Somehow I knew that something would happen if I left Faith alone, even for a few minutes. But what I feared was that she would do some harm to herself.
A visiting demon wasn't quite what I expected.
I hadn't even had time to button my shirt after my shower when I heard Kate's voice on TV, talking about Faith, and I was still trying to assure Faith that she was safe with me when something attacked us. As timing went, it was definitely not my day.
I don't like intruders, and I don't much care for fights in my own home. This one was short, because there isn't much out there that can stand up to a vampire and a slayer working together, but it was far from sweet.
The noise ended abruptly when Faith killed the demon, but I knew that something more fragile than my furniture was in danger of being shattered.
She was staring at the blood on her hands, whispering, "No," and I could see her shaking.
So I did the only thing that I could do. I put my arms around her, and I held her.
I told her it was going to be all right. And she kept shaking, and I kept holding her, and saying "Shhh," and stroking her hair, and finally she relaxed enough to start crying again.
I think that I must have been holding her, and rocking her gently, for a long time.
At one point, I thought I heard another sound, over her sobbing. But when I looked up, there was no one there.
DOYLE
I shouldn't have tried to take the stairs.
It's hard to be stealthy when you can't go too far without wheezing. I had planned to take the long way down to Angel's apartment, by the stairs, so that I could see what was going on without announcing myself with every creak and groan of the elevator.
The problem with that was that my body had more than enough creaks and groans all its own.
Once I was partway down the stairs, I knew I was committed, no turning back. When I was almost all the way down, I knew that I ought to be committed, for trying the stairs at all.
I tried to catch my breath, hearing Kate Lockley's voice on the television on the other side of the door. I had almost made it to the door when the television was suddenly shut off, followed moments later by several loud crashes. Without thinking, I flung myself forward toward the door.
I landed on my hands and knees, falling against the door as it opened, just in time to see a dark-haired girl repeatedly stabbing some kind of demon I'd never seen before. Then Angel was there, and I looked up at him from the floor, but he didn't see me.
His hair was wet, and his shirt was unbuttoned, and he didn't see me at all. His attention was all on the girl, Faith, the rogue slayer, the torturer, the psycho killer, and worst of all, the one who had slugged Cordelia.
She was going, "No, no," looking at her hands like a bad imitation of Lady Macbeth, and he was putting his arms around her.
I watched in horrified fascination as he whispered to her, "Shhh. Shhh, it's okay, it's gonna be okay," and held her close, rocking her like a baby. She wrapped herself around him, and clung to him, and started to cry.
I didn't want to see any more. Slowly, I dragged myself backward, allowing the door that I was slumped against to close as quietly as possible. Then it was shut, and I was alone on the other side of the door, on the floor, at the bottom of the stairs.
I looked up the long flight of stairs that I had just come down. A year ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about stairs.
A year ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about a vampire comforting a rogue slayer, except to shake my head in disbelief. I was shaking my head now, all right, but it was only at my own stupidity.
I've done some idiotic things in my life, but this one was probably the dumbest of them all.
I could still hear her crying, on the other side of the door. I could still hear his voice, soothing her, comforting her, as I sprawled on the floor and tried to find the strength to get out of there.
The foolish tears that were starting to form in my own eyes weren't helping any, either, as I looked up at the stairs.
Still on my hands and knees, I started the long climb.
CORDELIA
Doyle had been gone far too long. Twice already, I had started to leave, to look for him. Twice already, Wesley had stopped me.
"Cordelia, if you have any doubt about what Faith is capable of doing to you - "
"All I have to do is look at you. Yeah, I know. I see. But she wouldn't even have to torture him, Wesley. One punch like the one she gave me, that would probably be enough."
"How long have you known?" Wesley asked quietly, distracting me.
"About Doyle and Angel?"
He nodded.
"Not long, just a couple of days. I walked in on them when I went back to unchain Angel, after the Rebecca thing."
Wesley drew in a breath sharply. "He's been back that long? I thought that he had just returned." Then he seemed to hear the rest of what I had said. "And you walked in on them?"
"Yep, all cozy, and you know, they're kind of sweet together, really."
"That must have been horrid for you."
"Well, it wasn't fun. But I'm okay with it now. I mean, Doyle and I never really, you know.... it just never happened. And you are totally trying to distract me."
"Is it working?" Wesley teased gently, and for a moment, he might almost have been Doyle.
Almost. But Doyle was out there, probably getting the few remaining months or weeks of his life taken away from him by Faith, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Looking at me, Wesley asked: "You still care so much for him. May I ask why?"
I was angry for a moment, and then I wasn't. "It's hard to explain. He can be such an idiot sometimes, even though I know he was, like, a genius or something when he was younger, but you'd never know it. He dresses like a pimp, but he's funny, and he's brave when it counts, and he loves Angel, and me.... he really does...."
"I believe you," Wesley said softly. "The three of you...." and his voice trailed off, as he tried to shrug, and then winced.
I had a pretty good idea how he was feeling, but I just couldn't find it in myself to say anything, not right at that moment, when all that I could think about was Doyle.
Then Dennis started rattling things around in the cupboard and thumping on the walls. "Dennis! What is it?"
Wesley looked up, trying not to show that he was frightened. He wasn't used to Dennis yet.
"Is it Doyle?" I asked, frustrated, and Dennis started thumping loudly on the walls.
"Where is he? Dennis, when are you going to learn to speak to me? Your mother spoke to me, why can't you!" Wesley just looked confused at that one, but I wasn't going to take the time to explain right now.
The front door to the apartment flew open. I ran toward it, and looked outside. At first, I didn't see anything.
Behind me, Dennis was still thumping and bumping and making a huge commotion, so I kept looking around. Finally, I heard the sound of a car horn, and I looked toward that.
Partway down the street, I recognized Angel's car, with two wheels up on the sidewalk. I could barely make out what appeared to be a figure slumped over the steering wheel. That was where the sound of the horn was coming from.
I took off at a run. I heard Wesley call out, "Cordelia, wait! It could be a trap!" But I didn't care.
By the time I reached the car, my head was pounding with pain, but that didn't matter either, because it was Doyle, and he was slumped unconscious between the driver's door and the steering wheel of the car.
"Doyle!" I didn't dare open the driver's door, because he might fall straight out of the car into the street. I ran around the other way, and managed to get in on the passenger side, despite the weird angle of the car halfway up on the sidewalk. My head kept hurting worse and worse as I reached out for him, trying to figure out if he was alive or dead.
For a long moment, he didn't seem to be breathing at all. Then, as I grabbed hold of him, he let out a gasp as my hands grasped him, and he started coughing.
He coughed so hard that it hurt to hear, but at least he was still alive. I pulled him against me, and just held him as lightly as I could, trying not to hurt him any more, while he gasped, and wheezed, and kept on coughing.
Wesley had arrived, and stood there looking just as helpless as I felt, while Doyle's body jerked with the force of his coughs. Looking down at Doyle, I noticed for the first time that the knees of his jeans were torn and dirty, and his hands were scraped and bleeding, too. But the coughing was the most frightening part.
"Doyle, don't leave me yet. Please. You promised, not today."
Finally the coughing eased, but he was still shaking, and gasping for breath, and there were tears on his face. It must have been from all the coughing. Or was it?
"What did she do to you?" I demanded, but I realized that he couldn't speak yet. He did shake his head slightly, though, as he continued to wheeze.
Wesley said, "Let's get him inside. Between the two of us, we can manage."
I held Doyle while Wesley opened the car door. Together, we managed to get him out of the car without dropping him on the ground, and if it hurt Wesley to take Doyle's one arm while I took the other and the two of us half-carried him back to the apartment, he didn't say a word.
Wesley and I brought Doyle straight in to my bedroom. We started to lay him down on the bed, and he shook his head just a little again and mouthed at me, "Need to sit up." So we propped him up against the headboard, and he nodded slightly, still taking those labored breaths that hurt to watch.
Wesley just stood there then, watching, as I climbed into the bed next to Doyle. After a few minutes, when his breathing had calmed down some more, Doyle managed to speak.
It was one word, and it seemed to be directed more to Wesley than to me. "Thanks."
Wesley just nodded. In a weird way, the two of them seemed to have begun to understand each other.
Then Wesley said, "I'll go attend to the car. I won't be back right away though, so don't worry."
"Where are you going?" I asked without looking at him, my eyes still on Doyle.
"After I remove the car from the sidewalk and park it properly, I intend to find the nearest pub and get as drunk as possible. I hope that you approve, but it doesn't really matter if you don't."
Somehow, despite his obvious distress, Doyle was able to come up with a decent imitation of his usual grin.
"I approve," he whispered.
And then Wesley was gone, and it was just Doyle and me.
