I go home and shower. I don't want to have Angel's scent on me. It seems…sullying, almost. As if I'm sullying the memory of Doyle by smelling like Angel. Now that I've had time to process the night, I'm more than envious of Angel. Before, I'd been envious because Angel knew him. Now, I've a raging jealousy because Angel slept with him. I feel slightly betrayed.
There is one message on my answering machine. Cordelia, calling to ask if I can pick her up for work. I look at my watch. I have time to swing by her apartment before heading back to the office. Hopefully Angel won't feel uncomfortable around me today. I'd like very much to simply put this event in the past. With any luck, Angel will be amenable to the idea.
I stop at Cordelia's apartment to pick her up. The drive from there to the offices of Angel Investigations is about fifteen minutes, so we make small conversation.
"So did you guys kill that Gary demon last night?" Cordelia asks.
"The G'aryk demon. And yes, we were able to destroy it with little injury."
"You guys got hurt? Why didn't you call?"
"Really, Cordelia, it was nothing serious. We were quite able to deal with the problem ourselves. There was no need to call and wake you."
"Good."
"Cordelia, I wanted to ask you something."
"Sure, Wes. Shoot."
"I was hoping perhaps you could tell me more about your visions."
"The PTB sends them, they hurt, what more do you need?"
"I was hoping for a more detailed synopsis than that, Cordelia," I say with a wry smile. She grins.
"What's up, Wes? It's not like we need to research it. I'm the link to the higher powers. Not that I asked for the job." She glares up to the heavens, then turns back to me.
"I'm just fairly curious, is all. Perhaps you could explain them to me more specifically."
"Oh. Okay. Um…well, okay, first, it's like my sinuses get kind of stuffed up. Like I've got a bad head cold, only really fast." I'm drinking in the details. Doyle felt this. "Then, my entire head just, like, explodes with this pain. It's in the front of my head, mostly, but it kinda shoots down my neck, too." Cordelia scrunches her eyebrows in thought. "Then, I get the actual vision. It's like… like I see flashes, of people and monsters and whatever, and then I see enough of the area so that I can kind of recognize it."
"I see," I say noncommittally, even though I'm hanging on the end of each word. "And before you had the visions, Doyle had them."
Her eyes get a little bit sad, and inside me something rages. He loved her, not me.
"Yeah. I guess they were bad for him, too. He always used to keep a bottle of aspirin on him so that when one hit, he could take them right away." A small smile grazes her face, and her eyes take on a far away look. "He used to take a drink of bourbon too, if he had any on him. Or if there were a liquor store near by."
"And the visions…he passed them to you?"
"Yeah. Wes, you know all this. Why are you suddenly curious again?"
"I don't know, Cordelia. I just am, I suppose. So, how did he pass the visions to you again?"
"He kissed me. Just before he died. I'm not really sure how it worked, since I kissed pretty much everyone I could find in order to try and get rid of it. Angel, you, that gross auction demon. Nada."
"So you don't think it was the kiss itself?"
"I don't know. Maybe it only works the once. Or maybe the Powers stepped in `cuz they knew what he was going to do, and they needed to keep the line to Angel up. I don't know. All I know is that he kissed me, and then he jumped onto the big shiny death-thing, and then he was dead." Her voice flattens with sadness toward the end, and I feel a horrid loss again. It seems that when I hear her tell the story, he's really dead, and I'm reminded that I'll never see him. It hurts my heart to know that I'll never know the man I love so wholly.
"Perhaps the reason that the visions didn't transfer again is the lack of response and feeling from the people you had been kissing," I mused aloud.
"I don't know. Maybe. But now…I kinda like `em. They're like, a piece of him, you know?"
"Yes." I really do know. I covet that piece of him, myself.
The rest of the ride is made in silence, which is fine. I need to think. I begin to think about Doyle and his visions; how they were transferred to Cordelia, how she might transfer them.
I feel especially good this morning. After my tryst with Angel, I feel so much closer to Doyle, and I wonder how I can get even closer. I begin to formulate a plan.
We spend the day at the office. Angel doesn't arrive until just after noon, and avoids looking me in the eyes. I believe he's embarrassed about his behavior last night. Either he's upset about using me to remember Doyle, or letting me use him to get closer to Doyle. I don't particularly care which one; I did what had to be done. Perhaps, if Doyle hadn't existed, Angel and I could have had something, but that is not the case, and thinking about the possibility makes me feel as though I'm betraying Doyle. Which I would never do.
"Cordelia," I say gently, at the end of the day. When she looks up, I smile disarmingly at her. "Would you care to have dinner with me this evening?"
She smirks. "Are you asking me on a date, Wes?"
"Oh, heavens, no." I chuckle a little ruefully. "I just feel like cooking something decent this evening, and it would be a pity to waste an elaborate meal on just myself. Would you join me?"
She thinks for a minute. "Sure. I mean, free food, right?" She grins. "Ready to go?"
"All right. Let me just grab a few files to browse through later, and we'll be on our way." We make our goodbyes to Angel, who stays mostly silent, except for a short "See you tomorrow", and we drive back to my flat.
Dinner is Chicken Parmesan, and Cordelia eats it whole-heartedly. It is a good meal. Afterwards, we sit on my sofa, each with a glass of wine, and chat.
"I must admit something, Cordy," I say, looking a little shy. "I know that before, in Sunnydale, we kissed. Unfortunately, it wasn't particularly…"
"Good?" she giggles, heady from the wine.
"Exactly. I can't help but wonder what went wrong."
"Well, there was the whole thing with the Mayor, and the fear, and the packing, and stuff. Plus, I just don't think either of us knew what we were doing with each other. You were the dashing Brit, I was the sexy temptress of a teenager." She laughs again.
"That you were."
"So, I don't know what really happened. One minute, we were staring into each other's eyes." I look into her eyes, fire in my gaze. "Then, we were moving closer." I move slightly closer, as does she. Our breaths mingle between us.
What will she taste like? Will there still be some of Doyle's taste in her?
"Then, we were…" the words are broken off by the contact of our lips. We kiss slowly, and my tongue sweeps inside her mouth. I imagine I can taste cheap bourbon, leather, love, and courage. We slowly part, and she's staring at me. Her mouth is slightly open.
"And still, nothing. Here, I thought it may have changed. I must have been mistaken."
"Wha…?" she says, slightly dazed.
"It's getting late, Cordelia. Perhaps you should go down. I'll call a cab for you. I'll see you in the morning?" I hurry her out the door, anxious to be alone with my thoughts.
Once the door is closed and locked behind her, I sigh. Doyle. I know that, really, his taste has gone from her mouth, had gone the moment she brushed her teeth after he'd died. But in my mind, I can taste him. The way his mouth would have been hot under mine, the way his breathing would have slightly increased in tempo as our kiss deepened. The way he'd moan, low and rumbling in his chest, when my fingers carded through his short, black hair. The way he would sigh my name as I nibbled down his jaw, his Irish heritage lilting the word into a melody.
I let out a trembling breath, painfully aware of the effect my train of thought is having on the bulge in my grey chinos.
I stumble to my bedroom, and undress. I lay down on the bed, over the covers, on my back, and feather my fingers along the white expanse of my belly, imagining that the hands touching me have blunter fingers, and belong to an Irish Brachen demon.
My own elegant hands roughly course through the dark hair at the base of my proudly jutting erection, and my breathing becomes labored as they continue their trek down, between my parted thighs, to the puckered opening behind my balls, tracing circles there as I imagine Doyle would. I grab my cock, and where I would usually use languid, soft strokes, I harshly thrust my hips into the tight channel of my palm, jerking roughly as I imagine Doyle would.
In my mind, green eyes are twinkling, and that small mouth is licking at my heaving chest as I gasp and clutch desperately at pale skin, dark hair, and sanity.
I pant and keen as my orgasm crashes over me, and I lose sight of the dark haired man in my mind as stars flash behind my eyes, and when I catch my breath, the image of Doyle is gone. But I can still taste bourbon on my tongue.
"Wes?" Cordelia asks, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What were you doing?"
My breath speeds in apprehension. She wouldn't understand. "I was just, just wiping a smudge off the television screen."
Cordelia holds my eyes for a few moments, her eyes narrowing, while I do my best not to flinch under her piercing gaze, the effort desperate.
"You know, Wes, you've been acting seriously creepy lately. What's the deal?"
"I…Cordelia, I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't been acting any differently than normal."
"Yes you have. Last night, you were being creepy, and today, you're being creepy again. What's going on with you?"
"I may be under some stress. Not work-related, you understand."
"Stress?"
"I assure you, it's nothing. Nothing I can't deal with, in any case. Now, please, I have work to do." I sit at my desk and open a file folder, attempting to look extremely busy.
"Okay, Wes," she says softly, before finally averting her eyes and walking out the open door, her stylish black heels clicking on the tile of the floor. I breathe a great sigh of relief.
I work on case files for a few hours, glancing often at the small photograph I liberated from Cordelia's desk. When I finish, I leave my office, and head into the foyer. As I pass by Angel's office, where he and Cordelia are chatting quietly, Angel looks up at me.
"Wes? Got a minute?" I step into the office, and give them both a tired smile.
"How can I help you, Angel?"
"Wes…We've kinda…you're sort of…" Angel is obviously uncomfortable.
"What Mr. Elaborate Vamp over there is trying to say is that we're worried about you," Cordelia jumps in, aggravated.
I chuckle lightly. "Really, neither of you has any cause to worry about me. I'm perfectly fine."
"No, you're not," Angel replies with a little more force. He's suddenly found his courage, it seems. Meanwhile, mine is swiftly fading.
"Really, I…"
"No, Wes. Angel and I talked. The things you've done this week…"
"It was earlier than that. You've just become more extreme lately."
"I was simply…"
"You weren't doing anything simply. You shouldn't be…" the fire in Cordelia's snappish voice suddenly dissipates. "Wes, we want to help you."
"Well, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I am not in need of your help, or that of anybody else." I stand up, silently urging my hands to stop shaking, and turn for the door. I can't stay here and listen to them accuse me of things that aren't true. I won't.
"Wes, sit down," Angel growls, and I turn to glare at him.
"I am fine, Angel. I am tired, however, and would like to go home to bed. By myself." The dig is small, and unnecessary, but I can't help myself. Angel hardly flinches, however.
"Wesley, he's dead!!" Cordelia finally cries, her voice cracking with emotion.
Before I know it, I've taken a step toward her, faster than thinking of it, and raised a hand, which is suddenly caught in Angel's iron grip.
"Don't," he says, his voice quiet but grating like steel. Cordelia had flinched back, and is now staring at me with shock.
"You need help, Wes," she says miserably.
"I don't! I need you two to keep out of my affairs and leave me alone," I say harshly. My hands are still shaking.
"Wes, you do need help." Before I can interrupt him, he's plowed ahead, still staring at me with fire in his eyes. "This isn't right. Doyle's dead, and you never even met him. Why are you so obsessed with him?"
I can feel a sudden rage course through my blood, causing it to sing wildly. I know he can hear it, feel it in the grip he still has on my wrist. "This is not an obsession. Obsession is something that affects people who are mentally unbalanced. Soulless, you were obsessed with Drusilla, and with Buffy. This isn't obsession. This is…" I cut myself off before I can say too much, but Angel's figured it out. His eyes widen slightly, and his grip loosens a little bit. Enough for me to wrench my wrist from it, and rub at it with my other hand, massaging some feeling into the limb.
"Neither of you could hope to understand," I finally say bitterly, and turn to leave.
And they don't understand. They can't fathom the love that I have for Doyle, the love that I could have with Doyle. They don't know what real love is. I look down at the piece of paper in my hand. Harry Doyle 555-2018. It's a simple spell. She won't feel any pain throughout it, and when it's over… When I have him back, they'll see what we have together, and they'll understand.
I can imagine our reunion. He'll take one look at me, see the love I have for him, and rush into my arms. We can share a passionate kiss, filled with longing, and I can finally taste him for real. It will be perfect.
I will make it perfect.
*~*~*
She's lying on the table, unconscious. She has to be unconscious but alive for her life essence to form itself into my lover. I will have him.
"Natura Praeteriti Tempi [Essence of the past]
Priscus producis [Bring forth the old]
Osiris operae esse [Osiris I serve]
Orato meo reo facis [Make real my plea]
Mortem ultimam finio [End the final death]
Osiris oratis meo audis [Osiris, hear my plea]"
I'm almost finished the spell when I hear it. Whooshing of wind, thundering of power, surrounding myself and the empty table where Doyle will appear for me.
Suddenly, with the last words, a great flash blinds me. When I open my eyes, Doyle is lying on the table, looking around in panic.
"Doyle," I sigh reverently, moving to touch him, kiss him, hug him.
"Who the hell are you?!" He cries, jumping up and backing away suddenly. "Where am I?"
"Doyle, don't you…?" My voice is hushed. He doesn't…he should be in my arms, grateful to me for bringing him back, loving me back. This isn't how this was supposed to happen. He was supposed to know me, love me back. Feel the same way.
This…he's confused, and he doesn't know me. How can he not know me? After everything I've done for him, to be nearer to him, how can he not know me, love me?
How can this be?
Suddenly, the locked door bursts open, and Angel and Cordelia rush in. "Wes, no!" Angel cries before he gets a good look at the occupants of the room. He sees Doyle, and his mouth drops open, tears forming in his eyes.
"Doyle?!" Cordelia cries, her eyes widening even as her voice becomes more shrill.
"Angel! Cordy! What the hell is going on?!" Doyle cries, rushing into Cordelia's open arms, and they're hugging, and he's kissing her, and that's the last straw.
He's kissing her.
He was supposed to be kissing me. Supposed to be with me.
Rage blinds me as purely as the flash of light that signaled Doyle's arrival, and suddenly I hate him more than anything. I rush forward, to hurt them, hit them, kill them, make them stop kissing, hugging, being. But strong arms grab me angrily, and the enraged haze clears enough for me to see that I'm faced with Angel's vampire visage, his eyes flashing coldly, angrily.
"Don't." he growls, and I know I've lost my friends this night as well as my lover. Suddenly, I want to scream, and I try, but there isn't any sound. I want to cry out my rage, make them all feel it, but I can't.
I want to stop it all.
"You killed her. You killed an innocent woman, Wesley."
I try to block out Angel's words, but my mouth moves of its own accord.
"I did it for him. It was all for him. Let me tell him, he'll understand."
"No, Wes. You don't get to speak to him, not until we figure out what's wrong with you."
"There's nothing wrong with me!" I scream, and Doyle and Cordelia stare at me in shock. "It wasn't supposed to be this way! It wasn't…" And I'm on the floor, sobbing, hitching, crying, and I can't breathe through the pain and the rage and the anger. My hands cover my face, and I'm crying out everything, and it wasn't supposed to end like this.