”You were dead!”
”Yes, but I didn’t like the company. Losers.”
--Spike Thompson and Lynda Day
The trio of associates at Angel Investigations were ready with their weapons, and they braced themselves when the door opened. When Angel walked in with a bum by his side, they all raised their crossbows and stakes. He looked at them like they had lost their minds. ”What are you doing?”
”Don’t come any closer!” Cordelia cried. Her eyes wandered to the bum, who looked dazed, but also slightly amused. And there was something about that amusement... that nose, prominent even among all that fuzzy something that didn’t deserve the name of a beard, and the very short stature... She shook her head and lowered the crossbow, not trusting her own eyes. ”I’m dreaming, right? Only, I’m awake, so I can’t be.”
Gunn and Wesley looked like they thought she had lost her mind completely, but Doyle gave a grin that was more characteristic than anything Angel had seen of him so far. ”I know the feeling, Princess.”
”It *is* you,” she said. She turned to the boys as if she expected them to explain it. ”It’s Doyle.” Realizing what she had just said, she frowned and glared at Wesley. ”How can it be Doyle? It was supposed to be Angelus!”
”You thought I was Angelus?” Angel said, finally beginning to understand some of this.
Wesley shook his head while his mind worked frantically. ” ’O angelos does mean the angel, or...” A thought struck him. ”Well, of course they would pick this time to be literate! The messenger.”
”Forget it,” Doyle said, sitting down on the nearest chair. ”I’m not the messenger for anyone anymore.”
”We know. I am, thanks to you,” Cordelia snapped. ”Okay, mistake discovered. For crying out loud, Gunn, put down that stake.” Now that she had gotten an explanation, the full impact of what was happening struck her. She walked up to Doyle and hugged him tightly, only to draw back seconds later. ”Ew,” she said, shaking herself like a cat. She grabbed a chair and sat down close to Doyle, but she didn’t touch him again. ”Ew. You smell like you slept in a dumpster.”
”The alley behind the Ritz,” Angel filled in.
”Okay, that’s just dumb when we have a whole hotel.”
”So I’ve noticed.” Doyle looked around. ”It’s nice. Not as film noir as the old place, but nice.” His eyes fell on Wesley, then Gunn. ”And I don’t believe we’ve met. Which just proves that this is all happening, even though it doesn’t seem likely.”
”My sentiment exactly,” Wesley said. ”I am Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, this is Charles Gunn.” He considered reaching out his hand, but changed his mind. *This* was Doyle? It was hard to imagine that this shaggy drunk was the hero whose death had shadowed Wesley’s first few months in L.A.
”This doesn’t cover the important question though,” Gunn said, sitting down as well. ”What are you doing alive?”
Doyle sighed and rubbed his face slowly. ”I screwed up.”
”You screwed up dying?” Cordelia asked, and Doyle made a grimace at the recollection.
”No, dying I managed just fine. It was coming back that did it. I was supposed to share some big vision that couldn’t be handled by one person alone. The Oracles dumped me off outside the office... and I bailed.”
”You what!?” Cordelia asked. ”I could have died, you bastard!” She punched him in the chest.
”I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to stay away, I was just going for a drink. Wasn’t until I was ordering it I realized something.”
”You didn’t have your wallet,” Angel suggested.
”I didn’t have my clothes.”
Cordelia put a hand up to her mouth to cover a smile, and even Gunn raised an eyebrow. Wesley, in his turn, looked intensely at Doyle, and the half-demon smiled weakly at his gaze. The only one who seemed unaffected by this revelation was Angel. ”I see. That’s... inconvenient.”
”You could say that.” Doyle was clearly disturbed by having to tell this, and his hand went to the pocket of his jacket. ”Damn, I forgot the bottle.”
”Never mind the bottle.”
”I need a drink, okay? I’m sobering up, and I don’t like it.”
”Doyle.”
”Okay, okay! The police got me, and I got scared. So I turned all demon-face, which, as I would discover, was the most stupid thing I’ve done in my life -- both of them.” He swallowed and pressed his hands together, rubbing the fingers with his thumb. ”They took me someplace. I don’t know where, because they kept drugging me. Half of those shots and pills I don’t even know what they were good for, or if they worked at all. The rest did, one way or another.”
Angel sat down, taking Doyle’s hand. ”Get him a drink,” he said to Wesley, the only one still standing up. After a moment’s stillness, Wesley proceeded to find something, and Angel turned his full attention back to Doyle. ”I’m sorry.”
”You and me both, mate.” Doyle sat silent until Wesley returned, and he raised his eyebrows at the can offered. ”Beer? This agency has gone downhill without me.” He made an attempt to grin. ”But it’ll do.” He drank deeply from the can and then sighed, rolling it restlessly between his hands. ”Then... something changed. It’s all so hazy, but I’ve tried to put together the pieces I remember, and I think I went into cardiac arrest. And they hadn’t expected that.”
He hesitated, and nobody said anything to fill the silence.
”They stopped drugging me, and I started to get my mind together again. But... I’d still see things that weren’t real. I could go on for days and be fine, and then get a hallucination without realizing it myself. I think that screwed up whatever it was they wanted with me. So they just shipped me off to a mental hospital. I got Valium there, but no other drugs. I didn’t mind, it made me less scared and allowed me to sleep. After a while, a couple of months maybe, they declared me healthy and kicked me out. Why I don’t know, nothing had changed. I’m still mad.” His voice was bitter.
”I wouldn’t call you mad,” Angel said, knowing full well after his time with Drusilla what madness could imply. Doyle didn’t even bother to protest, just shrugged and emptied the can of beer.
”So when they let you out, you’d rather live on the streets than here?” Cordelia asked, half hurt, half impatient.
He looked at her very softly. ”I went to the office. When I found out that it was gone, and that the Oracles were gone too, I got scared. I started to wonder how many people were dead because of me, figured it was best to keep myself where other people were not.” He smiled lopsidedly, for the first time actually recalling something good. ”Of course, that only worked half-way. The guys have been great.” His eyes wandered from one person to another, seeing Angel’s deep concern, Cordelia’s frustrated mix of emotions, Gunn’s impassive sympathy, and finally Wesley, who still hadn’t sat down, and whose gaze wasn’t so much expressing anything as looking for something. Doyle shrugged again, shaking off the memories. ”And that’s the story of my glorious resurrection, which I made a mess of as usual.” A thought struck him. ”Do you have a shower here?”
Angel forced a grin. ”Plenty of showers. Might even be able to find you a razor.”
”This still doesn’t explain the rest of the prophecy,” Angel said, as they were waiting for Doyle to get out of the shower.
”I’m pretty happy with the results so far,” Cordelia said. ”Even if he does make Danny De Vito seem appetizing.”
”Drugs,” Wesley said, trying to concentrate on the work instead of the sounds of the half-demon using up water. After hearing so much about Doyle, the real thing was slightly surprising. Certainly, Cordelia had never described him as Prince Charming, but it had always been evident that she was talking about a rough diamond. ”Sierk had drugs in his tentacles, and Doyle was drugged by whoever it was that had him. My guess is that they wanted to see what worked on him, due to his half-demon metabolism. Can’t have been much. For one thing, I’ve never heard of anyone using Valium against hallucinations.”
”But it would work against the panic that hallucinations give,” Angel said. ”Yes. It makes sense. New drugs are always a gold mine, but not if the customers react funny and don’t want more.” The thought of Doyle working as a guinea pig to spread drugs to the demon population was sickening. ”But it still doesn’t say why, or what we’re supposed to do about it.”
The water finally stopped pouring, and after a while Doyle came out, dressed in Angel’s black shirt and jeans, both pathetically too big for him. His face was bleeding from the shaving, but the poor excuse of a beard was gone, and although the hair was still long it was cleaned and brushed. He looked like a rag doll made up from separate pieces, but coupled with the smile with which he greeted them, the ensemble showed exactly why rag dolls have been so popular for so long. Wesley, who had looked up for a second and stopped to stare, had finally found what he had been looking for. This was Doyle, the one Angel and Cordy had missed so keenly, even though they had adapted to the loss. No wonder Wesley had always felt inadequate. Shaking off the glance, he turned back to his notes. ”If we only knew who made the prophecy.”
”Well, modern prophecies in ancient Greek can’t exactly be common goods, can they?” Gunn commented.
”The Pythia,” Doyle said absentmindedly. He was checking out the hotel and didn’t notice the stare the others gave him at first. When he did, he shook his head. ”Oh, no you don’t. I’m not having any part of that. I’m grateful for the shower, but I’m not getting involved. I told Angel.”
”Yes you did,” Angel admitted. ”But you’re already involved. The prophecy led to you, the danger must be those who did this to you. Don’t you want to stop them?”
Doyle shrugged. ”What difference would it make?”
”The difference of every next victim.” The vampire’s voice was low, and for a second, their eyes met, before Doyle had to look away.
”The Pythia. She’s a seer, like I was. That’s how we met. When I first got the visions I tried to figure out what the hell was happening to me, and she was one of the answers. She lives in the Hills. Or at least she used to. Snob prophet.” He grinned a little. ”She didn’t get the headaches, just pumped herself full of drugs and hit it off. Really skilled at languages, though.”
”Drugs again,” Gunn said. ”Seems to be all over the place.”
”Isn’t it always,” Doyle said, and then laughed. ”Of course, she was all ’I’m not addicted, I’m destined to do this, it’s for a higher purpose.’ We got in a bit of a fight over that. Takes one to know one, and all that.”
Nobody asked the obvious question of what sort of relationship exactly Doyle used to have with this woman. The first one to speak was Angel, who asked: ”Do you know her address?”
”If she hasn’t moved, sure.”
”Okay.” Angel rose from his chair. The sun would be up soon, but there were sewers leading to the Hills. ”I’ll go see what I can find out, then. Are you sure you’ll be...” Something struck him and he looked at Doyle, frowning. ”You can’t wear that forever.”
”I can go shopping with him!” Cordelia volunteered.
Doyle grimaced. ”Not a chance in hell. Where are my own clothes?”
”We threw them out. I think there were lice in them.”
”Of course there were. Okay, so just give me the money and I’ll do the shopping myself.”
Angel and Cordelia looked at each other. They had a strong feeling that if they gave Doyle any money in the state he was in, he wouldn’t exactly buy clothes with it.
”I can assist him,” Wesley suddenly said, and the others looked at him in surprise. Doyle looked him up, measuring the other man’s clothing with his eyes, and finally shrugged.
”Well, why not. But you just hold the money. I pick the clothes.”
Angel climbed up the sewers at the address he had gotten from Doyle. It was an impressive house, to say the least, practically screaming money. And just as the city map had indicated, the sewer surfaced on the west side that was still in shade. The name on the door wasn’t the Pythia’s, but nothing said there couldn’t be several people living there. He rang the doorbell and a young girl answered it. A colourful dressing gown was swept around her chubby body, and she looked more out of it than was justified even at this time of day.
”Hi,” she said, smiling drowsily at the vampire. ”How can I help you?”
”My name is Angel. I’m looking for Tatiana Illyanovich.” Taken name, most likely, to fit the job. ”Is she here?”
The girl tilted her head and shook it slightly, a sympathetic look on her face. ”She’s been dead for the past year.”
”Oh. But then...” Angel took forward the prophecy and gave it to her. ”Do you know who made this?”
”Of course. I did.”
”You’re the Pythia?”
”Yup. Have been since Tatiana overdosed.” She reached out her hand. ”I’m Polyhymnia Kallifatides. I considered Cassandra, but decided it would be bad luck.” She started walking into the house, clearly expecting him to follow her, and turned around in confusion when he didn’t. ”What are you waiting for?”
”An invitation,” he suggested.
”Oh, why would you...” she started, slightly irritated, and then stopped. ”Oh. You’re the vamp, aren’t you?”
He stared at her, and she stared back, nodding. ”Yup you are, I saw you yesterday. Always do a follow-up on my prophecies. Come on in.”
He followed her inside, through the fancy but cluttered living area. On the way into the living room, she took a pack of cards from a shelf and held them up to him. ”Pick one.”
Slightly confused, he did. ”The moon.”
She took it from his hand and ripped it in two. ”One less stupid card in this world.”
That was certainly a bizarre way of making a conversation. Angel was beginning to feel like Alice. ”Are you telling me tarot cards don’t work?”
”If you can’t see the future in a glass of water you can’t see it in a crystal ball either. People are too fond of rituals.” She sat down on a too large couch and motioned for him to do the same. ”Sierk was too fond of rituals, as well. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
”Yes. I want to know what this means,” he replied, indicating the prophecy.
She got a joint out from a little box and proceeded to light it. ”I hope you don’t mind?”
”Would it matter if I did?”
”Not really. It comes with the job. I’ve never heard of a Pythia that wasn’t a junkie.” She made a grimace. ”And I’ve never heard of a Pythia that lasted more than ten years, either.”
Inhaling deeply, she went on: ”Sierk was in pretty deep shit. He was mixed up with some dealers that handed him whatever dope works on his type of demon in exchange for his opiate. But things got rough, and he was afraid they were going to kill him, so he came here to see what I saw.” Her eyes began to get dazed. ”I told him you would show up, but that it would be too late for him. Having the prophecy in obscure Greek was a safety precaution, as well as a concession to his flare for ritual.”
Angel nodded slowly. ”So what else can you tell me?”
”It’s a no-win situation, you know. Of course, that doesn’t mean you can’t make a difference. There’s some experimentation in the works, customer-suited drugs for demons. Capturing people to be test subjects or ingredients, depending on what they’re trying to do. Your spiky friend was lucky to get away with only a psychosis.”
This caught Angel’s interest. ”You know about Doyle?”
”Won’t be easy for him,” she said, speaking to no one in particular. ”But they will take care of each other, I guess. Some time down the road they might even enjoy themselves.”
”They who?” Angel asked, but Polyhymnia had already moved on to another subject, not listening to anything he said.
”There are so many people, I don’t know who they are. But the dealers... Owen, you sleaze, I should have known you’d be involved. I won’t cry to see you gone.” Absentmindedly, she picked up a pen and paper and scribbled something down. Her eyes cleared a little, and she handed it to him. ”The one on the top is Owen Madison, my dealer. He’s definitely involved. The four below might be, and then there’s a friend of your friend who could be useful.”
Angel looked down at the note. The first five names and addresses told him nothing. Then he smiled a little as he read ”leader guy, Johnny something, behind the Ritz”
”He thought his lawyers were trying to screw him over,” the Pythia commented. ”You might want to check them out.”
”Don’t I always,” Angel muttered. Once again, he’d have to take a look at the dirty affairs of Wolfram and Hart.
”So,” Doyle said with a sigh, ”where are we going?”
”I was thinking Santa Monica Place,” Wesley said without taking his eyes off the road.
”Wouldn’t a second-hand store be better? More clothes for the same amount of money.”
”There’s no need to worry, it’s on the agency.”
”That’s why I worry. I don’t want to owe Angel more than necessary.”
Wesley glanced at him. ”Are you telling me you would rather go to a Goodwill shop?”
Doyle shrugged. ”Some kind of thrift shop anyway. Yeah. It’s not like I shopped at Rodeo Drive before any of this happened.”
”Are you sure?”
”Quite sure.”
”Alright then.” Wesley made a U-turn and they drove to the nearest second-hand store, only pausing at a supermarket to get socks and underwear. Once they got into the dusky little store, Doyle lit up.
”This is great!” he said, browsing through the stacks and hangers. He stopped for a second and looked at Wesley, saying in a low voice: ”I need you to promise something. If I start acting... strange, I want you to get me out without any embarrassing scenes. Okay?”
Wesley nodded, moved by the sincerity of the request. This wasn’t like those flippant remarks he had made in the Hyperion. ”Absolutely.”
Doyle grinned, pleased with the answer, and moved on to trying on clothes. At first he kept it serious, picking up some shirts and two pair of jeans, and trying them on just to see that they fit.
”Hey, Wesley?” he yelled to the waiting Englishman. ”Can you find something like this but a bit smaller?” He tossed out a green shirt, and Wesley caught it and proceeded to fulfil the task. He returned with a similar, if not identical, shirt of a smaller size, and entered the changing booth.
Doyle was much too thin, there was no question about it, and long hair really didn’t suit him. That didn’t change the fact that he was quite pleasant to look at, dressed in jeans like this -- and nothing else. When Wesley didn’t move to give him the shirt, Doyle looked up, and a certain glint came into his eyes seeing Wesley’s expression. Wesley backed out, not sure what to make of it, until Doyle in the midst of his search for ordinary, everyday clothes decided to put on a pair of black leather pants with lacing by the sides. He bent over, laughing, and displayed the backside to Wesley.
”What do you think Angel would say if I showed up in these?”
Wesley coughed uncomfortably, and the clerk, a girl in her thirties with a remarkable likeness to Katharine Hepburn, hurried to say, ”They look great on you.”
”Yeah. ’Oh, Ange, I’m just going to prostitute myself.’ He’d go crazy. Don’t you think?”
”I think...” Wesley said, trying to come up with something else. ”You should buy them.”
”And the next thing I knew I’d be beaten up by some Neo-Nazi. I mean, leather trousers? Practically screams faggot.”
”Oh. Well in that case...”
”I’m not going to wear them.” Doyle’s eyes glittered. ”But can I buy them anyway? They’re only twenty dollars.” He looked like a child in a toy store, and the plea was such, as well.
”By all means, have them.”
They payed for the clothes and went outside. Wesley’s stomach started to remind him that he hadn’t eaten anything yet today. While he was thinking that, Doyle said wistfully: ”I could really use a drink.”
Wesley didn’t know why that would surprise him. From what he understood, Doyle had practically been on a liquid diet even before he died. But as the one holding the money, he felt some sort of responsibility.
”How about lunch?”
Doyle looked thoughtful. ”Okay, I could use some lunch. Still want a drink, though.” It was obvious he wasn’t going to budge from that.
After they had seated themselves at an Italian place, Wesley reluctantly let Doyle order in two single malts, and he watched slightly shocked as the half-demon poured his down before Wesley had had the chance to take more than a sip. ”I hope you’re not counting on getting another.”
”No, that would be too much to ask, right?” Doyle couldn’t keep the acid out of his voice, but then he made an apologetic grimace and looked down on his empty glass. ”I’m not sure I’ll be able to take this. I mean, owing Angel was one thing before, but I’m not going back to fight, and I don’t like being payed for.”
It wasn’t as if Wesley couldn’t understand that sentiment. But the way he saw it, Angel and Cordelia still owed one to Doyle. ”They’d love to do it,” he said bitterly. ”You’re their hero after all.”
Another grimace. ”Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
It could be the lack of sleep, or the number of unsuitable images that kept running through his mind, or might just be that intense jealousy Wesley had felt for Doyle ever since he first started working at the agency. In any case, instead of being sympathetic, he was angry. ”Don’t you think you’re in enough trouble without flaunting your faults to your old friends? To them you might as well be the eighth wonder of the world. I’ve been living under your shadow, and I’m rather tired of it. If all you worry about is your own reputation, I would call you lucky.”
"Well, excuse me, but I don't find it much fun living in my shadow, either!" Doyle snapped. ”I didn’t unplug the Beacon to play hero. I was about to lose the only thing in my life that kept me going, and I wanted to die. What’s so heroic about that?”
”You saved them,” Wesley said.
Doyle nodded, and his eyes were far away. ”Somebody had to make the jump or we’d all die. If Angel had done it, I think I would have killed myself anyway. Better this way, then. Are you going to drink that?”
Wesley looked down on his whiskey. ”Doyle, you really shouldn’t...”
”Well, are we just going to sit here and admire it, then?”
There was no reasoning with him, so Wesley took the glass and drank it all. He couldn’t just pour it down like water the way Doyle did, but to his credit he only coughed once. Doyle stared at him.
”You’re out of your bleeding mind.”
”That makes two of us, then.” Wesley was still angry, and he wasn’t about to budge. ”One drink was all I promised you, and that’s all you’re going to get.”
”Fine!” Doyle said, almost ready to smack something. ”Be my mum. As if Angel wasn’t bad enough.”
The food arrived, and they both silenced, staying that way during the meal. Finally Doyle spoke up, his voice a lot softer than it had been before.
”This isn’t really about you. And I’m sorry... Because I can see how it should be.”
Wesley looked up into the eyes of this alcoholic, unstable half-demon recently resurrected from the dead, this hero that refused to see his own heroism, and the eyes were so blue and sympathetic that he found it in himself to smile.
Angel entered the office and almost shuddered when he saw the four others playing cards together. Doyle as the dealer was dressed the way he always used to. With him and Cordelia on one side and Gunn and Wesley on the other, it was two images of past and present clashed into each other, images that didn’t match. It was perfect, but it was also scary. Cordelia, less interested in the game than the guys, was the first to notice Angel standing there.
”Hey,” she said. ”Did you find anything?”
”I might have,” he said, ”but there’s not much I can do until the sun sets.” He sat down next to them. ”And it seems I have to get into Wolfram and Hart. Again.”
Both Gunn and Wesley looked up. ”Easier said than done, man,” Gunn pointed out.
”Yeah, well, the Pythia seems to think it’s important.” Angel looked at Doyle, who had payed no attention to what was said whatsoever, as if it didn’t even concern him. ”Doyle, I’m sorry, but the Pythia you knew is dead.”
That did make him look up, and his eyes widened for a second before he managed a sad smile. ”I guess that’s only fitting.”
”Forget about the Pythia,” Cordelia said impatiently. ”You can’t get to their files, and you know that as well as I do.”
Angel rose from his chair, trying to figure something out. A thought occurred to him, and he raised his eyebrows. ”Which lawyer was it? Do you know?”
Cordy looked at him with a superior expression. ”No, but I did put the articles in the database.”
”Good.” He began to pace, shoving his hands into his pockets. ”Look them up, will you?”
”And of course, I put it in the database so anyone could look it up, including you,” she commented, looking up at him for a second. His strides didn’t slow down, and she shook her head. ”Who am I kidding.” With a few swift clicks, she was at the article. ”Lucien Martin, she read. ”Do we know him?”
Angel shook his head. ”But they wouldn’t put someone big on a guy like Sierk. Which is good, because the big guys know never to keep anything on their personal computers. The little guys...”
”Worth a try,” Cordelia said with a shrug. ”How will you get him to invite you, though?”
”That remains to be figured out,” Angel replied. ”But we ought to manage. Right now I need to get some sleep. Doyle?”
Doyle looked up, still not particularly interested.
”Would you go with me to see your friend Johnny tonight? I need his help.”
”Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t seem too eager at the idea, but at least he didn’t refuse flat-out. Angel didn’t like the way Doyle pushed him away. He had said he was okay with his old friend avoiding the fights, what else was required of him? Of course, it did seem as if Cordelia got a certain amount of cold shoulder treatment too, even though that could be on her account as well as Doyle’s. Was there anyone Doyle would open up to?
”Have you called your mother?” Angel suddenly asked. It didn’t come out the way he wanted it too, and Doyle looked down at the cards he was shuffling.
”What would you have me say to her? Hi mum, I’m not dead, I’ve just been living on the streets since I got out of the loony bin. Don’t you think she’d prefer the dead hero?”
”No, I don’t.”
All he got was a shrug, but he didn’t give up. ”I think you should call her.”
”Yeah, well, I might have given my life to you before, but that one got crispy-fried and you don't own this one.” Doyle said, dealing the cards. It was a shocking statement, and although Cordelia was the only one who knew him well enough to be truly surprised, Gunn and Wesley also exchanged glances. Doyle realized that he had gone too far and looked up. ”I’m sorry, Angel. I could probably use some sleep as well.”
The vampire nodded. ”It’s okay. Cordy can show you to a room.”
”I was winning again,” Cordelia complained without really meaning it. She sighed and stood up. ”Come on, I’ll get you a bed.”
”Will you get in it with me, too?” Doyle asked innocently as he followed her out of the room.
”In your dreams.”
”Oh, princess, what a beautiful promise.”
It was just bickering, nothing else, but Angel felt strangely relieved. Once they were out of sight, he lifted the phone and dialled a long-distance number.
”Maureen? This is Angel. Are you sitting down? I think you probably should be.”
”Let me guess,” Gunn mumbled. ”Doyle’s mom.”
”But he didn’t want to call her!” Wesley replied, upset at Angel’s choice.
”Well, he doesn’t. Angel does.” Gunn shook his head in clear disapproval and mixed Doyle’s and Cordelia’s cards into the deck. ”I don’t know this guy, but if it was my mom, I wouldn’t want Angel calling her either.”
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