll have to take him with me and hope nothing happens,' Angel decided.

Doyle, for his part, seemed to be finding the wherewithal to continue. He could barely stand at first, but after a few minutes he managed to walk slowly, with Angel's help. Angel doubted Doyle knew where he was going, but within minutes that became a moot point. He could hear Wesley screaming. They followed the sound until Angel could hear Santiago in the next room verbally sparring with Cordelia. Santiago was getting irritated with her though.

"I don't believe you. Angel's going to come back for us. And so will Doyle," Cordelia hissed.

"Your demon friend is already dead." Doyle managed to snort slightly at that statement. "The vampire isn't coming to help you, and your friend here, he fails to amuse me. Kill him," Santiago instructed someone.

Angel set Doyle against the wall, out of direct sight. "Stay here. I've got this one." Angel then slammed in the door to the next room, much to the surprise of everyone in it except, perhaps, Santiago.

"Or I could be wrong," Santiago noted duly. He turned to face Angel. "I would strongly suggest you not approach me." He nodded in the direction of Wesley. At some point Wesley had been lowered to his feet and Angel could see Wesley's feet were bare and burned, which explained the screams. One of Santiago's henchmen was holding a sizeable knife against Wesley's throat. "If you do, he'll be dead before you take a second step."

"Which he'll be if I don't too," Angel stared at Santiago. "You're a lying bastard who can't be trusted. Do I have that right?"

Santiago rolled his eyes slightly. "If you want to think of me that way."

"I do." Given Santiago's overdeveloped sense of pride, Angel had an idea. "I have a proposal for you."

"And that would be?"

"You, and me. No weapons. Hand to hand. To the death, whatever that is in our respective cases. I win, I get my people back. You win, there's no one left to stop you. And you can tell your pals you killed a vampire with your bare hands."

Santiago was interested. Very interested. Angel had correctly estimated the demon's ego. "A very interesting proposal indeed." He waved off the man with the knife and the man backed away from Wesley. He sent all but one of his henchmen away, and ordered that man to remove his gun and place it near the doorway. "My men will do no harm to yours. It will be only you and I." Santiago removed his suit jacket.

"Fine." Angel only hoped it really would be just himself and Santiago. He was confident in his ability to take down the demon in a fair fight; but he didn't trust Santiago to give a fair fight. Angel resolved to keep at least some attention on the henchman anyway, despite the disadvantage it might give him in the fight.

Santiago didn't bother with feinting or any other delay tactics this time. To Angel's surprise, Santiago leaped in the air and landed atop of Angel, kicking his feet against Angel's chest and sending him flying into the far wall. Angel was briefly very thankful he couldn't breathe or the fight might have ended there. And Santiago must have forgotten vampires don't breathe, because he appeared to assume Angel was already down for the count and dropped his guard as he tried to kick Angel again.

This time Angel was ready and threw himself out of the way in time. He got back to his feet and waited for Santiago to attack again. Out of the corner of his eye, Angel saw Doyle in the doorway. 'No!' he thought, then Santiago came at Angel and he had to forget Doyle to dodge the coming blow.

Angel continued to fight defensively, occasionally absorbing some blows as he was distracted by his concern over what the henchman might be up to and what on earth Doyle was doing. He did notice Doyle had a gun. He had no idea where Doyle might have turned that up, and offhand he didn't know if Doyle was any good with one.

And perhaps it was time to concern himself with his own chances. Santiago was successfully landing kicks and blows to Angel, none of them serious but the sheer number of them was beginning to hurt him. He would have preferred to have kept his mind on the fight, although he was getting in a few shots of his own here and there. But then he heard Cordelia say something and Angel paused to see what was happening. He saw Wesley and Cordelia on the ground, both in pain, and wondered how they got there. Then Santiago struck him in the head hard enough to set his mind spinning and his body on the ground.

Before Angel could get up Santiago hit him again. Angel was dimly aware of Doyle screaming in pain and he heard a gunshot, but he was dizzy from the last two blows and was unclear as to who was doing what to whom now. As he lay on the ground, unable to distinguish up from down, Santiago stood over him, and it faintly dawned on Angel that the demon had a stake.

Doyle's head was still whirling on him. He had thought he had imagined Angel--he even briefly believed he must have died--but the sound of Angel's voice had been so reassuring Doyle could do nothing else but believe the vampire had come back to rescue him and the others. And it was Cordelia that Doyle was concerned about; he forced himself to remain awake and upright only by picturing her, and reminding himself that she needed his help.

Not that he could be much help; the wall was holding him upright at the moment and the pain in his arm was dulling his other senses. Still, he thought, there had to be something he could do, and he inched his way to the door and peered inside the room. Wesley was still chained but his feet were on the ground; Cordelia was still dangling from her wrists and as much as she would have liked to hide it she was in pain. Santiago only had one man in the room, and he was standing very near the door, with his back to it. And Doyle had an idea.

The gun he had taken earlier was still in his pocket, and he hoped it had at least one bullet still in it. He drew it out and very slowly inched his way into the room, taking pains not to watch the epic battle between Santiago and Angel, until he was standing behind the henchman by the door. Doyle lifted the gun up and put it against the man's ear. "Don't move," Doyle whispered.

The man didn't argue. "You're gonna put the girl back on the ground. Or I shoot you." The man nodded very slightly. "Good. Let's go." Doyle staggered towards the wall with the crank, but was able to keep the gun close enough to the man's head that he did as he was instructed. They reached the wall and the man started lowering Cordelia back to the ground.

"Hey! What the--" Cordelia started to protest but then she saw Doyle..

It occurred to Doyle he wouldn't have gotten away with this if the man still had his gun. He was getting awfully lucky here. "Unchain them. Now, or I'll shoot."

Slowly the man backed off and unlocked the chains, first from Wesley and then from Cordelia. As the chains were taken off Cordelia's hands and she lowered her arms, she cried out in pain, lost her balance and fell. Doyle forgot about the man he was holding the gun on. "Cordy! Cordy, are ya--"

The man quickly turned and chopped at Doyle's bad arm and the shattered bones ground against each other, sending Doyle collapsing to the ground with an agonized yelp as the pain rocketed through him. The pain was both blinding and paralyzing and Doyle couldn't think. The man turned and kicked, throwing Doyle back against the wall, and reached for Doyle's throat. But Doyle hadn't lost his hold on the gun. He managed to get the gun free, and with his remaining strength he blindly pulled the trigger. He wasn't sure, but he thought he must have hit the man as the goon fell to the ground and didn't get back up.

Doyle was vaguely aware of Cordelia rushing to his side. But he couldn't see Angel and Santiago, and with some help from Cordelia he tried weakly to push himself up the wall to see. He still couldn't see Angel; the vampire was down on the ground. But Doyle could see Santiago standing over Angel, and he could see what the demon had in his hand.

"Oh my God!" Cordelia squealed. "He's got a stake! This was no weapons you big cheater!"

At the sound of Cordelia's voice, Angel tried to crawl back and away from Santiago, but Santiago stabbed downward with the stake. The stake was only inches from Angel's heart when he heard a gunshot and Santiago staggered backwards. He still held the stake in his right hand, but now his left was exploring the new hole in his chest. Then Angel heard the gun roar again, a second hole appeared in Santiago and the demon fell. For a moment, the room was quiet.

A crawling Wesley cautiously approached Angel. "Are you all right, Angel?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Angel answered in weak confusion, "But do me a favor? Make sure he's dead? Maybe cut off a few things just in case?"

"Right. Good idea--you wouldn't happen to know what sort of demon this is, would you?"

"None at all."

"Perhaps I should burn him then."

Angel was sitting up now and gradually regaining his bearings. "I don't care if you shish-kabob him, Wesley." To the best of Angel's figuring, Santiago was definitely dead; both shots would have been enough to kill most anything. "I'm just glad you're a good shot."

Wesley paused. "I didn't shoot him."

"You didn't?" Angel had assumed Wesley had done it, but Wesley shook his head no. "Then who--" Angel remembered who had had a gun. And who had screamed. "Where is he?"

Wesley indicated behind Angel. Doyle was lying in a heap at the base of the wall, the gun still clutched in his hand. He looked like he was unconscious. Angel unsteadily walked to Doyle and dropped to the ground beside him. Cordelia was already with Doyle and she looked a little panicked--and pained herself.

"Angel, he's bleeding," she pointed out, then paused. "Am I? If any of those guys--"

But Angel wasn't listening. Doyle's arm was bleeding badly and splinters of bone poked through even the shirt wrapped around his arm. "Doyle?" he asked softly. "Doyle?"

Doyle's eyes flickered for a moment before he opened them. He was in deep shock, Angel realized, and he found it hard to believe Doyle could have the strength to fire a gun, much less done it well. "Doyle," Angel murmured, "Did you...you shot him?"

Doyle's eyes were beginning to glaze. "Not a spellin' bee...don' have...fight fair...," Doyle drifted back into unconsciousness.

Wesley's feet were quite badly burned, his shoulders hurt considerably, and both he and Cordelia were feeling somewhat less than their best. "Are you sure my arms are still attached? They feel like we left them there," Cordelia complained. Frequently.

But she waited with Angel in Wesley's room to find out about Doyle. When they first brought Doyle into the hospital, the doctors had whispered words they thought weren't heard. Mostly 'amputation'. Wesley wasn't at all surprised to hear it; after all, the doctors had given some consideration to that the first time Doyle's arm was broken, and it was far worse this time.

But Angel had heard the word as well, and he had asked for a private moment with the head doctor. The doctor had returned from the 'moment' looking very pale and frightened and calling for specialists. "What changed his mind?" Wesley asked Angel. "As if I didn't know."

Angel only shrugged, with an utterly unbelievable look of innocence. "I convinced him he needed to do everything possible. I think he will."

"For whatever good that might do," Wesley thought out loud. In all honesty and from what he had seen, what remained of Doyle's arm hadn't appeared worth saving. The arm looked so gruesome he easily forgot his own pain at the thought of it. "The poor man may be better off without it."

"Don't say that!" Angel snapped.

Wesley didn't even flinch. He had spent enough time around Angel to know who the anger was really directed at, and it wasn't directed at himself. "This wasn't your fault, Angel."

"Did I totally miss something?" Cordelia interrupted.

"Yes, it is. If I hadn't left..."

"Santiago would have found some other way. He was looking for us, Angel, he must have been, how else could this have happened? If not today it would have been another," Wesley insisted. With hours of nothing to do but hang, he had thought a lot about the day's events. And the only conclusion he could reach was that Santiago had simply been waiting for the best opportunity to catch them and on this particular day, they had given it to him. Though he did still wonder what connection Wolfram & Hart might have had to Santiago.

"If it had been another day I would have been there sooner," Angel said in a tone that told Wesley shutting up might be wise.

"I have to tell you Angel, your buddy here is right," an unfamiliar voice spoke from the doorway and Wesley was surprised to find a rather short and very badly dressed stranger sporting a fedora walking in uninvited to confront Angel. Not a vampire, anyway, Wesley thought with some relief.

"Leave me alone. You did enough today," Angel growled.

"Apparently, not. You already forgot the lesson of the day."

"Which was? Since I didn't learn it," Angel added sarcastically.

The odd little man leaned into Angel's face. "That the 'might have been' could always be a lot worse than the 'is'. And when you're involved, it's almost a guarantee. Think about that some more. And thanks for the tequila." The little man straightened and started to walk away, but stopped when he passed Cordelia. He looked her over head to toe and whistled.. "Any time you get tired of the vampire, baby," he grinned, and walked off.

"Okay, that was very strange. And perverted!" Cordelia whined.

"I don't suppose there's an explanation for that," Wesley inquired. He had seen a lot of odd things in his time, but surprisingly that struck him as one of the oddest.

"Not that I care to give you," Angel said quietly and not unkindly.

"What's with you anyway? You disappear and then you come back like nothing ever happened, that is just--rude! Where were you? And how can you just walk out on us? I thought we were, well, you know..." Cordelia was blushing as she realized what she was saying and Wesley could feel himself reddening as well.

Angel bent down over his knees to stare at the floor. He rubbed his hands together in front of him. Finally he spoke. "I went--to Mexico. I had a lot of thinking to do, about Angelus and--what he did. I don't want to hurt any of you, ever, but I had to leave before I could see I would hurt you more if I wasn't here. And I decided to come back. That's all you need to know and all I'll ever tell you."

"That's it?" Cordelia started to squawk.

Wesley interrupted before she could berate Angel. His feet were painful enough; he didn't need Cordelia's opinion just now. "But you came back and you'll be staying, I assume?" Angel nodded without looking up. "Then there's no more need to be concerned about this, is there?" He asked the last part while staring daggers at Cordelia.

"Maybe you aren't, but I--" Wesley stared harder at her. "Never mind.. We're okay."

It was several hours before the doctor came back. Doyle was doing a little better, and, at least for the time being and barring further problems, he still had his arm. The doctor hadn't wanted any of them to visit Doyle, but Angel gave the doctor a look and suddenly he thought letting Angel see Doyle was a wonderful idea.

Angel sat with Doyle for hours. It was hard for Angel to see what was left of Doyle's arm, especially the blood. He felt the demon in him rumble briefly but he shut it off. The demon was what got them here in the first place and Angel intended to keep Angelus under more stringent guard than ever. He stayed in control.

In time, Angel fell asleep, his hand on top of Doyle's good hand. He didn't know how long he slept before he heard Doyle mumbling.

"Ya can sleep at your place too, man. That's what it's for."

Angel shook himself awake. Doyle was barely awake himself, bleary-eyed and not feeling too well, but lucid. "I wanted to wait for you," Angel whispered.

"Okay."

Neither of them spoke. Finally, uncharacteristically, it was Angel who broke the silence. "Do you feel all right?"

Doyle glared at Angel as best as he could. "Wha' ya think? It hurts. Ya'd think they'd have some really good drugs here, but I haven't gotten any." Doyle closed his eyes and Angel thought he had gone back to sleep, but he hadn't. "Why ya really here?"

"I--I had to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Why I came back." The words weren't coming easily.

"I was gonna wait 'til I felt better to ask. I don' gotta know now."

"But I have to tell you now. I saw--I saw what Los Angeles would have been like if I'd never come here."

Doyle was silent for a while. "Can I assume it was worse?" Angel nodded. "I figured that. How much worse?"

"A lot." Angel studied Doyle's fingers, grateful to see all of them were still there, before taking Doyle's hand in his own. "I saw what would have happened to Cordelia, and Wesley, and--to you--if I hadn't been here. And I had to come back."

Doyle thought longer. "Ya tellin' me somethin' worse woulda happened to me than what did? That's real scary."

"It was. That was why...I had to tell you, now, that I'm not ever going to let that happen to you. Not ever." Angel started to say 'not even if I have to die' but didn't. It didn't matter though, because he could see Doyle understood that.

"Okay. That's good to know. Can I sleep now?"

"Uh, yeah." Angel stood up to leave, but stopped at the door. "Doyle?"

Doyle opened one eye.

"I'm back for good. I belong here." Then Angel left.

Kate was waiting for Angel outside his office when he came back. He had called her the day before, something about Santiago and his current warehouse and Santiago being dead. Ordinarily she would have considered these good things; finding caches of illegal goods was always a good thing, and getting rid of someone like Santiago permanently was even better. Except that neither of those things was apparent and that damned idiot lawyer McDonald showed up blathering about violations of his client's rights. And now she wanted a piece of Angel.

"What the hell was that about?" she demanded before he'd even seen her waiting there.

"What?" Angel was taken aback, which irritated Kate further. He was acting like he didn't expect to see her and after sending her on a wild-goose chase, he had darn well better be expecting her.

"Yesterday. Remember? Santiago's dead? Warehouse? Go pick up after me?" she asked sarcastically.

"Oh. That. Everything go okay?"

"No, it did not go okay and stop acting like you don't know why!" Kate was ready to scream at him.

Angel put his hands up in surrender. "I don't know, I told you what was there and I left. Doyle and Wesley were hurt, I couldn't wait for you."

The last part brought her up a bit short. He hadn't mentioned any of his people being hurt yesterday, and that at least got him off the hook for not being there. "Is....Doyle, is he all right? And Wesley too, I guess."

"They'll live."

"Okay." Kate sucked in her breath to get back to her tirade. "There was no body of anybody there, and no contraband, just one of Wolfram & Hart's weasels."

Angel looked genuinely shocked. "Santiago's body was there when I left. I thought he was dead...and the place was full. I swear it--Wolfram & Hart?"

"Yeah, that moron McDonald. Something about we were conducting an illegal search."

"I should have known they worked for Santiago," Angel fumed and paced in anger. Finally he turned and it was a moment before Kate realized he wasn't turning on her. "Santiago came after my people intentionally. He wants a piece of me, he's getting it. Now if not sooner." And with that, Angel stalked out of the building.

THE END

©copyright 2000 Gonzai

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