By Alysonfan
Disclaimer: Joss-god was on another bad acid trip when he killed Doyle. This is my answer to that situation. This is pretty short- I wrote it one night while bored at work.
It was a rainy midnight in Los Angeles when Angel's supernatural hearing first picked up the faint tapping at the door. He also smelled that whoever was on the other side of the door was badly injured. He moved to the door with catlike quickness, speeding up even more as he realized who the smell belonged to.
He opened the door to the pouring rain, and the man on the other side fell through the doorway, landing with a soft moan on the floor. Angel turned him over gently, wincing at the sight of the burns on his face and hands. Blue eyes opened with great effort, and a barely recognizable voice rasped, "Angel..."
"Easy, you're safe now," Angel said softly. "Welcome back, Doyle."
Doyle blacked out from the pain.
Cordelia Chase rolled over with a groan as the phone rang-12:30 AM.
"Hello?" she said sleepily.
"Cordelia, it's Angel. Doyle's back. He's been hurt pretty badly. His hands..."
"I'll be right there," she said, jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of designer slacks and a cream blouse, and quickly running a brush through her hair.
She'd dreamed about this moment for weeks, keeping alive the hope that Doyle might be able to return from wherever he was. She just hoped it hadn't been Hell- from what Angel said, Hell was a pretty nasty place. Grabbing her purse and an umbrella, she ran out the door.
Angel opened the door to his apartment below the agency, and said, "He's in and out of consciousness, and he's asking for you. "
"Is he-okay?" Cordelia asked.
"He'll live, but his hands will be scarred," Angel said. "I was able to get the name of a doctor who treats demons, and he examined him and gave him some antibiotic cream and painkillers. More than anything else, he just needs rest and quiet for several weeks." He paused at the door to the bedroom. "The painkillers are strong- he'll be pretty out of it."
"I just need to see him," Cordelia said, and walked into the dark, quiet bedroom. The pale, bandaged figure on the bed brought tears to her eyes. She had never been good with sick people, since the death of her grandmother when she was six, but she forced herself to approach the bed and touched his cheek lightly.
"Doyle?" she asked softly.
"Cordelia," he whispered, with a ghost of a smile.
"You're alive," she said.
"You're no' gonna hit me again, are ye?" he said, and she bit her lip to hold back the tears.
"I was so afraid you were dead," she whispered.
"I'm alive- I hurt too much to be dead," he replied weakly.
"I'm glad you're alive," she answered. "I want you alive... we need you alive. Me and Angel, both." She kissed him softly, and said, "I love you, Doyle."
The blinding pain of the migraine faded, and chained and burning in the pit of Hell, Allan Francis Doyle smiled.
He was going home.
It was a rainy midnight in Los Angeles when Angel's supernatural hearing first picked up the faint tapping at the door...
THE END
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