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An Unexpected Guest

They sat on the bedroom floor, holding each other, for several minutes; for the first time, each of them was totally at ease with the other. Much of what had needed to be said had been taken care of; fears and concerns had been laid to rest.     

It was Cordelia who finally moved. She eased out of Doyle's embrace, stood up, then stared down at him, an expectant look on her face. "Well, Mr. Doyle, if you plan on 'courting' me, you had better get started. Let's see. . ." She furrowed her brow as if deep in thought. "We've done the dinner thing. How about a movie? Here, of course. We could pop some corn. Or," her eyes lit up, "we could start in on that chocolate thing I got. I'm suddenly hungry." She offered him her hand. "Come on."     

He smiled, took her hand, let her help him up. She gestured toward the living room. "The movies are out here." She started for the door, then suddenly stopped; he almost ran into her. "Hey, who's courting who here?"     

Doyle chuckled softly. "Why don't we say that. . .we're courtin' each other?"     

"You've got an answer for everything, don't you, Oracleman?" Cordelia teased him.     

"No," Doyle replied, looking very circumspective. "Not about everythin'."     

He followed her into the main room. She immediately went over to the entertainment center, opened one of the cabinets, turned to him, started to speak, then stopped with a shake of her head and a light laugh.

"What?" Doyle wanted to know.

"Nothing really. I just started to ask you what movies you've seen, but then it occurred to me that you, well, haven't."      

"Yeah. We, uh, didn't do a lot of that in 'Blissville." Doyle nodded in agreement.      

"Well, why not? I mean, don't they know that it's one of life's biggest pleasures?" Cordelia shook her head, turned back to the movie cabinet. "Sometimes it sounds like 'Bliss' was really boring."     

"Well. . .it was for me," Doyle reminded her. "That's part of the reason why I'm here."     

"Yeah." Cordelia paused in her movie search, looked thoughtful. "It's weird."     

"What is?"     

"The whole thing. You were gone and gone and gone. And then suddenly. . .you were here." She suddenly realized how that might sound, turned to look at him. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Doyle, I'm *glad* you're here. It's just. . .weird. Wonderfully weird, though."     

Doyle nodded. "I agree. It is weird." He raised his eyebrows at her. "And wonderful."     

She made a face at him, went back to looking through videotapes. She obviously didn't find the one she was searching for; she frowned, closed the one cabinet, starting rooting through another.

"What are you lookin' for, Cordelia? You know, I'm not picky. Just sittin' here with you for a couple of hours is enough for me," Doyle told her. He hated to see her go to so much trouble. She'd done enough for one day, for several weeks, in fact.     

Cordelia smiled at the pure niceness of his comment, but didn't verbally address it. "I'm looking for 'The Sixth Sense'," she told him.     

"The what?"     

"It's a movie. Actually, I guess there's a possibility that *you* did see it. It might have been out before. . ." she stopped as she realized what she'd been about to say, turned to look at him, then finished lamely, "just before."     

Doyle graciously overlooked her slip up. "I never saw it, Cordelia."

"Well, it's kind of right up your alley," Cordelia told him, grateful to move on to another subject. "You know, it's got ghosts and psychic stuff and. . .oh God, I just keep talking, don't I? It's a good movie, Doyle."     

"I believe you." Doyle was slightly amused by her discomfiture. She really was sweet. She could be abrasive and tactless at times, but when you got right down to it, considering all that she'd been through during her short life, she was a sweetheart. His sweetheart. He could still hardly believe that.      

"And it's not here," Cordelia said, still talking about the movie's lack of appearance. She closed the cabinet for the last time, turned to Doyle. "I think I know where it is, though."     

"That's okay, Cordelia," Doyle said. "Like I said, I'm not picky. You don't hafta. . ."     

"No, I kind of want to see it myself," Cordelia told him as she started for the room door. "Get that chocolate thing or pop some popcorn- it's up on the top shelf- or whatever you want. I'll be right back."     

She was out the door and gone.     

Doyle smiled, shook his head with mild amusement. He was going to have to remember that you really never *told* Cordelia what to do. You had to be subtle about it.  He walked over to the entertainment center, started looking at movie titles; there were several films he hadn't
seen. . .or heard of for that matter. Oh well, whatever made her happy.     

Now, what was it she had told him to do? He grinned to himself at the thought. Cordelia certainly didn't have trouble *giving* orders. Oh yeah, the chocolate thing, popcorn, whatever. He personally thought the chocolate thing was the ticket. He closed the entertainment center door, then started for the kitchen.     

A noise stopped him. It wasn't a loud noise or a definable noise, but he was pretty sure he'd heard. . .something. He stood still, listening, and heard. . .nothing. He shrugged, re-embarked on his journey to the kitchen. He was almost there when he heard the noise again. . .a scraping sound that was almost too faint for his ears to pick up, but it was definitely there. He heard it again; it was a little louder this time, but he couldn't discern where it was coming from. He closed his eyes, waited, then heard it again; it was a light scraping sound that seemed to be coming from somewhere behind him.     

What could it be? He was pretty sure that Angel didn't have any pets, and neither Cordelia nor Wesley had mentioned there being an animal in the place. He guessed it could be mice. Or maybe it was just a noise the hotel made. He wasn't getting any danger signals from it; he decided to just ignore it and move on. He nodded to himself, started to do just that, was heading for the kitchen, when he heard the sound again, much louder than before, and, this time, Doyle was able to figure out where it emanated from; it was coming from the bedroom.     

For better or worse, Doyle's curiosity got the better of him. He walked through the main room, passed the short hallway, then walked into the bedroom. Nothing looked disturbed or different. He stood and listened for a minute, but the sound did not recur. Chalk it up to imagination? Doyle shrugged, turned and started out of the room. . .    

A loud, bold tapping at the bedroom window badly startled him, took him totally off guard. He spun around to face the large picture window, and, as his eyes met Saul's green ones, he knew immediately why he had sensed no danger, knew with instant panic how easily, how completely, how fatally, he'd been drawn in.      

"Hey, Doyle." Saul's soft southern drawl was deceptively gentle as he spoke the half-demon's name. "Just thought I'd drop by, say hello. We didn't have much time to talk before."     

Doyle, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps, found himself rooted to the spot he stood on, both by sheer terror and by Saul's mesmerizing, hypnotic gaze.  He was having a hard time believing this was real, that what he saw was truly happening. Saul was literally hovering right outside the window, his hands touching the glass that he had just been scraping on, had just been tapping on.      

Saul leaned nonchalantly against the glass as if he was standing on air, which he was. He smiled at Doyle, a gently compelling smile, which was free, for the moment, from malice or his usual arrogance. "Thought maybe we could talk a little and, you know, get a handle on the situation."     

Doyle, totally unable to move or tear his gaze away from Saul's bewitching eyes, felt his grip on his self-control start to slip as Saul began to take it over. "No," he breathed more in response to that slip than to Saul's words. As in the parking garage, he was totally helpless, totally overwhelmed, totally terrified. At this point in his oracular career, he had no weapons to fight this adversary, was completely and utterly at his mercy. . .and he knew it. He knew Saul knew it too.

Saul reveled in it. He enjoyed having Doyle under his thumb like this; he enjoyed it *a lot*. "No?" he queried, a sly, dangerous smile crossing his face. "I can see I was right, Doyle. We *do* need to get a handle on some things. First of all," he settled himself more comfortably against the window, "*you* don't say no to *me*. . .ever. That word is *not* in your vocabulary as far as *I* am concerned. You got that Doyle?"     

"Please. . ." Doyle wasn't sure what he begged for, sanity perhaps; sanity in an insane situation.     

Saul's eyes narrowed as he sent an agonizing bolt of psychic energy straight to Doyle's mind. Doyle cried out at the cruel intensity of it. "*You got that, Doyle*?"     

The oracle had no choice but to respond, but it was hard to focus beyond the pain.  "Yeah," he finally stammered out. "I got it."

"Good." Saul let up a little and Doyle could breath again. His eyes were still riveted on the half-demon's, forcing him to keep eye contact, as the vampire asserted his control. "Let's see, what else? Hmmm." He gave an elaborate shrug.  "Actually, Doyle, that's the main thing; if you can remember *that*, we'll be all right."     

"What is it that you want with me, Saul?" Doyle asked through clenched teeth. He didn't know how much longer he could endure Saul's mental and emotional bombardment. "What is it that you want *from* me?"     

Saul thought about that a minute. "What do I want with you? Nothing much, although *this* is pretty fun, I must say. I always *did* enjoy a good tormenting. Now, as to what I want *from* you, well," he grinned an evil grin, "that's a different story altogether, and I think *you* know the answer to that as well as I do."     

Doyle knew all right. "And you know that you can't do it from there. So why don't you just let me go?"      

Saul shrugged. "Because I don't want to. Because I don't *have* to." He snapped his fingers. "I know what! Why don't you *make* me let me you go? After all, you are the *one*, right? You should be able to do that, Doyle. But you can't, can you? You don't even know who and what you really are. But I do, Doyle. And I know who I am too, and I know what I have to do. So, no, letting you go is *not* on the agenda."     

Doyle felt his grip on his self-control loosen just a little bit more. He desperately tried to hold on, only to lose more ground. The amount of energy the vampire was expending was incredible; there was seemingly no end to it, no limit on it; Doyle knew that any ground he was still managing to cling to would soon be gone.     

"I'll tell you what *is* on the agenda though, Doyle," Saul went on relentlessly. "You're right, of course. I can hurt you from here, but I can't do what I need to do. And what I *need* to do is to fulfill my destiny, and, hell, tonight's as good a night as any. So, why don't you come on and get it over with? Come open the window and invite me in."     

The idea was so repulsive, so terrifying, that Doyle managed to shudder even through Saul's iron control. It was against the rules, but he said it anyway, in a soft, almost inaudible whisper, "No."     

Saul's eyes flashed violently right into Doyle's. "I thought we had an understanding about that." He then sent a bolt of mental energy that was so painful, so intense, that, could he have moved on his own, it would have driven Doyle to his knees. He cried out, totally overcome, found himself taking a step toward the window.     

"Good, good," Saul crowed triumphantly. "That's it. The first step is always the hardest. Now another!"     

Doyle thought of Cordelia who was somewhere downstairs, looking for that damn movie. He thought of Wesley, who was also downstairs, thought of what would befall them both if Saul were successful here. Totally against his will, he found himself taking another step toward the window, toward Saul.      

Saul laughed again, sent another bolt of pure, agonizing energy into Doyle's tortured brain. Doyle felt his hand involuntarily start to reach for the latch on the window, and then his mind went blank as Saul took total control.

*-*-*-*

Cordelia finally found the movie under a pile of Wesley's papers and books in his borrowed room on the second floor; she had no idea what it was doing *there* The room was a mess; he was probably trying to do some 'Saul' research. It would be too great if he could figure something out.     

Cordelia grabbed the movie, then hurried back upstairs. She had already been away from Doyle much too long. She entered the hotel room, found the main room unoccupied. This puzzled her, for she had expected to find the half-demon parked in front of the TV with either a steaming bowl of popcorn or the yummy chocolate thing on the table ready to go. Maybe he was having trouble finding the popcorn.

"Doyle," she called as she walked to the kitchen. "I found it! I. . ." She stopped as she entered the kitchen, found he wasn't there. "Doyle?"

As she stood there, she was suddenly overcome with that same shuddery, 'icky' feeling she'd had earlier in this very same room. This time, however, the feeling was much stronger. . .and she knew what it was about. "Doyle."     

She dropped the videotape to the floor, turned, ran from the room as she felt panic begin to set in. She knew that he would never have left this room voluntarily without telling her; she knew he would *never* not answer her anxious calls. . .unless he was unable to. "Oh, God. Doyle?"     

He still wasn't in the main room. Cordelia bypassed it quickly, made short work of the small hallway and bathroom, then headed for the bedroom. He *had* to be there.    Her heart was pounding so fast and so loud she could feel and hear it in her ears. She reached the door to the bedroom, paused to catch her breath, then held it as she entered the room. She then stopped short, staring at the horrific scene before her. "Oh my God."     

As if in a trance, Doyle was slowly reaching toward the window latch, his eyes fixed on something outside the window. That something was Saul, who was somehow floating outside the window, his eyes boring into Doyle's, his mind obviously linked with the half-demon's, his voice, commanding, compelling, hypnotic, telling Doyle to open the window, to invite him in.      

Doyle was obeying his every word. His hand touched the latch, started to turn it. . .   

Cordelia then found her voice, her ability to move. "Doyle, NO!" she screamed it as she ran to the oracle, grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him back and away from the window, back and away from Saul. As she did so, she disrupted the eye contact between the half-demon and his tormentor, and, at the same time, broke the vampires cruel mental link with Doyle.      

The sudden wrenching apart took its toll on both the perpetrator and his victim. Doyle, his eyes now closed, was almost totally limp in her arms and was completely unresponsive to any stimuli. Cordelia sat him gently on the bed, knowing that there was nothing she could do for him until she got rid of Saul. The vampire was also reeling from the abrupt disruption of his power; he was still floating outside the window, but he, too, had his eyes closed, was moaning softly.     

Cordelia could have cared less. She just wanted him *gone*. Carefully avoiding looking him in the face, she cautiously approached the window, then told him in a loud, firm voice, "Get the hell out of here, Saul. You're not welcome here and you know it."

Saul opened his green eyes, tried to capture hers, failed miserably. He smiled nonetheless. "Oh it's you. . .the girl who killed my brother. Oh, don't worry," he said as he saw her react to that statement; it was not what she had expected him to say, "I don't blame *you*." He nodded at Doyle. "It's his fault, and it's just another really good reason to hurt him, to torture him, to kill him."     

Cordelia felt sick. "Get out."

Saul grinned. He had just about fully recovered from the breakage of his link; he had also recovered his warped sense of humor. "Oh, don't worry, little lady. I'm going. I can't do much here anyway since I know *you* won't let me in. Besides, Angel's on his way back now. Sure hope he had a great chat with 'Dad'." He could feel her relief at his statement about Angel's return; it amused him. "Actually, I'm rather glad it happened this way. It was much too easy; not satisfying at all." He looked at Cordelia, who continued to avoid his gaze. "But don't think this changes anything, sweetheart. You may have won *this* battle, but I *will* win the war." His gaze shifted to the totally drained, semiconscious Doyle. There was a malignant smile on his face as he looked at his hapless prey. "He's mine, sweetheart. Sooner or later, he's *mine*."     

Cordelia had had enough. "Oh, no, he's not, you. . ." Throwing caution to the wind, she angrily turned toward the window. . .to find Saul gone. It figured. He probably *always* thought he had to have the last word.      

The full enormity of what had almost happened suddenly hit Cordelia. With a sharp intake of breath, she quickly, almost violently, yanked the curtains closed -she'd been the one to open them, she remembered. Gripping the cloth tightly in her fists, she closed her eyes and leaned with her head gently touching the window, taking deep, cleansing breaths to dispel the panic and fear that was trying to flood through her. If she'd been several seconds later, Saul would have gotten in and Doyle. . .     

"Doyle!" Cordelia's eyes snapped open as she turned toward the bed. The half-demon was exactly where she'd left him, half-sitting, half-lying on the bed, his eyes tightly closed, his body trembling violently in response to what he'd just been put through.     

"Doyle?" Cordelia whispered it as she cautiously approached the bed. "Can you hear me, Doyle?" She eased her body down onto the bed, sat beside him, was careful not to touch or jar him in anyway. There was no response from him. His eyes remained closed. He was breathing and he made no sound, but his body's tremors suddenly escalated in intensity, becoming almost seizure-like in nature. The increased activity would have caused Doyle to tumble off the bed, but Cordelia quickly grabbed him, held his violently trembling body gently in her arms.      

"Come on, Doyle," she whispered desperately. "Don't do this! Please don't do this! Have we lost you already? Is that why he left so easily? Did he take some part of you with him? Oh, God, have we lost you to that monster?" The thought was more than she could handle alone. In fact, this whole thing was more than she could handle alone. She gently eased Doyle's still tremoring body down onto the bed, then piled pillows around him to keep him safe. "I'm gonna go get Wesley, Doyle. I'll be right back. . ." She got up, started out of the room. . .     

Though his appearance would indicate otherwise, Doyle was aware of what was happening around him; he was just unable to respond to it. He felt as if he were paralyzed or had suffered a stroke; his ears heard, his brain thought- sort of- but he was unable to react to what he heard or verbalize his thoughts. He could feel his body moving, but was unable to control those movements or initiate any of his own. His body felt drugged into uselessness, his mind felt overdosed and numb. Saul's mental attack had literally left him almost dead. He didn't even want to entertain what would have happened had the vampire gotten in, had gotten his hands on him.      

He heard Cordelia's panicked calls, heard her say she was going to get Wesley. He then knew he *had* to respond, had to stop her from leaving, both to assuage her panic. . .and his own. He didn't want to be left alone, at least not until he had somewhat recovered. . .if he was *going* to recover that was, and he didn't. . .He simply didn't want to be alone.      

He knew he *had* to concentrate. His mind had begun to clear a little, and he could feel his body's tremors start to ease up a bit. It was all a matter of getting what he was thinking to come out of his mouth. It was tough. It took about everything he had; it didn't sound much like him, but he managed to choke out her name, "Cor. . .delia. . ."     

Cordelia had reached the doorway. At the sound of his voice, she immediately turned, ran to the bed, knelt down beside him. She noted that the tremors had lessened, that his face was less slack, that he'd managed to open his eyes to a slit. "Doyle?"     

Doyle actually managed a weak nod. "Yeah. Please. . .don't. . .go. Don't. . .leave. . .me." Every word was an effort. "I think. . .it's gettin'. . . better. Please. . .don't go."     

"I won't." Cordelia moved some of the pillows, positioned herself just above Doyle, eased his head onto her lap, and began to gently stroke his forehand, to run her fingers comfortingly through his soft hair. "Just relax."     

Doyle closed his eyes, felt his body's trembling lessen with each stroke of her hand. "Feels. . .good," he whispered, his voice less stressed, less rough.      

"Good," Cordelia answered, continuing to gently massage his temples and scalp; she could feel the tension leave him, could see the tremors become less and less. He lay quiet under her hands; in fact he was so silent, so unmoving, that, after a few minutes, she became concerned. "Doyle?"     

He gave her a weak smile. "Don't. . .worry, Princess. I'm. . .still here. I haven't. . .slid into the abyss...yet." He was still having a little trouble
enunciating. He opened his eyes, met her anxious ones. "Thanks. That. . .helped."

"Good. You're welcome." Cordelia smiled a relieved but teary smile.     

"Don't. . .look. . .so sad, darlin'. I'm gonna be. . .all right." He tried to move his head a little, winced with pain, had to close his eyes against sudden dizziness.      

Cordelia put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know, but. . .I never should have left you, Doyle. This wouldn't have happened if I
hadn't. . ."     

"No, Cordelia," Doyle broke in, struggling to sit up. And he'd thought moving his head had been hard. Cordelia helped him to a sitting position, then supported him as he leaned his weak, off balance body into her embrace. He managed to meet her eyes as he continued, "You and. . .Angel, you. . .can't be. . .with me. . .all the time. And you. . .shouldn't need. . .to be." He sighed, shook his head slightly, which didn't help the dizziness. "This was. . .my fault, Cordelia. I. . .walked. . .right into. . .his trap. I was. . .stupid. . .wasn't. . .payin'. . .attention." He smiled slightly; it was somewhat lopsided due to continued weakness. "I'm sure. . .glad you. . .came back. . .when you did, though." He paused, looked away for a second or two, then right back at her. His eyes were filled with tears. "You. . .saved my life, Cordelia. You. . .know that. . . yeah?" He again looked away, shook his head. The dizziness was getting better. "He. . .had me, Princess. He's strong. He's so. . .damn strong. I've got. . .nothin' to fight him with. . ."

"Yet," Cordelia interjected gently.     

Doyle answered that with another lopsided smile. He hoped she was right. "It's just. . .I would've. . .opened the window. . .for him, Cordelia. I would've. I would've. . .let him in." He heaved a heavy sigh, closed his eyes. "And if. . .he'd gotten in, Cordelia, it's not. . .just me who would have. . .been killed. You and Wesley. . ."

"Doyle. . ."     

"It's true!" Doyle told her, his voice full of agony. "I can't. . .be the. . .cause of that, Cordelia. . ."

"You're *not* the cause, Doyle!" Cordelia said sharply. "*He is*. He's the one. . ."    

"Yeah, okay, but it's *because* of me that he's doin' this!" Doyle interrupted vehemently. It was the first sentence he'd managed to say without stammering. "I don't know what I'm doin' here, Cordelia. I don't know what I'm doin' or how I'm supposed to do it. And. . .he's just gonna keep comin', Princess. He's gonna keep comin' until one of us is dead." He paused, looked up at her, his eyes once again swimming with tears. "How am I supposed to do this, darlin'? How?"

Cordelia looked right back at him She turned so that she was facing him directly; her hands closed down firmly on his shoulders. "You're going to do this by knowing that we need you. You're going to do this by remembering that you are not alone. Angel and I. . .we're here for you, we're here to help you, and, whether they know it or not, so are Wesley and Gunn." Doyle smiled slightly through his tears at her words; she took that as a positive sign, smiled back. "We're all in this together, Doyle. That's the way it's always been, that's the way it is now. . . that's the way it'll always be." She tightened her grip on him; her eyes bored right into his. "We'll do whatever it takes to get you through this."    

Doyle's eyes were full of pain. "No matter what the sacrifice? Is it really worth that?"     

"You're worth any sacrifice."     

"Even dyin', Princess?"     

"You mean the way you did for us?" Cordelia asked bluntly, shocking the half-demon into silence. She shrugged slightly as if the answer were obvious. "Yes, Doyle. Even dying."

Moved beyond words, for none were adequate, tears streaming down his face, Doyle could only stare at her. Cordelia seemed to understand, smiled at him, and then altered the subject.    

"Besides," she said with another slight shrug. "It's not just about *us*. There are a lot of people out there, Doyle. A lot of people in pain, a lot of people who need our help." She gave an embarrassed laugh. "Look at me, telling *you* this, like you don't know it already. But it's true. And since I've had the visions, I see it all so clearly. Sometimes too clearly. They need us, Doyle. They need *you*"     

Doyle nodded, found his voice, "I know. And I *want* to help." He looked away as his voice dropped in volume to a whisper. "I'm just. . . scared, I guess."     

It was quite an admission for him to make, and Cordelia knew she couldn't even begin to imagine *how* scared. "You mean, of Saul?"     

The question seemed to startle Doyle. He looked at her for a minute as he considered his answer. Finally, he nodded. "Well, I wasn't gonna say that, but yeah, I'm scared of him. I can't imagine anyone who wouldn't be. I was trapped inside his mind, Cordelia. I saw. . .everythin'." He gave a mirthless smile. "Everythin' he wanted me to see, anyway. I saw what's in his non-beatin' heart. I felt what lives where his non-existent soul should be." He shuddered slightly, looked at her, tears once again making his eyes glisten. "He doesn't just want to kill me, Cordelia. He wants to rip me apart." He paused as his voice tremored slightly. He cleared his throat, got the tremor under control. "He doesn't just want my life, Cordy. He wants my soul." He closed his eyes; the shimmering tears fell. "He wants my soul."     

"He can't have it," Cordelia told him firmly. Doyle looked at her; her eyes locked with his. "He won't have it. He won't have either of them. He won't."     

Doyle saw the determination in her eyes, heard the conviction in her voice. He nodded in answer to her statement, desperately wishing it was all that simple. "So, yeah, I guess I'd have to say that I'm scared of him. But. . .it's not just that. He's. . .only part of it. Of course, he complicates everythin', makes it all more dangerous, makes it harder to do what I'm supposed to do. . .whatever that is." He paused, took a deep breath. "See, that's the thing, Cordelia. *That's* what scares me. . .the not knowin', the not understandin'. This whole oracle thing. . . what am I supposed to be doin', how am I supposed to do it once I *do* know, once I *do* understand? All those people we were just talkin' about. . .can I help them? Am I gonna be enough, or am I just not gonna measure up? I'm scared that I'm not. I'm scared that I'm gonna fail miserably, that I'm gonna let you and Angel down," he smiled as Cordelia shook her head, "I'm scared that I'm gonna let *myself* down, that I'm gonna let everyone down. I'm scared I'm gonna let *them* down." He nodded up at the sky as he referred to the *Powers that Be*. "They've taken a pretty big risk in sendin' me back. They have. What if they decide it's *too* big a risk? What if. . ." He paused, looked away from her, then back again. His eyes had once again turned that silvery blue she found so compelling; they were rendered more silvery by the tears that continued to shimmer there. "What if you're right about time, Cordelia? What if there really isn't any? Or what if there just isn't enough? At least, not for me. I think that's what scares me most of all. Not bein' allowed to stay, maybe havin' to leave. How am I supposed to do that, Cordelia? How am I supposed to leave? How am I supposed to leave *you* when I. . ?" His voice broke as emotion overwhelmed him.     

Cordelia couldn't stand to see him in so much pain. He'd been through a lot the past few days, was now putting himself through so much more. Too much. She knew he felt as if he were being torn in a thousand different directions, knew he wanted to be all things to all people, wanted to please everyone all at once. It was too tall an order at this point; he needed to give himself a break. "Doyle. . ."     

With an intensity that was almost painful, Doyle reached out, put his hands on Cordelia's shoulders and looked into her eyes. It was hard not to look away from what she saw there. . .desperation, fear, uncertainty, and pain that ran so deep, she could almost feel it herself. "I want to be with you, Cordelia. I want to have a life with you. I want to. . .do all the things that people who care about each other are *supposed* to do, but I don't know if I get to do that. I don't know if it's. . .in the cards for me." He paused. "I meant what I said before, Cordelia, about not wantin' to live every moment waitin' to die, or...expectin' to die. I meant what I said and I'm not gonna do it, but. . .I'm not gonna go the other way either. What happened tonight reminded me of...how fast things can happen. In the blink of an eye, everythin's gone. That's why you've got to. . .take a risk."     

He stopped, took a deep breath. The expression in his eyes changed, and Cordelia caught her breath at what was reflected there: tenderness, caring and. . . "I love you, Cordelia," he said, smiled as she let out the breath in a trembling sigh. "With all my heart and soul, I love you. I've loved you from the minute I set eyes on you." His grip tightened on her shoulders; it should have been painful, but she didn't feel it at all. She was lost in his eyes, lost in his words, lost in his love. Real love this time, real and true. "And I promise you, Princess. . .whatever happens. . .I'll love you to the end of time."     

It was Doyle's turn to let out a shuddery sigh. Feeling exhausted, yet happier than he'd ever been in his life, he released her, leaned back to look at her. It had felt good to finally say it. . .to her. It felt good to finally have it out there between them. Except, she wasn't saying anything back. She was just sitting there, staring at him, an almost blank look on her face. He again couldn't read her, began to feel the first tendrils of panic. Had he made a mistake? "Cordy?"     

The sound of his voice seemed to startle her; she blinked, tried to focus, and he had to wonder if she'd even heard what he'd said. "You okay, Princess?"

"Yeah. Uh huh." She nodded, a dreamy look on her face. "Say it again, Doyle."     

"What?" Doyle teased gently. "You okay, Princess?"    

That got her attention. She gave him, 'the look'. "You know what I mean."     

Doyle nodded. He knew.  He smiled as his vision grew misty, as he felt a stray tear escape from his eye and run down his cheek. "I love you, Cordelia."      

Cordelia smiled, that beautiful, radiant smile that only she possessed. She reached up, touched his face, gently wiped that lone tear away from his cheek with her thumb. He didn't need to cry. Everything was all right now. Everything would be all right. She was loved. She was in love. Nothing else mattered. "Oh, Doyle," she whispered as she looked into his eyes. "I love you too. I love you too."     

Angel was wrong. The words sounded better when she was awake. "Yeah?" he asked in a voice that cracked and shook badly.     

Cordelia nodded, her eyebrows raised in a 'oh my God, what are we doing, but it's wonderful' look. "Yeah. Oh yeah."

She leaned toward him. He leaned toward her. They met in the middle as they kissed, a gentle, loving kiss, much like a first kiss. Which it was in many ways.     

When the kiss ended, she pulled him into a gentle hug, heard him sigh contentedly as his head rested on her shoulder. . .contented, but also exhausted.  She pulled back so she could see his face, looked straight into his eyes, which he was having trouble keeping open.     

"Sorry, Princess. I. . ."    

She stopped him with a shake of her head. "No, you're not. It's okay. You've had quite a night." She eased him back onto a pile of pillows, got up, started for the wardrobe.      

"What ya doin', Princess?" He was slurring his words.     

"You don't want to sleep in that suit do you?" She opened a drawer, began to rummage through it.     

He'd forgotten he was still wearing it. He looked down at himself, at the shirt that hung unbuttoned and open. Well, half wearing it. "No. Guess not."     

She turned to him, her arms full of blue cloth. "Pajamas," she told him as she walked back to the bed.      

"You bought me pajamas?" Doyle asked in a giddy tone of voice. "You *must* love me."     

Cordelia had to smile. He was cute when he was this punchy. Of course, he was cute pretty much all the time. "Come on, Doyle. Get out of those clothes."      

He grinned sleepily. "Is that a proposition, darlin'?"     

"Not at the moment it isn't," she told him. "Come on now. . ."     

Somehow, and not without effort, she got him out of the suit and into the pajamas; the blue matched his eyes, made them seem more blue. He sat on the foot of the bed while she went to hang up the suit. When she turned around, she found him staring at the window with a look she couldn't read. "Doyle?"     

It was obvious that she'd startled him out of thoughts she was sure she wouldn't want to know anything about. "What, darlin'?"    

"You don't have to stay in here you know," she told him as she walked back to the bed, sat down beside him. She took his hand in hers; it was icy cold. "It hasn't exactly been, well, completely pleasant. If you'd feel more comfortable- safer- down in the room next to Angel's. . ."     

Doyle squeezed her hand, shook his head. "No, Princess. This is *our* place. He's not gonna chase us out of here. It's bad enough that. . . well, he's just not gonna do it. Okay?"     

"Okay." She was glad to hear him say it. It would be a big mistake to let Saul control them anymore than necessary. She got up, went to the head of the bed, pulled down the covers, patted the mattress. "Come on now. Let's get you into bed."     

Doyle grinned as he slowly crawled toward the head of the bed. "Gee, Cordelia. Considerin' the conversation we had not long ago, that's an *awfully* interestin' way of puttin' that." He lay down on the pillow, smiled up at her mischievously.     

She rolled her eyes, grabbed the blankets and pulled them up way over his head, then dropped them on his face. He laughed, then pulled the covers off his face to look at her intently for a minute. "Thanks, Cordelia."     

"For what?"    

"For bein' here. For lovin' me. For everythin."     

She smiled, leaned down, kissed him gently on the cheek. "You're welcome." She straightened, then turned off the light on the nightstand; the room was plunged into darkness. She then crawled onto the bed next to him, felt a flutter of delight as her body touched his. He moved closer to her, put his head on her shoulder, sighed as he closed his eyes. It was then that she could feel the slight shuddering of his body; it told her that he still hadn't quite recovered from his ordeal with Saul. She mentally flinched as she put her arms around him, held him close. "It's okay, you really are safe now. Get some rest."     

"You'll stay?" The words were a sleepy mumble.     

"Try to get rid of me."     

"No. . .thanks."    

She smiled in the dark, both at his words and at the fact that he fell asleep about two seconds after he said them. His breathing became deep and regular, and, after a minute or two, his shivering stopped. Cordelia sighed, for she, too, was tired, but she doubted she would sleep as easily. She was wrong. Five minutes later, she had tumbled into dreamland.