a.connor  a.doyle  a.lindsey  a.oz  a.spike  a.wesley  a.xander  a.other  three.somes  het.fic  character.study           
Title:This Time
Author: Viridian5
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Setting: Birthday-verse


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*

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