Doyle trembled under Angel's
hand on his shoulder, looking as if
his heart were breaking.
Angel's was. He'd given up a mortal,
normal life with Buffy to fight
for the Powers, but he'd thought
to have an undead life with Doyle
for a while at least. But if he
didn't sacrifice himself against
the Beacon, everyone in the cargo
hold would die. He had
to do this.
His throat thick with emotion, Angel choked out, "Doyle, I--"
"I know."
His death would leave Doyle
utterly alone again, for a while at
least. Maybe the Powers
would give him a new Warrior to be
Messenger to. After all,
they hadn't taken the visions away
when Angel had been returned
to a mortal life.
Doyle would get through.
He was stronger than anyone realized,
stronger than he himself realized.
Doyle flung himself at Angel
and kissed him with force, putting
everything into it. Angel
held on and kissed back just as hungrily,
fully aware that this would be
the last time, feeling as if could pull
parts of Doyle's soul into himself.
Without any threat of this
possibly bringing on a moment
of perfect happiness, they devoured
one another in ways that made
their past furtive, desperate, yet
cautious touches pale by comparison.
Angel drank in Doyle's
living warmth and the weirdly
green tang his part-demon nature
gave to his scent, lost himself
in the feel of Doyle's body against
his and the clutch of Doyle's
hands in his shirt.
Doyle squeezed his eyes shut,
broke off the kiss, and leaned his
forehead against Angel's. "You
never know until you've been
tested. I get that now,"
Doyle said. "I love you too." He gave
Angel one more deeply tender
kiss, then...
Angel felt a shock of pain
and suddenly started falling, flipping in
the air off the catwalk, too
stunned and shocked to understand. He
hit the floor hard, bouncing.
People ran to him, surrounding him,
but he stood and pushed them
away. "Doyle!"
Doyle, in demon form, had
already jumped over to the Beacon.
Angel witnessed it all, watched
as the dark human form silhouetted
in the blinding white light slowly
crumbled at the edges, burning
away layer by layer so gradually
and painfully, listened to Doyle
scream.... And there was
nothing he could do except watch.
Finally the Beacon went dark,
swinging slowly and harmlessly,
disarmed.
Doyle had saved them all,
and nothing, not even ashes, remained
of him aside from the sweet,
charred scent of burnt flesh.
Angel had to keep pushing
the hands off him, unable to bear the
touches, weird reverberating
pains crawling inside his skull, barely
able to see through the lingering
white flashes across his vision.
He was alone. It should
have been him up there.
It *would* have been him if
he hadn't boasted of the sacrifice
he'd made, giving up a mortal,
sunlit life with Buffy in favor of
an existence with just him and
Doyle in the darkness fighting the
forces of evil. Hearing
it, Doyle had been so flatteringly amazed,
so in awe....
So in love with Angel, as
usual. So grateful that Angel had come
back to him. So certain
that *he* couldn't have done such a noble
thing.
So ablaze with the need to
prove himself and make amends for past
wrongs.
And Angel had lacked the vision
to understand what he was seeing
in Doyle.
He had it now. Too late.
Breaking apart, Angel couldn't
think anymore; he just started
walking and kept going.
Lost.
******************************************************
Gunn and Wesley had come back;
he could hear them. They'd
been successful, right? They
had to be.
When they opened the door,
the stab of light sent Angel into the
corner, to safety. Hurt
too much, hurt like his head hurt.... "You...
you saved them, right?
I got you there in time. I feel a little
better."
"We saved the girl from the
Balrog demon," Wesley answered.
Angel couldn't get used to him
having one arm now, even though
Wesley had been that way-- how
long had he been that way?
They didn't try to come close
to him, which hurt until he
remembered that he'd thrown Gunn
around the room once. Or
twice, maybe. He couldn't
remember why. Maybe he'd had a
good reason at the time.
He saw too many things to keep track
of them all.
"That's great. Great.
But what about the other one? He's
important. Very important.
He's on a ship, and he's in danger.
There's a bright light, and
it'll burn him alive until there's nothing
left. I can hear him screaming.
It's not too late. Things will be
different this time."
Gunn and Wesley looked very sad and at each other. No. Oh, no.
"You didn't save him." Angel
smacked his head back hard against
the wall. "My fault.
Mine. I couldn't see the name of the ship
until you left. It's the
Contessa. Maybe you couldn't find it
without the name. The
Contessa. You have to save him. He's
important, very important.
Everything'll be better if he stays
alive."
Wesley put on his gentle voice.
"Yes, he is important, but we can't
save his life because he's already
dead. If Doyle hadn't died about
a year ago and passed on the
visions to you, you wouldn't be in
this condition."
No, no, no. Angel leapt
up and forward, straining the chains on his
shackles. "Then fix it!
It's wrong!" he growled.
They just shook their heads.
"I'm sorry, Angel," Gunn said before
they closed the door behind them,
leaving him alone again.
Angel sat down and rocked.
"It's all wrong. But it'll be better
next time. I'll save him
next time."
**********************THE END***********************
"I feel that you should know
I have an empty soul.
It's a warning.
It's a warning.
If you leave,
If you leave,
I will follow,
I will follow.
What am I?
What am I?
And they are stomping on the
switches...."
-- "Invisible" by Switchblade
Symphony