The Visitor and The Buffybot Adventures Present:
Season Two - Episode Ten
GHOST IN THE MACHINE
“You can’t be serious...you can NOT be serious! My paycheck bounced again?”
“Sylvia, calm down. It was just an oversight, a...a bank error. I’ll call the guy tomorrow...”
“And what am I supposed to pay my rent with, mister? Your lame apologies? This is the last time, Greg...”
“It’s Grievous! All right? My name is...”
“Oh, whatever.”
Sylvia folded her arms and glared, giving her boss all the attitude she could muster via body language. He huffed and puffed for a minute like he was going to say something but, as usual, Sylvia wore him down.
“Look, it’s been slow, all right?” He finally admitted, “...but I’m out there, working the streets...”
“Slow?? We haven’t had a case in two weeks, ‘Grievous’, and if business don’t turn around soon, there isn’t gonna BE a business anymore. We need more advertising!”
Grievous Arkanus scowled. He felt one of his Sylvia headaches coming on. “Syl, we’ve been over this...advertising costs money. And between staff salaries and rent on the office, we’re barely getting by. We just have to wait for our big break!”
“You call this an office? A leaky basement in Pomona? We need CLIENTS, Arkanus, and we need them...”
The sudden ringing of an old, rotary-style telephone on a cluttered desktop interrupted Sylvia’s diatribe. The ring sounded tinny and hollow in the echo of the office. Although for Grievous Arkanus, it was just about the most welcome sound in the world right now.
He gave Sylvia a cocky smirk. “You gonna answer that?”
Sylvia threw Arkanus a withering glare, then turned smartly and clicked her heels across the bare concrete floor to her desk. Why? Why did she ever agree to work for a vampire?
Picking up the phone, Sylvia took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto her face. It had been a while since she’d had to use her phone-voice. But she was a professional.
“Arcane Investigations,” she said cheerily, hoping to Hell this was a paying client calling.
“...we help the soulless!”
“...Doyle?”
Cordelia glared, and Angel’s look vacillated sharply between anger and utter confusion. Buffybot offered up a rather pathetic smile in return, as Doyle shifted, quite uncomfortably, in the ether beside.
“Now, you see,” he began, “...this is EXACTLY the sort of thing I was trying to avoid.”
“Buffybot, what’s going on here?”
Angel stepped carefully forward, and Buffybot felt a mild resource shortage coming on. Things had been distressing enough, she’d thought, with everyone getting all upset at her for accidently turning the whole city into robots, leading to Angel becoming Angelusbot, having Gunn eaten by demons, and Buffybot having to destroy him, dying herself in the bargain. And even though everything was back to normal now, nobody was still dead or ANYTHING, they were still cross with her about it.
Oddly enough, she felt herself starting to miss that now.
“Fast talking, doll, fast talking!” Doyle moved closer to Buffybot, urging her on while Cordelia and Angel’s scrutiny intensified. “Get us outta this!”
“I...” Buffybot gave her cover-story generator a mad burst of power, silently cursing her emotions for making her goof up once again. Silly things, making her go all willy-nilly and violating important programming protocols like that! Bad emotions!
“I meant...doilie!” She came up with at last, much to Doyle’s dismay. “You can set cups and saucers on them? And they’re very pretty.”
“You said Doyle,” Cordelia countered, sounding rather severe to Buffybot’s ears, “...so try again. And I don’t wanna hear from cups and saucers!”
“I don’t get it,” Fred whispered, edging towards Wes and Gunn, “...who’s Doyle?”
“Angel and Cordelia’s first partner in Los Angeles,” Wesley explained, keeping a careful eye on the situation, “...he was the one who gave Cordelia her visions.”
“Yeah, but didn’t he get burned to a crisp, like, ten seconds later?” Gunn asked, feeling rather lost himself, recalling the minimal stories on Doyle he had heard in his time with Angel. “...two years ago? So why’s he poppin’ up in robot conversation today?”
Fred scrunched up her nose, mind racing as usual. “She DID look like she was talking to someone...”
“This is bad. This is very bad.”
Buffybot tended to agree with Doyle, propping up a smile (which was no mean feat, under Cordelia’s laser-like stare), and working hard to cover up for her flub.
“Hey, remember how you were all so mad at me for turning the world into soulless robots? I’ll bet you’d like to yell at me some more for that, right??”
Doyle felt a twinge of guilt at Buffybot’s attempt to take a hit for him like that...though he was also quietly hoping it would work.
“I wasn’t YELLING, I just...”
Cordelia cut Angel off with a wave. “We’re over it,” she said curtly, eyes never leaving Buffybot’s, “...moving onto whole new shouty areas. Now spill, missy!”
Buffybot blinked. “You want me to spill something?”
Behind Cordelia, Angel shifted awkwardly. “I was being authoritative, all right? Not ‘yelling’. There’s a difference.”
Cordelia ignored Angle’s hurt ramblings and closed in on Botty. “OH no! Don’t give me that ‘I’m a robot and take everything too literally’ crap! And don’t flutter those lashes at me, either! It won’t work!”
Buffybot shut off her sensory manipulation program as requested...it had been a long shot anyway. She hated this. Lying to people was never something she enjoyed, especially people she was trying to become friends with. She supposed she could go with the old ‘random glitch’ storyline. Even if it did lack a certain originality.
“Let’s take a moment,” Wesley finally said, stepping forward to try and defuse the situation, “...give her a chance to explain. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable...Lorne.”
Buffybot’s logic processors did a double-take, and she turned in confusion. “Where?”
Wes shook his head, a sudden revelation hitting him. “No, I mean...”
Clearing his head, Wes stared closely at Buffybot. “When Lorne read you, he said that you already had a connection to the Powers that Be,” he said, and Cordelia and Angel took a very sudden interest. Buffybot looked cornered. “...a secret one.”
“Oh, they HAD to go and hire a smart guy, didn’t they?” Doyle fumed helplessly. “Luck and visions suddenly not enough for ya??”
Cordelia slowly turned back towards Buffybot, eyes darting occasionally from one side of her to the other. “Is THAT it?” She sounded incredulous, and took a step closer. “Is Doyle...my God, are you TALKING to him? Is he HERE??”
Cordy suddenly jumped forward, grabbing Buffybot by the arms and staring hard straight into her eyes, her own look a combination of pleading and anger. Buffybot thought she looked very pretty. And just a little bit scary.
“Cordy, wait a minute...”
Ignoring Angel, Cordelia gave Buffybot a shake. “Where is he? ANSWER me!”
Buffybot stammered, and Doyle crossed his fingers. “I...he..!”
Doyle’s hopes started sinking fast, and Buffybot...well, Buffybot just plain gave up. She knew when she was beat. Her head drooped glumly.
“He’s here.”
Cordelia and Angel looked as if they’d been slapped, and the room went totally silent for the next few seconds. Everyone started almost unconsciously glancing around.
“What,” Fred asked, shrinking slightly in between Gunn and Wes, “...right now?”
Gunn swallowed hard. “Are we talkin’ ghost here? Cause man, ghosts give me the heebie-jeebies.” A moment later, he glanced up and around awkwardly. “Uh...no offense!”
“None taken,” Doyle sulked, “...oh, that’s it. I’m DEFINITELY fired.”
Angel stepped closer to Botty and Cordy, a cautious hand probing the air in front of him.
“Doyle..? Is that...where are you?”
Doyle rolled his eyes, and Cordelia took a deep breath. “I don’t BELIEVE this! How could you not tell us?? How?”
Buffybot withered under Cordelia’s questioning, unsure for a moment how to answer. Doyle stepped closer, feeling protective. “Hey, don’t take it out on...”
“And YOU!” Cordy shifted her stare to Buffybot’s right side, eyes turning angry again. “What do YOU have to say for...”
“He’s...”
Cordy snapped back into Buffybot’s face. “He’s what?”
More than a little scary, Buffybot decided. “He’s on my left.”
“That WAS the left.”
“No, MY left.”
Cordelia’s eyes narrowed to give Buffybot a rather crippling glare, and she shifted slowly away to the left. “Allan Francis Doyle,” she started, “...and, oh yeah! I’m ‘full-name’ ticked! Don’t even get me STARTED on why you’re in trouble! First of all, when you HAUNT someplace, it kinda helps if you let them know you’re there! What, don’t they give you a manual for this??”
“It’s all my fault,” Buffybot said, finally finding her voice, “...except...it’s not my fault. It’s hard to explain.”
Wesley walked closer, worrying about the level emotions were currently running at in the lobby. “Do give it a try, won’t you?”
Botty paused, glancing at Doyle, who had a resigned look on his face. “Go ahead, kid. The cat’s well outta the bag...and scratchin’ up the furniture something awful, it looks like.”
As Buffybot listened, Cordelia looked at her, then back at the empty space she presumed Doyle to be occupying. “Is he talking? Is he talking right now? What’s he saying?? Tell me what he’s saying!”
Beside Cordelia now, Angel stared into vacant space. “Doyle? Can you hear me? It’s me..Angel.”
“Oh, I know who you are, ya great lunk! I’m a ghost, not an amnesiac.”
“He told me to tell you what’s going on,” Buffybot explained, glancing at Angel, “...and he called you a great lunk.”
Angel paused, then grinned a huge, silly grin at the insult. “Doyle...”
“So...what IS going on?” Gunn asked, keeping a safe distance back. Ghosts were not exactly his forte...nothing to hit.
“And this had BETTER be good,” Cordelia added, pointing a stern finger. “Lurking around, not saying a word, hanging with a robot, just...”
Cordy paused, sniffling a few times, blinking her eyes. She inhaled sharply.
“I’m just so MAD at you right...aw, crap...”
Despite her best efforts, Cordelia started crying, sobbing into her hand. Angel shifted uncomfortably, and Fred ran in, giving her a comforting hug.
“There, there, Cordy,” she soothed, patting Cordelia on the back, while Doyle started to feel several shades of low, “...it’ll all be fine! Buffybot will explain everything about your friend,”
Fred glanced nervously at Buffybot over Cordy’s shoulder. “...won’t you?”
Buffybot nodded most eagerly, although she was nursing a few private worries on that note. She would do her best, of course...but the honest truth was, she didn’t KNOW everything. When she’d awoken outside Sunnydale, Doyle had just been...there. She still wasn’t exactly 100% sure just why he was popping up for her and her alone, or who these ‘Powers that Be’ were...or, for that matter, why she was back at all. She hoped Doyle would be helping her with everyone’s questions. And her own.
“I gotta go.”
Buffybot snapped her head to her left. “What?”
“What?” Cordy echoed, wiping her eyes and pulling away from Fred, “...what ‘What’?”
Buffybot waited for a moment, listening to Doyle dutifully, then turning, less than enthusiastically, back to the others. “He has to leave.”
“What?” Angel and Cordelia barged forward, frantic. “He can’t! Doyle, you just...he can’t!”
Cordelia nodded in swift agreement with Angel’s babble. “Doyle, please, don’t go! I’m sorry....I’m not mad, really! See? Smiling! Not mad! Just stay!”
Buffybot looked on sympathetically. “He’ll be back really soon, he says,” she told them, relating everything Doyle was telling her, “...he has to go and talk with ‘the big boys’. That’s what he says.”
Wesley raised an eyebrow. “The Powers?”
Buffybot waited a moment for further explanation, then nodded. “He says he has to smooth things over...he was supposed to be a secret here. That’s why I never told you! I’m very sorry, I really wanted to not lie. Please don’t be mad!”
“We’re not mad,” Angel replied hastily, “...just tell him, we...we want to talk. Okay? Doyle? Can he hear me?”
Another pause, as Buffybot nodded to her left. “He says ‘I’m dead, not deaf, for crying out loud’.” She paused yet again, then turned a last time towards the team.
“He says that he’ll talk all you want when he gets back. He says it should be a couple of hours, tops. And...he says it’s really great to see both of you again.”
Cordelia reached over and snagged Angel’s hand, giving it a squeeze, and Buffybot grinned. Beside her, Doyle had vanished from her view. She looked out over the curious faces before her.
“So...does anyone want pancakes?”
The demon ran down the stairs to the Arcane Investigations office, taking them two steps at a time, his pasty yellow scales shimmering a sickly shade in the dim hall light.
But his shirt was impeccable.
“What’s the sitch?” Opening the office door, the demon ran in, clearly excited. Grievous Arkanus was drifting about the room, doing something or other with a variety of files.
“I got your message,” the demon continued, closing the door behind him, “...this sounded big.”
“The biggest,” Arkanus said with a smile, tucking a ream of papers into a folder, “...this is our break, Tony.”
Tony rubbed his hands together in glee, ruffling his Armani sleeves. “Who’s the client?”
Arkanus turned and grinned smugly. “Wolfram and Hart,” he announced, puffing himself up. Tony made a face.
“Wolfram and Hart? Didn’t they fire you?”
Deflating slightly, Arkanus folded his arms defensively. “They did NOT fire me! I was an outside contractor for them! You can’t get fired from being an outside contractor!”
Tony looked dubious. “Well, no, but you can sure stop getting contracts...”
“Got one now,” Arkanus countered, pulling a fax off the desk and waving it noisily, “...one of their lawyers called up today with a job. A juicy one that’ll put this firm on the map!”
Tony reached a hand over, grabbing the paper. He read it over quickly, noting the accompanying picture on it. Pretty girl...
“Surveillance,” he muttered, examining further, stopping at a particular sentence. “...Angel Investigations?” Tony let the paper drop to his side, gaping at Arkanus. “Are you serious?”
“Told you it was big time,” he boasted, grinning widely now, “...there’s some chippie there lawyer-gal wants us to keep tabs on. Maybe even snatch her if we get the chance. Sylvia and Fittle are on stakeout over there now. She just checked in.”
“Dude, you weren’t kidding. The Hart is hardcore evil news in this town, and Angel...we’re talking major radar here.” Tony glanced nervously from side to side. “Do you think...”
Arkanus waited, and Tony stepped closer, lowering his eyes. “Do we wake Proto?”
Arkanus nodded grimly. “Oh, we wake Proto, all right.”
The sun was going down over Los Angeles when Doyle returned to the Hotel, and Buffybot. It had been a longer ‘chat’ with the Guardians than he’d anticipated. Of course, they measured time a little differently up there. And arguing with them? Not the easiest thing in the world, dead or alive.
Buffybot smiled at his arrival, surrounded in the lobby by all the usual suspects. Angel and Cordelia seemed highly anxious, Cordy pacing up and down like she had money on the line. Wesley was poking around with some supplies and scrolls...magic-looking stuff...with Fred and Gunn doing a little helpwork. Doyle steeled himself. He had an idea he knew what they were planning.
“He’s back!” Buffybot shouted, getting everyone’s attention PDQ. Angel nearly jumped from his stool, and he and Cordelia both ran over.
“What’s the word from on high?” Cordy asked, breathing hard. Doyle smiled.
“All clear,” he said, glancing towards Wesley. “What’s cookin’ over there?”
“He says it’s all clear,” Buffybot relayed, “...and he wants to know what we’re cooking. I think maybe he could smell the pancakes!”
Angel and Cordelia both gave Buffybot a look, and she frowned just a little. “Am I being too literal again?”
“We had an idea,” Cordy began, talking to where she imagined Doyle was, “...well, okay, it was Wesley’s idea. But I saw Ghost, what, twenty times? So I take partial credit.”
“We were just thinking,” Angel continued, hands shoved deep in his pockets, “...it was a little awkward, us talking to Buffybot, her talking to you, you talking to her, her talking to us...”
“VERY awkward,” Cordy noted, flashing Angel a glare, “so we’ve got something a little more...direct, planned. If it’s okay! Totally your call.”
“Maybe Buffybot could explain it to him,” Fred offered, moving closer, “...since she can, y’know, see where he is and all.”
“Wesley has a spell,” Buffybot started, eager to explain the exciting plan that had developed. “They want to...”
“Channel me into someone’s body so I can talk with them direct?”
Buffybot looked a little crestfallen at her planned speech being thwarted. Doyle smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I’ve seen Ghost too. Not one of my prouder moments, by the way.”
“Buffybot?”
Angel leaned forward, and Botty turned glumly towards him. “He figured it out by himself,” she said, “...I didn’t get to explain ANYTHING.”
“HE figured it out?” Cordelia smirked. “Sure that’s our Doyle?”
Doyle looked hurt for a moment, then laughed coldly. “Well, that’s for sure My Cordelia. So who’s the lucky channelee? Might as well get this show on the road.”
Oh goody, Buffybot thought with a renewed smile. Something he HASN’T figured out! “He’s asking who he’s going to be channeled into! Can I tell him?”
Angel nodded thoughtfully, and Cordelia held back a laugh. “God, how I wish I could see his face for this...”
“It’s me!” Botty positively bubbled with enthusiasm. “I volunteered, and Wesley said it was okay! Isn’t that great?”
“You?” Doyle’s eyes popped wide, making exactly the sort of face Cordelia was hoping he would make. He glanced about, looking distressed.
“Aren’t you excited too?” Buffybot asked, noting the worried look in Doyle’s eyes. He cleared his throat.
“Hey, I appreciate the offer, really! And I figured the gang’d try something like this, it’s just...well, no offense, but I was kinda hoping for something a little more...masculine. Strictly for familiarity, you understand.”
Buffybot nodded. That matter HAD been discussed in Doyle’s absence. “He says he’d be more familiar in a boy-body,” Buffybot told the others, still not entirely understanding the problem. Wesley paused in his preparations to step closer.
“Understandable. But I’m afraid I’ll need to be free to perform the channeling. And naturally, Angel will want to talk with Doyle himself.”
“Yeah, and no offense? But getting an ecto-injection is NOT on my to-do list. Sorry, man.”
Beside Gunn, Fred glanced about for the invisible guest. “And I would’a volunteered, but I just got my marbles BACK, and plus which...”
Fred stopped, rearing back and sneezing quite loudly. Gunn offered her a gesundheit as she recomposed herself.
“Sorry. I was gonna say, I don’t actually know your friend Doyle at all? And having him inside my body all of a sudden without so much as a hello first would be, well...awkward.”
“It’ll be great!” Buffybot reiterated, smiling at Doyle, “...you’ll see! It’s the least I can do after you’ve been so nice to me.”
Scratching his head, Doyle slowly came around. “I guess...I mean, it’s just for a little while, right? And it’s not like you’re a REAL girl, so that’s...”
Buffybot’s face suddenly dropped into a terribly hurt pallor, and Doyle immediately tried to set a new speed-record for backpedaling.
“What I mean is, of COURSE you’re a real girl! You told me so yourself! In song! Which, might I say, was VERY beautiful and moving! Brought a tear to my eye, honest! Real, absolutely. Better, even!”
A few feet away, Gunn sidled up to Cordelia, whispering in her ear. “Why’s she makin’ that face?”
Cordy raised an eyebrow. “Five’ll get you ten Doyle just said something stupid,” she told him, and Gunn chuckled.
“Man puts his foot in his mouth sometimes?” Cordelia shrugged.
“Only when he opens it.”
As Doyle slowly managed to sooth Buffybot’s hurt feelings, Wesley walked a little closer, wiping some dust off his hands. “I should explain, there ARE risks involved with this procedure.”
Angel turned. “Such as?”
“Yeah, such as?” Doyle seconded, starting to feel just a touch nervous about this. “There’s no chance I’ll get stuck inside her permanent, is there?”
Buffybot gave Doyle another wounded look, and he mentally kicked himself. “Not that you wouldn’t be a WONDERFUL place to get trapped..!”
“Nothing too horrible,” Wesley started, “...mostly psychological, really. Bringing a spirit from the immaterial plane to our material one can be awfully traumatic. Especially in Doyle’s case, if what Buffybot tells us is correct.”
“What?” Doyle snapped back to attention. “Why especially me?”
“Yes, why especially Doyle?” Buffybot added, wondering what she had said that would lead to such a conclusion. And what exactly would be so bad about being stuck inside of her body..?
“Well, simply, Doyle appears to be bound to Buffybot as an emissary of the Powers that Be. That means his spirit, his essence, is still connected with the higher planes. It would...shield him, so to speak, from getting overly affected by certain aspects of our world. Feelings of grief, sadness...they’d be much easier to deal with for him. Is that right?”
“Man knows his stuff,” Doyle admitted, nodding. “Havin’ a direct line to the pearly gates does keep me pretty steady down here. It’s why seein’ Cordy and Angel doesn’t hit me quite so hard.”
Angel listened intently. “So what’s the catch?”
“When we channel Doyle into Buffybot, we’ll be temporarily severing that connection, and fully grounding him in this reality. There’s no telling exactly how he’ll react to that. Some returned spirits experience terrible depression, feelings of great loss. Others react almost euphorically at the sudden return of physical sensation. Like an alcoholic on a binge.”
Cordelia and Angel shared nervous glances as Wesley continued. “However, if Doyle is even half as remarkable as Angel and Cordelia have spoken of him, I’m sure he’ll have no trouble making the adjustment.”
Cordelia coughed loudly, and Angel fidgeted. “Remarkable...absolutely!”
“Right! Salt of the Earth,” Cordy added, smiling a little too eagerly, “...he’s the saltiest!”
“Oh, this is just sad,” Doyle quipped. “Can we get this over with already? I’m not getting any less corporeal over here.”
“He’s ready,” Buffybot announced, hardly noticing the tiny butterfly across the room, flitting towards the second floor. Wesley ushered her towards a small circle he had prepared, and Doyle crossed his fingers, looking her over.
“I hope you’re my size.”
The butterfly flapped it’s little wings hard and fast, carrying it up the stairs where it landed and crawled under the door to the stairwell, zipping up to the third floor. It entered the hallway and made for the open window it had entered through, soaring into the fresh evening air.
It flew across and down the street to a waiting Honda Civic, where Sylvia was sitting, reading an old novel with mild interest. She took a sip out of an hour-old cup of coffee when the butterfly came in the window, perching itself on the steering wheel.
“No change,” it said to her in a strange, high-pitched squeal of a voice, “...they seem to be preparing some kind of ritual.”
“Ooh, kinky.” Sylvia put down her book. “Did they say what kind?”
“I could not hear,” the Butterfly, whose name was Fittle, explained, “...my ears are very tiny. Although I did hear a very loud sneeze from the skinny, brown-haired one.”
“Terrific. Another thrilling update.”
Grabbing her cell, Sylvia hit the speed-dial for the office, waiting while it rang. To her surprise, the machine picked up.
“You have reached Arcane Investigations. All our agents are busy at the moment, please leave a message with your name, number, and the profane nature of the force of darkness you represent, and we will get back to...”
“That’s funny.”
Sylvia ended the call staring at the phone for a moment. “Why wouldn’t anyone be there?
Grievous told me to check in every...”
An engine revved nearby, and Sylvia glanced in the rear-view mirror. A familiar looking, beat-up Winnebago van was pulling up just behind her. She could recognize Tony , waving at her from the passenger side, and there was something large in the back, covered by a gray blanket that just had to be Proto. There was no one in the driver’s seat. That would be Grievous.
“Oh Gawd,” she moaned, sinking into her seat, “...they’re gonna completely screw this up, aren’t they?”
Cordelia, Angel, Fred, Gunn and Wes all joined hands as Wesley lit the candles on the floor around Buffybot, who sat excitedly in a chair at the center of the circle. She was positively delighted to be feeling so useful to the gang, not to mention helping out with magic! Willow had never really let her play with magic much...not that it was a toy.
But it sure was pretty sometimes.
Doyle stood beside Buffybot, a slight case of nerves welling up inside of his ghostly form. “Too late to chicken out, I suppose..?”
“Everything will be fine, Mister Doyle,” Buffybot chirped, “...I hope you like possessing me!”
Behind Botty, Cordelia gaped. “You call him ‘Mister’?”
“You understand, Buffybot,” Wesley cautioned one last time, “...once we perform the channeling, your own personality will be completely submerged. Doyle will be in full control...it could be a little disconcerting, to say the least.”
“That’s very sweet, Wesley. But honestly? I think my personality could kind of use the break. Possess away!”
Wesley smiled, then backed up and spoke aloud, reading off of a weathered scroll and holding a red ruby in the air. “Great Powers...grant us a visitation. We beseech thee, accept our plea, and bring forth the willing spirit of Allan Francis Doyle into the vessel. Bring him forth unto our circle of light. Let the vessel be filled with his soul, that we might seek his counsel and finish what was left unfinished. Let our call be answered. Let our prayers be answered.”
The ruby glowed brightly for a moment, then faded. Doyle sniffed.
“Man, some’a these spells,” he said with a bemused smirk, “...who writes this....WHOA!”
Lifted off his feet, Doyle felt his immaterial form suddenly being wrenched around, swirling and spinning like a top. He felt a powerful dizziness as his essence started funneling straight into Buffybot. As it did, her eyes closed, and her head rocked backwards. A moment later her eyes opened again. She glanced about slowly.
“Was that it?” Gunn asked, confused, “...did it work?”
“Hold on...”
Wesley eyed Buffybot carefully as she peered around. No one said anything until, after a few seconds, Buffybot’s hands shot out and gripped the arms of her chair tightly. A look of fear flashed onto her face.
“I’m not breathing!”
The circle broke up, and everyone unclasped hands and started to rise. Fred approached Buffybot carefully. “Buffybot...you don’t need to breath.”
Still panicky, Buffybot unclasped the chair arms and grabbed desperately at her chest. “No, it’s ME! And I tell ya, I’m not breathing! SOS! Somebody give me mouth to mouth!”
Everyone exchanged looks, and Fred took a step closer. “Doyle...if that’s you...you’re in Buffybot’s body now. She doesn’t need to breath...so, for now, neither do you. Right?”
“That..!”
Buffybot stared wildly at Fred for a second, as her words slowly sank in. “...that makes perfect sense,” she finally said, relaxing. Her face changed from fear to wonder. “Wow...”
Slowly, Buffybot got to her feet, swishing her hands around in front of her face. She threw a few awkward, phantom punches, clenching and unclenching her fists. Angel circled about to look her in the eye.
“Doyle? Is that you?”
Stopping, Buffybot/Doyle spread her/his arms wide, grinning madly. “In the..!”
He paused, glancing at one of his new arms, pinching the outer layer curiously, then glancing back at Angel. “What’s she covered with, exactly..?”
Restraining herself from a slam, Sylvia shut her door and marched back to the ‘Bago, leaning in the driver’s side window with a stern glare. “What the Heck are you guys doing here? I thought this was a surveillance mission?”
“Surveillance and possible capture,” Arkanus pointed out, smirking, “...we’re not messing this one up, Syl. First opportunity that comes, we’re grabbing it. This is the big time.”
“But we’re not..!”
Forcing herself to be calm, Sylvia took a breath and pulled open the side door, stepping inside. She gave Proto a nudge, and he inched backwards, giving her room to lean up in between Arkanus and Tony. Fittle zipped in and perched on the dash.
“We’re not gonna make a move HERE,” she said with a clenched jaw, “...this is HIS home base! Trying to snatch her here would be nuts!”
“ANY opportunity, Sylvia. Whenever and wherever it comes. I’m not...”
“I know, I know,” Sylvia sighed. “You wanna get in Wolfram and Hart’s good books again, I get that! I used to work there too, ya know. If Mister Mercer hadn’t gotten terminated...”
“I was an outside contractor! Outside! Why do I have to keep saying that??”
“What’s the story, then?” Tony asked, interrupting. “They all still in there?”
“Affirmative,” Fittle squeaked, “...Angel and his group are performing a ritual, or perhaps preparing for a party game of some kind. I could not tell.”
Sylvia frowned, then nearly fell over a second later when the van bobbled upwards, as if a huge weight had suddenly been removed from it. A terrible thought suddenly flashed in her brain and she turned, seeing the door she’d left open. And no Proto. A quick look outside spotted him, blanket shed, loping up the street towards the hotel.
“What happened? Arkanus asked, worried. “Where the Hell’s HE going??”
Sylvia glared with studied disappointment at the butterfly. “Fittle...you said the A-word!”
Fittle flapped his wings in embarrassment, and Tony nodded his head. “So...we’re going in NOW, I guess?”
“Doyle,” Angel said, a goofy smile creeping across his face, “...it’s you.”
Angel reached out and shook ‘Doyle’s’ hand, and he shook right back, amazed at the sensation.
“Oh, man!” He said, Buffybot’s voice carrying his words, “...this is incredible! These, whatayacallit, plasticman relays of hers? They’re really not bad at all!”
“Plasmonic, actually,” Fred corrected, popping in beside Angel and extending her own hand n greeting, “...I’m Fred. It’s very nice to meet you, Doyle.”
Switching from Angel to Fred, Doyle shook away. “Pleasure’s all mine, darlin’. I’ve seen you...wait a minute. Why am I talkin’ with this weird accent?”
Gunn shook his head. “Sound just like the regular Bot to me.”
“Exactly!” Doyle shouted, “...how come it’s not my own voice coming outta here? It sounds really, really weird...”
“You’d probably have to access Botty’s vocal database if you wanted to alter it to match your original voice,” Fred offered helpfully, “...otherwise, the sound will just settle onto her regular default speech.”
“It’s so weird,” Doyle continued, staring around the room in awe. He slowly turned, talking aloud as if simply to hear his own, new voice.
“There once was a man from Nantucket,” he started, staring at the ceiling with robotic eyes, cycling through Buffybot’s myriad of vision modes. A voice from nearby drew his attention back to Earth.
“Please don’t finish that,” Cordelia asked politely, wearing a sweet smile, “..it would seriously ruin the buzz I’ve got going.”
“Cordy?”
Doyle froze, staring at Cordelia in silence for several seconds. She was about to say something when he jumped forward, wrapping her in a huge hug.
“Cordy!” He held her tight, Cordy’s hair falling across Buffybot’s face. “Oh, Cordelia, it’s so good to SEE you! God, I missed you. My Cordy.”
Cordelia misted up a little, choking out an emotional laugh. “I missed you too,” she told him, adding, “...and honest, if it weren’t for the robotic strength, and the breasts? I’d be crying buckets right now. As it is, I think I might pass out soon...”
“Sorry!” Doyle released Cordelia, and she took a few quick breaths, still smiling. “Don’t know her own strength, I guess. Wow. Cordy. You...you look SO beautiful...”
Wiping a stray tear, Cordelia straightened up and beamed. “Now where was that romantic eloquence your first time around, huh? Could have saved a lotta time.”
“Cordelia...”
Doyle placed a hand on Cordy’s cheek, staring with longing into her eyes. Several feet away, Gunn bumped up against Wesley, eyes fixed on the reunion taking place.
“I suppose,” he murmured softly, “...it would pretty much ruin the moment if I mentioned that this is really starting to work for me?” Wesley, his gaze equally fixed on ‘Doyle’ and Cordelia, agreed.
“Absolutely,” he declared, eyes never wavering, “...completely wrong.”
“This is a little jarring,” Cordelia said with a nervous laugh, “...I mean, I know it’s you...really you, in there. But I keep seeing Buffy staring back at me.”
“YOU’RE jarred?” Doyle stepped back, grabbing Buffybot’s breasts in both hands. “What the Heck am I supposed to do with THESE?”
Fred shuffled up quickly beside Doyle, grabbing his hands and pulling them down. “Umm...not THAT.” She flashed him an understanding smile, before firing a decidedly less favourable glare at Wesley and Gunn, who coughed immediately and looked away.
Doyle nodded, then swirled about in a flash. “Anyone wanna go for a drink?” He suddenly asked, eyes wide, “...or pizza? Or...soccer? I feel like I could run ten marathons right now! This is absolutely AMAZING!”
Cordy smiled. “So we’re going with the ‘euphoric’ reaction, I take it?”
Clearing his throat, Wesley stepped a little closer. “I think Doyle may need a little while to settle in,” he suggested, “...readjust to having corporeal form again.”
“Take all the time you want,” Angel offered gladly, patting Doyle on the shoulder, “...we’re just glad you’re here. There’s a lot I want to say.”
“I hear ya,” Doyle answered, “...BOY, do I hear you! You should see the ears this girl has! I mean, you can see them, but...wow, there’s so much going ON in here, how does she keep it all straight?”
Fred giggled, and Doyle spun again. “Whoo! Like now! There’s something lighting up! Oh, this is so cool, I wish you could see it! ‘Localized Seismic Event’...fantastic!”
“Seismic event?”
Fred gave the others a confused look, and Gunn moved over. “You sayin’ we’ve got an earthquake coming?”
Doyle shook his head. “Naw...according to this, it’s...’a self-contained dense organic mass, approaching at high speed’.”
A huge smile broke out on Doyle’s face. “Is that incredible or what?”
As an answer, the front doors of the Hyperion practically blew off their hinges, crashing inward. Everyone turned, and saw the enormous, misshapen Proto storming in, two of his four eyes blazing forward at them. It was a squat, almost starfish-shaped creature with dark, leathery hide. Two sharp hornlike protrusions were jutting out of it’s sides, and aside from it’s prodigious gut it looked to be solid muscle all over. It stampeded without hesitation straight at Angel.
“SMASH ATTACK!”
No one could tell what orifice the words might have emanated from when the creature was practically upon them, swinging a powerful arm up and slamming Angel square in the chest. He flew backwards, arms flailing helplessly in the air until he crashed onto the stairs, tumbling painfully down. Gunn started shoving Fred back out of the way, and Wesley ran for the weapons cabinet. Cordy ran towards Angel. Doyle stood and stared.
“Holy cow,” he said, pointing delightedly at Proto and trying not to burst out laughing with excitement, “...that thing is TERRIFYING!”
Tossing her briefcase down on her couch, Lara Markham took a long stretch, happy to be home. She’d taken more heat from Morgan today...she wondered if she was on to her dealing with Iaqista the other day. That seemed impossible, but Lilah always seemed to have it in for her...and everyone else at the firm, for that matter.
Still, Lara had other things to worry about. She was a little concerned about calling Arcane, but Quinn had so wanted a little extra TLC paid to Buffybot. That client of his...
Lara allowed herself a shiver, recalling some of the things she’d glimpsed about him in her connection with the others. He was a scary customer.
But Quinn was the One, she reminded herself with a smile. He knew how to handle this. It was fate. Just like they were.
Flipping open her laptop, Lara keyed in her password and spoke the mystic incantation to access her personal files, switching to the backdoor access she’d hacked into Gavin Park’s surveillance of the Hyperion Hotel. Just a precautionary check, of course. They were only supposed to keep watch...
Lara nearly choked on her own tongue when she saw the attack underway. She recognized the intruders to the Hotel, and immediately regretted picking up the phone that morning. Quinn was gonna kill her.
Lara dove for her phone, cursing all the way.
Angel leapt back into the fray, literally, Cordelia ducking as he sailed overhead and landed near Doyle. Gunn caught a sword that Wesley threw him and lunged at Proto.
“Woo HOO!” Doyle couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Is this great or what?”
“Doyle, get back!” Angel nudged Doyle out of the way as Wesley charged in with an adze, joining Gunn. “We’ll handle this, just take cover!”
Angel jumped forward, firing his fists at Proto, who bellowed furiously, swinging dangerously at his attackers. Doyle, still a few feet back, looked offended.
“Stay back, huh? Not this time, Angel. This time, I’ve got a few battle props of my own, don’t I? Let’s see...”
Doyle started rifling through Buffybot’s program files, looking for something that sounded useful. It didn’t take long.
“Aha! Combat subroutines...Slayer programming! That’s the stuff! Full activation, you better believe!”
Proto swatted Gunn to the floor, Wesley drove his adze into it’s shoulder, Angel pummelled it furiously in the stomach, and Doyle ran in, fists raised.
“Here it comes, boyo...now you’ll get a taste of what Mama Doyle’s favourite son can do! En garde!”
Doyle grabbed Angel hard by the shoulders, pulling him off of Proto and nailing him across the chin with a right cross. Before he could stop himself, he spun around and knocked him across the room with a high kick. Angel came to a painful halt against one of the elevator doors.
“Doyle, what the Hell are you DOING?” Cordelia screamed from the stairs, hustling Fred to safety, “...That’s Angel, remember? Good guy!”
“Sorry! Sorry, I...I put her into full-on Slayer mode, and I guess...him being a vampire and all...sorry!”
Angel scowled and rubbed his chin, getting up and running back, as Proto roared and knocked Wesley down. Doyle scrambled within Buffybot’s battle computer.
“Right, let’s just narrow this down...demons bad, fair enough, but no fighting Angel! Oh, or that green Karaoke-guy we like...just in case. Right!”
Doyle clapped his hands together triumphantly, turning back towards Proto with a grin. “Now where was I..?”
Proto’s fist slammed across Doyle, lifting him off his feet and crashing into the lobby counter. Files scattered, and Cordelia’s purse dropped onto his head. Buffybot’s main programs shuddered a few times before stabilizing, and Doyle smiled again.
“That was GREAT..!”
Angel dropped Proto with a flying kick, tumbling the great demon-beast onto his back. Gunn and Wesley were already back to their feet, weapons ready. Proto moaned and struggled to rise, when a female voice suddenly rang out across the lobby. No one present recognized it...Proto excepted.
“Proto!” Sylvia shouted, standing in the wreckage of the main doors, “...come on, baby, we’re leaving! Hide and run, okay? Hide and run!!”
Proto grumbled an unintelligible response, getting to his feet. Angel, Wes and Gunn stared at it expectantly, ready to attack. It thrust out it’s chest.
“BIG PUFF!!”
Smoke, thick, dark smoke started billowing out of Proto from...well, from everywhere, filling the lobby. Angel and the others soon found themselves coughing loudly, unable to see.
“Get back...stay together!” Angel struggled to shout, happy he didn’t need to breath. Still, he needed to be able to see what was going on. He was relieved when he heard someone opening the back doors to let some of the smoke out.
Sylvia led Proto as fast as she could manage out the front doors and down the street where the cars were waiting. She shooed him into the Winnebago, shutting the door behind him. Then she turned, rather angrily, to Arkanus’ window.
“Can we PLEASE do this professionally? I am not getting kicked out of my apartment again!”
“It wasn’t my fault! And don’t shout at me!”
“Just...get back to the office. Fittle and I will keep up surveillance, like we’re SUPPOSED TO, and we’ll try and salvage this disaster. All right?”
Tony nodded happily, Arkanus gripping the wheel extra tight as he held his tongue. A second later he hit the gas, gunning the van away with a screech of tires, leaving Sylvia by herself. She slumped and started walking towards her own car when her cell phone rang. She cringed.
“Oh gee,” she said, dripping acid as she opened her phone, “...I wonder who THIS could be?”
“That was NASTY,” Gunn announced, coughing and choking loudly in between pained breaths, “...that’s all there is to it.”
“What the heck was that thing?” Fred launched into her own coughing fit after asking the obvious question. Wesley shook his head, waving wisps of smoke away from his face.
“That woman called it ‘Proto’,” he noted, trying to clear his throat, “...but it didn’t resemble any demon species I’m familiar with.”
“Never a dull moment.”
Angel slapped Gunn on the back as he coughed again. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever it was, it may be back. Cordy, Fred, nice work getting the doors open. Hopefully that smell goes away as fast...”
Cordelia and Fred looked at each other, confused. “Angel...it wasn’t us.”
Angel seemed surprised, then looked around. Fred joined him, confusion growing.
“Where’s Buffybot?” she asked, and Angel’s eyes flashed back to the open back doors. A frown started to form.
“You mean, where’s Doyle?”
Everyone slowly started coming to the same realization, staring towards the open doors. Until Cordelia glanced over towards the counter, annoyed.
“...and my PURSE..??”
Twelve blocks away...
Doyle swung open the sturdy door of McGrady’s Pint like a returning hero, grinning from ear to ear, Cordelia’s purse slung over one shoulder. The few patrons and staff looked over.
“He’s BACK!” Doyle shouted, surveying his old haunt with rising enthusiasm, “...Billy, open up your finest bottle of single-malt, the first round’s on me!”
“I’m gonna kill him. Can you kill a ghost? Because I’ll do it!”
Cordelia paced and fumed, trying and failing to remember how happy she was supposed to be that Doyle was back. Fred coughed a little more.
“Are we sure that that monster-thingy didn’t grab her...him? Whatever?”
Angel shook his head. “Doyle was behind us the whole time. And someone opened that back door.”
“Clearly, the shock of substantiation has gone to his head,” Wesley theorized. Cordelia stopped and glared.
“You think?”
“We’ll find him,” Angel ordered, heading towards the front doors, or what was left of them. “We’ll split up and cover more ground. Fred, you’re with me, we’ll check nearby bars, probably the first place he’d go.”
Calming mildly, Cordelia nodded at the suggestion. “We should keep in touch...monster-thingy might be back.”
Angel agreed, and he and Fred started moving out. Cordelia shouted after him.
“Where do I go?”
“Take Wes and Gunn,” he suggested, “...check out those...uhh, those other places Doyle liked to go.”
Holding back a laugh, Angel grabbed Fred and dashed out the front door. Cordelia thought for a moment.
“What other pl...HEY!!”
But Angel was already gone. Wesley shared a confused look with Gunn. “Cordelia?”
Cordy shook her head, anger back on the rise. “I’m gonna kill him.”
Sylvia nodded politely, gritting her teeth as certain less-than-subtle complaints concerning the recent actions of Arcane Investigations were related to her over the phone. Occasionally, quite loudly.
“I understand, Miss Markham,” Sylvia said at last the moment she had a chance to speak, “...and I can assure you, everything is working according to well laid-out plans. We would never DREAM of interfering with any of Wolfram and Hart’s long-range goals involving...what?”
Please don’t ask me about the plans I just made up, pleasepleaseplease...
She didn’t, and Sylvia got caught rather unawares. “I’m sorry, I...I didn’t realize there was a secondary surveillance target, we...”
Listening for another moment, Sylvia scrunched her face around, trying to recall all of Fittle’s reports from today. “Nothing much out of the ordinary, no...she sneezed, I think. Yes, that’s all. I’ll check some of the previous reports back at the office...”
Sylvia stopped, interrupted again. She nodded, scowling more than once at the rather patronizing voice of Lara Markham.
“Of course, Miss Markham. Please, I want to tell you again how important we regard this...hello?”
The line went dead, and Sylvia had to all but bite her tongue to keep from screaming ‘bitch’ at the top of her lungs. Instead she tossed her cellphone on the dash and gripped her steering wheel testily, still parked a block down from the Hyperion Hotel. Where the Hell was Fittle? She couldn’t stay out here, exposed like this forever, not after Proto’s big show.
A car engine revved up some distance away in the direction of the Hotel. After fighting off a brief flash of panic, Sylvia scrambled to open her glove compartment and haul out the small binoculars she stashed there. She slouched down good and far in her seat, peering out the windshield and trying to hide at the same time. It made for rather awkward going.
A black car was pulling out from the Hotel...she could make out two people inside, a man and a woman. That darker-haired girl the bitch was asking about, Sylvia realized with a sudden twitch. Should she follow? No, she had to wait for Fittle. Primary target was still more important.
Syl waited, and a minute later another car started. She had a clearer view this time, easily making out three figures inside, two men, and another dark-haired woman. The car pulled out and started heading in her direction. Sylvia gasped, dropping her binoculars and dropping out of sight. Her heart skipped a beat as the car drove by her, and she released a merciful breath when it kept on going.
Of course, she realized grimly, slouched down alone in her darkened Civic, the blonde was in neither car. And why did she think she was nowhere near lucky enough for her to still be at the Hotel..?
“I don’t know how you stay so thin.” The waitress, an older brunette called Janice couldn’t help but comment, dropping off a second plate of wings and a third pint of Kilkenny to Doyle’s table. Doyle finished off the remaining second pint with a silly grin.
“It’s incredible,” he said, handing over a little more of Cordelia’s money to Janice, “...apparently, I can’t get full!”
Janice counted out Doyle’s change, not quite sure what he was talking about. He practically inhaled a wing before the change arrived.
“Y’see, how it works, if I’m readin’ all this right? Everything she eats gets broken down in some sort of ‘Enzyme Collider’, if THAT makes any sense. The whole magilla gets converted into component molecules for raw materials, or energy!”
Janice smiled sweetly, handing Doyle his change. Girl must be crazy, she figured. Only reason someone like her would be alone in a dive like this.
“Is that fantastic or what? I mean, I didn’t even have a VCR when I was a kid!”
Doyle handed Janice a nice tip, so she didn’t flee quite as fast as she might otherwise have wanted to. Scarfing down the wings, Doyle scarcely noticed Janice’s reticence, or the lecherous stares he was getting from the gin-soaked regulars at the bar. And he certainly didn’t notice the Butterfly that had been tailing him since the fight at the Hotel, currently perched on one of the dusty overhanging light fixtures. All he seemed fixated on was eating, drinking...living!
Finishing off his sixth wing inside a minute, Doyle had to give props where they were due. For a robot, Botty had pretty decent taste buds, though they weren’t quite as keen as he’d like. Either that, or they were having trouble finding good kitchen help. Still, they’d do. And this whole never getting full bit...
Doyle slugged back about half of his fresh pint when it hit him...or rather, it didn’t hit him. The fatal flaw he’d been so unforgivably overlooking in his race for pleasures of the flesh. A dismayed look crossed his face.
“I can’t get drunk!”
A hand slapped him on the back, and Doyle turned to see a tall, graying fellow in a plain suit staring down at him, smiling an ingratiating smile.
“Course you can, darling! I’ll be happy to get the next round if you...”
“Ah, bite me, Leroy, you dirty old bugger!” Doyle dismissed the suddenly crestfallen chap with a flick of his wrist. “Does your wife know you’re out cavortin’ with pretty young things like me? Eh?”
“I-I...”
Doyle turned away, leaving Leroy to shuffle embarrassedly back to the bar. Filthy sod still owed him a fiver after that last round of darts three years back. But that was old news...there was work to be done.
Rising, Doyle spread his arms wide to the bar. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. Janice, you beautiful girl, I wish I could stay and sweep you off your feet.”
Janice blushed something awful, and at least one drink was spilled along the bar. Doyle winked.
“But a man’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. And I haven’t gotten good and ripped in almost three years, corporeal time. Wish me luck!”
Doyle started to turn, then stopped, reached back, grabbed the remaining half-pint on his table and knocked it back in one motion. He slammed it down empty.
“Just in case.”
Angel roamed quickly through the second floor of the Coliseum, the first bar he and Fred had checked out. It was loud and sports-oriented, and as soon as Angel had been in there for thirty seconds he hated it. Probably wasn’t Doyle’s taste either, but they had to check everywhere. He wished he knew which were Doyle’s favourite bars. As soon as he thought that he hated himself for not knowing.
Finishing his sweep of the upper floor, Angel started down the stairs, catching sight of Fred talking to one of the few patrons there that night. She didn’t look like she’d had much success either.
“About this tall,” Fred was saying, motioning with her hands to demonstrate Buffybot’s height to the man she was questioning, “...blonde, wearing a black jacket and pink skirt. Kind of a head-turner, actually.”
Fred giggled, and the man just leaned back, eyeing her. “Sorry. You’re the only beautiful woman who’s walked in here tonight. What do you say you and me...”
“Fred. Anything?”
Spotting Angel, the man Fred had questioned blanched and turned around, cradling his beer. Fred turned immediately, face quickly betraying her results.
“Nothing. She...HE hasn’t been here. I’m sorry, Angel.”
“It’s okay, Fred. He’ll turn up. We’d better get moving.”
Fred nodded, following along as Angel moved to the exit. She hoped Cordelia and the others were having better luck.
“About yea high,” Cordelia shouted, trying to be heard over the din of the Bon Jovi blasting over the speakers, “...blonde, lots of baby fat, perky California voice with a drunken Irish lilt to it?”
The girl in front of her creased her smooth brow, sprinkled as it was with silver sparkles, just about all she was wearing. “You mean Skipper? Because she only dances here on Saturdays now.”
Cordelia sucked in a sharp breath. “No, she doesn’t WORK here. A customer, sometime in the last hour...”
“Maybe he’s...SHE’S in one of the Champagne rooms,” Gunn offered, looking carefully at one of the egresses several of the strippers at the Pussycat Deluxe were leading eager patrons into. “You never know.”
“We SHOULD investigate,” Wesley concurred, earning a gaze of pure ice from Cordy. He looked away quickly.
“We don’t usually give dances to girls by themselves,” the girl told Cordelia, slinking a little bit closer with a sultry look. “But I guess if you really asked nicely...”
Cordy felt the stripper’s breath across her face, and smiled. It was not a happy smile. “Have I mentioned how much I’m going to kill him?”
Settling into his stool, (which took some doing, he found...Buffybot just had to wear a skirt today, didn’t she?) Doyle slipped the bartender a twenty, eyeing his pint of Guinness and tumbler of Jamesons with a hopeful gleam in his eye. The bartender, a Velspath Demon, smiled and passed him a coaster.
Doyle raised the whiskey to his nose, savoring the aroma with Buffybot’s nasal sensors. Not quite the real thing, but it was a lovely bouquet nonetheless. He usually didn’t frequent the demon bars back in the day...he preferred passing as human, as a general rule. But you couldn’t get 100% wizard-enchanted alcohol in ordinary bars. And if he was right...
Without further ado, Doyle slammed the whiskey back, draining it in one go. He waited, and a second later he felt an old, familiar warmth coursing through his borrowed body. Some core programs flickered just for a second, another good sign. Doyle was elated.
“Now THAT’S what I’m talkin’ about, ladies and gentlemen! Wooo!”
Setting the empty tumbler aside, Doyle greedily drank back his entire Guinness in barely ten seconds. A tremor fluttered through Buffybot’s plasmonic relays, giving Doyle a shudder. He turned to the only other person at the bar, a curly-haired female vampire (Doyle had barely managed to put Buffybot’s Slayer subroutines into standby mode upon entering the bar in time to avoid inadvertantly attacking almost the entire clientele, thus spoiling the evening before it had really begun) and waved his empty glass.
“Ah, it’s good to be alive!” A moment later, he corrected himself. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
The vampire laughed, sipping at a martini glass filled with B-positive. “You’re in a good mood. Have a good hunt tonight or something?”
Doyle smiled at her confusion. “Not a vampire. I’m a...”
Stopping himself, Doyle realized he probably shouldn’t spread the robot-thing around. He was having the oddest sensations of guilt every now and then as it was.
“I’m a Brachen Demon,” he only half-lied, “...but, one of my best friends is a vampire!”
“Oh, that’s so nice!” The vampiress half-turned, nodding thoughtfully. “I meet so many bigots. When people call you a bloodsucker, they don’t realize how much it hurts, you know?”
“That is SO unfair!” Doyle slouched onto the bar, snapping his fingers at the bartender. “Ho, barkeep! Another round over here, and give my new friend a refill as well.”
After an irritated glare, the bartender started rounding up new drinks for Doyle and the vampire, who smiled graciously back. Upon receiving their drinks, Doyle downed his second shot of Jamesons in a flash, then slid his stool a foot closer to the vampiress. He could feel Buffybot’s indecency inhibitors and decorum protocols begin to fail under the assault of the enchanted whiskey. He smiled bashfully.
“So...what’s your name?”
“This is a disaster! My afterlife is over, that’s all there is to it.”
Tony flashed Arkanus a patronizing glance as the vampire paced around their small office. The last update from Sylvia had left him in a near-panic.
“Calm down, boss. We’ll find her.”
Tony squatted down on the floor, crossing his legs lotus-style and fishing around in a leather satchel. Arkanus stopped and stared.
“Calm down? We just blew a job for Wolfram and Hart, got it? The biggest evil around! We busted up Ang...”
Arkanus caught himself just in time, as Proto made intrigued grumbling noised from his spot in the corner beside the filing cabinet. “We made a mess of the surveillance,” he continued, avoiding the A-word, “...now the girl’s gone and Fittle’s missing!”
“He’s probably tailing her,” Tony argued, pulling six small crystals out of his bag and placing them in a strange pattern before him.
“Fat lot of good that does us,” Arkanus fired back, “...not like he can dial a phone and call us.”
“Just quiet down and give me some time,” Tony said calmly, closing his eyes. “I’ve made telepathic contact with Fits before, remember? I can do it again.”
Thinking back, a look of mild optimism crossed Arkanus’ face. “Right...when we were helping that poltergeist with those priests who were trying to dispel him. I’d forgotten about that.”
“Just be ready,” Tony ordered, falling into a semi-trance state, “...we’ll have that big, evil Wolfram and Hart endorsement yet. No sweat.”
Janice looked a little uncomfortable as Angel and Fred waited expectantly for her to answer their rather urgent questioning. She wiped her hands on her apron.
“Maybe I have,” she stared, a little haltingly, “...maybe not. Who wants to know?”
A mildly relieved look passed between Fred and Angel. “It’s okay,” Fred started, hoping to get the woman’s trust fast, “...we’re not gonna make any trouble.”
“We’re private investigators,” Angel added, handing the waitress one of his business cards. She examined it with interest. “The girl...the one we’re looking for...her parents asked us to try and find her.”
“Oh...oh, gosh! I’m sorry, you just...took me by surprise, is all.”
Angel stood firm. “Have you seen her?”
Janice nodded affirmative. “About an hour or so past? Strolled in here like she knew the place, but I’ve never seen her before. Drank and ate up a storm, talked a lot of nonsense...is she on medication? Because she seemed a little off.”
“Something like that,” Fred noted, “...did she say anything about where she was going?”
Janice thought, then shook her head. “No...just something about getting ‘good and ripped’. Odd thing. I hope you find her.”
Thanking Janice, Angel and Fred moved off towards the exit, conferring. “So what now?”
Angel thought for a moment. “He’ll want to go somewhere he could drink, obviously.”
“Yeah, but how?” Fred crinkled her nose in deliberation. “Buffybot wouldn’t be able to get drunk, period, no matter WHOSE ghost was inhabiting her.”
“No,” Angel muttered, glancing towards the bar, “...not HERE...”
Angel pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Fred. “Call Lorne...ask him where all the nearest Demon bars are, wizard lounges...anyplace that might serve magically-enhanced alcohol.”
Fred fumbled with the phone, looking doubtful. “You don’t think he’d do anything THAT irresponsible...do you?”
Angel scowled. “I’m a little surprised he didn’t think of it SOONER...”
The vampiress jumped off her stool, shoving Doyle away with a disgusted sneer. He nearly spilled his fourth Guinness, thanks to the damage he’d rapidly done to Buffybot’s gyroscopic control.
“God, gross!” Grabbing her purse off the counter indignantly, the vampiress turned and started storming off. “Keep your hands to yourself, dyke!”
“What??” Doyle stared unsteadily at the retreating demon, utterly baffled. A few other patrons were staring in his general direction. “I am not! What are ya, crazy? How can...”
Pausing, Doyle suddenly stared downwards at Buffybot’s chest, giving it a drunken poke. After several seconds of rather fuzzy deliberation he straightened back up.
“Okay,” he reluctantly admitted, “...at the moment, technically, maybe! But it’s not...and hey, who’re you to talk to me like that, right?? I’ll live how I wanna live! Quit tryin’ to oppress me, you...you OPPRESSOR!!”
The vampiress wasn’t stopping, storming out of the club, but Doyle kept on leaning towards her, nearly slipping off his stool. He pointed an accusing finger towards the door.
“I’m HERE, I’m QUEER, GET USED TO IT!! Ya silly cow, ya...”
Now everyone was staring, and Doyle slowly steadied himself. Another thought was forming in Buffybot’s by now highly sluggish processors, and with an effort Doyle swung about, leaning across the bar. The bartender stared back.
“Excuse me,” Doyle started, head bobbing ever so slightly, “...but do you know any good, enchanted gay bars in the area?”
The bartender thought for a second before Doyle interrupted. “Preferably...with a good selection of Scotch?”
I need a drink, Sylvia thought, and that’s all there is to it.
Two years. It had been two years since her boss, Lee Mercer had been pink-slipped at Wolfram and Hart, and she’d been relegated to trivial background duties. That was when she’d seen the help wanted ad for Arcane Investigations in the back pages of the Daily Scroll. ‘Making the world safe for the forces of evil’...it had all sounded so romantic back then!
So, she’d used a little legwork and creative requisitioning to get herself an ace-in-the-hole for landing the job. Proto, a little something the Wolfram and Hart Mystogeneticists were working on: a hand-made demonic lifeform specially created for the task of killing some big meshugina vamp with a soul called Angel. He was one of the first attempts, one they’d cast off, and Sylvia’d had the bright idea of corralling him to make a nice first impression at the interview. Bring a little muscle to the plate, right?
Turns out the plate was pretty much empty. Almost two years now of small-time cases, delusions of grandeur, and instant noodles for lunch. If this one didn’t pan out...
Driving around LA, waiting for Arcane to call with an update, Sylvia thought back fondly...she wished she were still interning for Mayor Wilkins. Those had been great summers.
Maybe she could still go back to her job as PA to the Ghost King of Sub-America. By God, he’d given her a gold card expense account..!
Sylvia’s head sagged. She needed a drink.
“I got him!”
Arkanus jumped out of his seat, nearly knocking it over when Tony shouted from his telepathic trance. He ran towards him, rather desperate for news by now.
“Where is he? Does he have the girl? What’s going on?!?”
“Hang on...”
Tony opened his eyes, contact now firmly established. “He says hi.”
“Tony!”
“Okay, okay...he followed the girl out of the hotel after the fight. Says she’s been going from bar to bar, just...drinking.”
“Drinking?” Arkanus seemed surprised. “That could work for us...make her easier to nab. Where is she now?”
“She just went into a club in West Hollywood...’Pink Sunshine’, Fits says. But he’s stuck outside...he can’t get in.”
Arkanus turned nervous. “What? Why not? Mystical barrier?”
Tony waited, then shook his head. “Doorman ID’ed him. He’s gonna try and keep an eye on the exits, but we should get down there.”
“Damn straight! Good work, Tony...tell Fittle we’re on our way. We’ll call Sylvia from the car, have her meet us there. This is our chance to contain this girl without interference from you-know-who.”
Tony smiled, leaping to his feet and following Arkanus to the door. Proto muttered something dark and unintelligible and started shambling after them. As they started out the door, Arkanus turned curiously back to Tony.
“Pink Sunshine,” he said, rolling the name around in his head, “...never heard of it. What kind of place IS it, anyway?”
Cordelia walked towards the bar while Wesley and Gunn talked amongst some of the patrons playing pool, although she could already see that Doyle wasn’t here. At least Angel had gotten them off of strip joint detail...she’d never thought demon hangouts could be considered a step- up from ANYTHING, but she considered herself enlightened now. She wondered if it was Doyle’s demon-half that gave him the constitution to withstand that much 80's rock and just general sleaze...
Seeing her coming, the Velspath demon behind the bar tossed his rag over his shoulder and smiled at Cordy. “What’ll it be?”
“Just got a couple questions, sorry. I’m looking for a girl...about my height, blonde, wearing a leather jacket and skirt. Maybe by now singing the odd bawdy limerick?”
Cordelia waited, and a funny look crossed the bartender’s face. He grinned lewdly.
“Ahh...you must be the boyfriend, huh?”
“He’s here, he’s queer, get used to it? He SAID that?”
Angel pressed the phone to his ear, and Fred strained to hear what was being said on the other end as they drove through the LA streets. So far it sounded pretty darn odd.
“Pink Sunshine? Yeah, it’s in West Hollywood...we’ll meet you there. This has...what?”
Angel waited, then shook his head definitively. “No, of course I don’t think you come across as butch! I’ll see you guys there.”
Switching off, Angel glanced at Fred, who was staring across at Angel with concern. “He’s here, he’s queer..?”
“He’s gone to a place called Pink Sunshine,” Angel related, swinging the car around with a lurch, “...demon friendly, upscale. Very gay...and tonight is ladies night. We’ve got to find him and calm him down before this goes too far.”
“I’ll say...I mean, what if he uses Buffybot’s body to...you know...”
“That’s NOT happening. Doyle’s my friend, but he is not running around MY city drunk, horny, and wearing a robot Buffy-suit! Enough is enough. For both their sakes.”
Fred smiled as Angel hit the gas, until something struck her as odd. She looked sideways at Angel.
“How do you know so much about this place, exactly..?”
“What?”
Looking a little lost, Angel stammered momentarily behind the wheel. “I just...I hear things! You know, I just...KNOW things. I AM a detective.”
Fred continued to stare, and Angel avoided her eyes. “Look, this is my City, all right? I know it! That’s all!”
Fred kept staring, and Angel gunned the motor. “Let’s just drive, okay?”
“Evening, beautiful! Buy you a drink?”
Doyle put on one of Buffybot’s best smiles, waving at a passing woman from the second floor bar. She gave him a quick look, then turned up her nose and kept walking, soon disappearing into a group. Doyle looked momentarily hurt, then turned and spotted another woman approaching...two, in fact.
“Ladies! Nice to see you...why don’t you take a load off and join me for a...for a drink..?”
The women just passed Doyle by with a hint of laughter, and he watched them go with a sinking heart. Stuck up, that’s what this place was.
Dejected, Doyle spun back around on his stool and looked glumly at the half-empty pint he’d been nursing for the last while. He should probably have finished it by now, actually...but carousing was hard work. And that nagging sense of guilt was getting just a little bit louder.
A woman’s voice broke Doyle from his rumination. “Having a rough night?”
Doyle looked up at the bartender, a stunner of a gal who he pegged as Spanish who’d been slinking rather efficiently from one side of the bar to the other since he’d arrived. She was the kind of pretty that normally made him effectively nonverbal.
But, she was a bartender. And Doyle could deal with bartenders.
“I just don’t get it,” he moaned in her direction, poking at his glass, “...somehow, I thought this would be a whole lot easier, y’know? Don’t know what came over me...”
The bartender smiled. “Cheer up, sweetie. The night’s young.”
“Yeah, but so am I!” Doyle protested, sitting up straight. “I’m young, I’m pretty...look at this hair! Like gold, right?”
Doyle swung to the side and glared at the packed dance floor. “So what’s with the citywide cold shoulder? LOOK at some of the hags gettin’ action out here! For the love’a Saint Patrick, even the Chaos Demoness is gettin’ play!”
Staring out over Doyle’s head, the bartender raised a curious eyebrow. “Yeah, but...her antlers ARE pretty impressive.”
“Maybe. But that slime...”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, honey.” Setting down an empty pitcher, the bartender leaned across the bar towards Doyle, who turned slowly back. “Listen, you want some free advice?”
“Hey, bring it on! I’m dyin’ over here.”
Grinning, the bartender edged a hair closer. “First of all..don’t call them ‘hags’, okay?”
Another flutter of guilt snuck into Doyle’s brain courtesy of Buffybot’s emotion generators, and he definitely felt it this time. “Right. Sorry about that.”
“Second,” she continued, appraising Doyle judiciously, “...your approach is all wrong. Most of the girls probably think you’re straight.”
“Yeah, but I AM...”
Doyle stopped himself, backtracking fast. “I mean, I’m NOT! Gay IS my straight, is the thing, that’s how out there I am!”
The bartender just laughed, and Doyle felt Buffybot’s blushing function self-activating. He slumped down again.
“You’re a little new to this, aren’t you?”
Doyle reluctantly nodded, grabbing his glass. “In more’n a few ways,” he noted, taking a long drink. “So what’s givin’ me away?”
“Well, you’re coming on a little strong, for one,” she started, pouring a pitcher for a couple to Doyle’s right, “...plus, there’s your whole look.”
Doyle looked confused. He had never been much of a fashion plate, Cordy’d told him so more than enough times. But she’d bought some of this outfit herself!
“Don’t get me wrong,” the bartender continued, seeing Doyle’s wounded face, “...you’re gorgeous. But you look like a prom queen here to surprise her boyfriend by picking up some girl for a three-way.”
Wow, Doyle thought...some people really had much, much more exciting social lives than he’d managed to cobble together during his life. He finished the rest of his pint as the bartender settled up with her other customers.
“So, what? People don’t like the prom queen any more?” His eyes drifted off to an empty corner of ceiling. “I know I wanted to nail mine...”
Grinning, the bartender glanced at Doyle’s empty glass. “Get you another?”
Doyle slouched. “I don’t know...I suppose I should just get outta here. Don’t know what I’m DOING here...”
The words rang awfully true for Doyle, as more and more of the guilt that his enchanted alcohol binge had been keeping at bay started gaining a stronger foothold. What WAS he doing here? Running around, doing God knows what damage to Buffybot’s body, to say nothing of her reputation, probably getting Angel and Cordy worried sick (or ticked to high Heaven, more like)...and how was he gonna pay Cordelia back? Not like he could work it off cleaning dishes anymore.
He’d just gotten so carried away, being back in a body...but no more. Time to put the kid stuff away and get back to business. The things that REALLY matter. He’d get out of here, go back to the Hotel, and make things right. Mrs.Doyle’s number one son wasn’t gonna make a COMPLETE hash out of...
A fresh pint of Guinness hit the bar in front of Doyle, and his eyes shot up. He stared in sudden confusion.
“What’s this?”
“That one’s on me,” the bartender said, walking slowly away to serve another customer, but giving Doyle a long look as she left.
“...I like prom queens just fine.”
She flashed him a wink before finally turning, and Doyle just sat there and stared, dumbfounded. What had he just been thinking about..?
Sylvia pulled up outside the club just before one, and was the first to arrive. Her fairly random driving that evening had landed her pretty close to the area, which she considered fortunate. Maybe she’d be able to salvage the situation before Arkanus and the other boobs showed up to screw it up worse. She grabbed her purse and hustled outside, happy not to see a lineup, just the usual smokers’ crowd.
“Fittle,” she shouted in a hoarse stage whisper, trying not to attract undue attention, “...Fits! Where are you??”
A few seconds passed before the butterfly swooped up and hovered in front of Sylvia. He seemed pretty annoyed.
“About time some help showed up! My wings are exhausted!”
Sylvia opened up her purse and waved. “Hop in...I’ll smuggle ya inside and we can find this gal lickety split. She hasn’t skedaddled yet, has she?”
“Don’t think so,” Fittle relayed, crawling into the purse, “...not that I’ve been able to look in, thanks to that sonofabitch at the door.”
“Don’t sweat it, Fittle darlin’. We’ll have this gal back under the scope in no time.”
“You and me, babe!”
Snapping Fittle in, Sylvia checked her hair and hustled to the door, where she flashed the doorman a big smile.
“Evenin’, honey. Any cover?”
“Free tonight. Go right in.” the doorman said with a smile, holding the door. Sylvia frowned just a little that he hadn’t carded her, stepping inside. The place was crowded, that was for sure. Two floors...this could take a few minutes.
Sylvia was about to let Fittle out when she spotted the washroom door, and decided to scoot inside. What the heck, she thought, it was as good a place to start as any. Plus, she really needed to pee.
The washroom door had barely fallen shut behind her when Doyle and the bartender walked by, heading for the door, Doyle following her. The doorman spotted them and smiled.
“Early night, Verity?”
The bartender, Verity, smiled. “Sarah’s got it upstairs. I’m just going to drive my friend here home. Have a good night, Jerry.”
“See you, Ver.”
Verity stepped out towards her car, Jerry watching her and Doyle go. After a few feet, Doyle turned back to the doorman, smiling foolishly and giving him two enthusiastic thumbs up, then spun about and caught back up to Verity. Jerry shook his head. Ver sure could pick the weird ones.
Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn pulled up only a few steps away from where Doyle and Verity were pulling away in a fire red Caddy, jumping out and heading for the entrance. They were about to go inside when Jerry stopped them.
“Hold up...can’t let you all in, sorry.”
Cordelia stood and stared. “What, is there a cover?” She turned back to the others. “Can somebody pay that? It turns out somebody stole my purse tonight.”
“No cover,” he corrected, “...but it’s ladies only tonight. You’re cool, but the guys’ll have to stay out here. Sorry.”
“Oh, come ON...”
“No, it’s cool,” Gunn chimed in, “...not like we all need to go anyway. You go in, find Doyle, bring him...HER out, we’re all good.”
“Yes, Cordy, we’re fine out here, really. Not exactly our element besides.”
“Strip clubs more your speed, huh?”
Casting a final venemous glare, Cordelia left Wes and Gunn red-faced at the door while she headed inside. Jerry watched them for a second, pondering Gunn’s him/her slip. ‘Doyle’ didn’t sound like any of the Trannies HE knew...
Across the street, Arkanus’ dilapidated Winnebago puttered to a halt with an embarrassed wheeze. He and Tony looked out the window towards the club, spotting Sylvia’s ride along the way. Proto shifted in the back.
“Syl’s already here,” Tony noted, “...what’s the plan?”
“We wait,” Arkanus ordered, “...she’ll send Fits when she’s scoped the girl and the layout. Then we move in. No mistakes this time.”
“Tasty sweet,” Tony said with a smile, letting his telepathic contact with Fittle lapse at last. He let out a breath.
“Man...mind to mind contact gets to be a real drag after a while. Like jetlag or something.”
“The greater evil, my friend...the greater evil. You’re doing a good job tonight.”
“Hey, thanks, man! That’s really nice to hear sometimes. Say, do you think now would be a good time...”
The back door slid open suddenly, and the van bobbed upwards again. Tony and Arkanus looked back just in time to se Proto loping out of the ‘Bago and across the street. Turning again, Arkanus took a closer look at the front door...and who was there.
“Oh crap.”
Tony saw too, even as Arkanus started bolting from the front seat, following Proto. Tony cursed and fumbled with his seat belt. So much for talking about a raise NOW.
One minute earlier, Angel and Fred ran across the front lot to the door, Angel having parked his car in a nearby lot for fear of not finding a good space otherwise. Fred had asked him why he thought it would be busy, and he just muttered something about intuition and clammed up. She’d stared some more then.
“Angel!” Wesley spotted him first, waving. He and Gunn were just taking their first steps away from Jerry at the door. Angel spotted Cordy’s car as he and Fred both arrived.
“How’d you get such a good spot? This place is ALWAYS...I mean, that...that’s a good parking spot.”
“Are you kidding?” Gunn laughed. “Cordy and the parking gods are TIGHT. Think she makes sacrifices or something.”
“She’s inside now,” Wesley added, nodding towards the club, “..we had to stay out here because...”
“It’s Ladies’ night,” Fred finished, giving Angel a funny look, “...he knows.”
“I’m a detective!”
“I’m gonna go in and help Cordelia search,” Fred continued, all of them walking her towards the door, “...we shouldn’t be long.”
“Evening, Miss,” Jerry said, smiling at Fred before noticing the others. “Hey, Angel! Good to see you, man! Long time no see.”
Jerry walked over and shook Angel’s hand heartily. Angel shrank a little. “Jerry...hiya. Yeah, we’re just...”
“Hey, these guys with you? My bad, gentlemen, you can go right in. No problem.”
Wes and Gunn joined Fred in the funny looks, beneath which Angel seemed to be flustering badly.
“...What?”
He was almost glad when Proto tackled him, driving him into the front wall of the building.
“You sure? She’s on medication, and it’s really important that I find her. Look again.”
Sylvia shoved the picture Wolfram and Hart had faxed them into Sarah’s face, leaning across the second floor bar. This whole day was giving her a migraine...she wondered what was so special about this little twinkie anyway, not that she was gonna call that Markham woman up and ask. All she’d told them was that she was ‘stronger than she looked’.
“Sorry, no.” Sarah really didn’t pay the picture much heed, still ticked at having to cover for one of Verity’s little escapades again. “Did you want a drink?”
Slumping defeatedly, Sylvia shook her head no when another woman shoved in beside of her, dark haired and looking just about as annoyed as Syl herself. She leaned across the bar.
“Excuse me,” she started, “...I’m looking for a friend of mine...”
Cordelia was cut off by a loud crash, and the whole building seemed to shake for a few seconds. She stumbled into Sylvia, who dropped her picture on the bartop. A few shouts and screams rang out, and the record skipped a beat, but otherwise everything seemed stable enough. Sylvia shook the shock out of her head.
“Sorry about that,” Cordy told her, steadying herself on the bar, “...what, did someone just drive a truck into us?”
“California,” Sylvia said, guessing wrong, “...darn quakes are just part of the...”
Looking up, Sylvia noticed Cordelia staring at the picture she’d dropped on the bar, of Buffybot. Then she looked up at Sylvia with accusing eyes, and Syl immediately got the impression she was busted.
“Uh...don’t suppose you’ve seen her, have you?”
Sylvia turned and ran before Cordy could answer.
Angel cracked the facade on the outer wall of the club and shattered a good chunk of the brick beneath it with his body, driven by the enraged Proto, his brain hardwired to hate and kill Angel since his creation at WR&H labs. Proto didn’t really get all that, of course, just that he wanted to kill this vampire for SOME reason. That seemed to be enough for him.
Proto’s charge knocked Jerry and Wesley for a loop, Gunn barely seeing the living weapon’s attack path in time to dive, shoving Fred inside as he fell. She kept her footing, to her credit, and enough of her wits to check and see where the creature had suddenly sprung from a second time.
She spotted the van across the street, in about the direction the creature’s sprint should have started. There were two others approaching from that direction, fast. At least one of them was a demon...scaly and yellow, with tight pants and a really expensive shirt on.
“There’s two more,” she shouted, pointing frantically towards Arkanus and Tony as they neared, “...beastie has buddies!”
“We’ve got’em!” Gunn jumped back to his feet in front of Fred, sizing up his multiple opponents. “Get inside, get Cordy and Doyle! Go!”
Fred nodded and scooted inside while Gunn started running in the opposite direction, picking Tony as his first target. He swung hard at the demon, clipping him in the face. Tony yelped, then swung back, hitting Gunn with a backhand. Arkanus moved on by.
“Keep ‘em busy, T. I’m going for the girl!”
“On it, boss!” Tony and Gunn squared off, sizing each other up while Angel grappled loudly with Proto a few feet away. He had only just managed to knock the great demon off of him when a booming shout of ‘KILLER CLAW!’ echoed out of him, and one of the horns jutting from his side snaked out, opening and clamping tight around Angel’s neck.
Inside the club, most of the women had stopped whatever they were doing, taking notice of the loud crashes happening outside. Fred snaked her way through their numbers as best she could, noticing one woman in particular running towards her. A familiar voice shouted down the stairs.
“Fred! Stop her!”
It was Cordelia, and Fred saw she was frantically pointing at the woman making a break for it. She was edging to Fred’s right, and Fred jumped in her path, spreading her arms wide. Sylvia nearly crashed into her before she managed to catch herself.
“Not so fast,” Fred announced defiantly, smirking just a little, “...why don’t we just...ow!”
Fred’s hand shot to her neck, rubbing at a sudden sting. She turned and saw a butterfly wafting away from her, towards Sylvia. She stared, confused.
“What the heck was...ohhh...”
Her eyes glazed over, and Fred swooned, only barely being caught in time by a woman nearby who immediately started pulling her to safety. Sylvia smiled gratefully at Fittle. This wasn’t the first time his hypnagogic sting had saved her butt.
“Nice shot. Come on, let’s get OUT of...”
“Where is she?”
Arkanus appeared in front of Sylvia out of nowhere, provoking a shrill yelp. “God, I HATE it when you do that!”
“Where IS she?” He repeated, looking quite earnest. “Angel’s team is right outside!”
“Oh, no...and Proto?”
“Living the dream,” he told her, glancing about, “...I don’t think even you could stop him this time. Where’s the girl??”
“Gone,” she admitted, dashing Arkanus’ hopes, “...she must have slipped out before I got here. Arcane, we’ve got to...”
A hand jerked Sylvia backwards roughly, and she realized she had forgotten she was being chased a second ago. Cordelia glared at her angrily.
“Okay, Bubbles, let’s try this again. Who the Hell ARE you, and what...”
“Back off!”
Arkanus roared, his face vamping out. Cordelia stepped back, racing for the stake in her jacket lining, but Arkanus reached out and grabbed her collar, yanking her off her feet and hurling her into a nearby crowd. Half a dozen people were knocked flat, and panic started growing inside the club.
“Arcane, let’s just run! This isn’t worth it, we’re gonna get seriously killed!”
“I’m not running,” Arkanus replied, his demonic face surging with purpose, “...I’m Grievous Arkanus, defender of the guilty! I won’t...”
“You’re Greg Adams, and five years ago you were a fencing sales rep in Connecticut, you jackass!”
Arkanus deflated, turning away. “I NEVER should have told you that!”
“Let’s just go, Greg...you and me. Together.”
Sylvia ran her fingers softly across Arkanus’ bumpy brow, and his eyes softened. “Syl...I-I never thought you...”
“Oh, Arcane...”
Sylvia and Arkanus moved closer, two years of hidden glances and missed opportunities fading away like bad dreams. Sylvia’s eyes shut, lips reaching out towards Arkanus...
...and finding only dust and ash. Her eyes flashed open as she coughed and wheezed, spying Cordelia, stake in hand, standing behind the cloud that used to be her boss. She stared in agonized shock for several seconds, until the moment passed. Then a glazed look of resignation fell upon her.
“Oh, screw it,” she moaned, much to the disappointment of a few women within earshot, “...I’m going straight.”
Cordelia stepped forward, halting and falling like a stone before she could take more than a few steps. Fittle flew away from her, perching quietly on Sylvia’s shoulder. She flashed him a sad grin.
“Wanna come help me with my resume?”
Angel tried to ignore the serrations on Proto’s claw that were slowly sinking into his neck, and wrapped his fingers around the tentacle-limb attaching it to the creature’s body. With a terrific burst of strength, Angel managed to pull Proto right off his massive feet, hurling him up and over and finally slamming him down hard on the concrete of the parking lot. About a dozen car alarms started blaring, and Proto’s claw lost it’s grip on Angel. The beast started getting back upright as Angel charged him.
Gunn, meanwhile, was having more trouble than he felt he should be with Tony. He was barely laying a finger on the smug little demon, who was just dancing around him, seemingly not making much of an effort.
That pissed him off, and Gunn charged at Tony, swinging wide. Tony sidestepped with relative ease, laughing.
“Wondering why you’re doing so bad, arent’cha?”
Gunn spun back about, frustration rising. Tony cast him a vicious smirk. “I’m sending your brain telepathic commands to throw the fight,” he gleefully reported, “...see, I’m not much for the violence myself. More of the thinker of the bunch. But with MY skills, all I need is a happy thought, and your subconscious will do my work for me. Neat, huh?”
Gunn fumed, but soon started to smile. Tony looked surprised, even more so when he heard the voice from behind.
“Very impressive,” Wesley noted, before driving a hard elbow into Tony’s face, “...bet it’s hard to split your concentration.”
Tony staggered, and Wesley pulled up the axe he’d retrieved form his bag and tossed it to Gunn. Catching it with one hand, Gunn smiled, noting the sudden dismay on Tony’s face.
“Lemme explain why YOU’RE doing so bad now.”
Tony made a feeble attempt at self-defense when Gunn swung fast, taking his head off with a single strike. Both parts of Tony hit the ground, and Gunn shook Wesley’s hand.
“Much obliged, bro. You get the other one?”
Wes frowned. “I only saw the one...”
Flashing a glance at the door, Gunn felt a mild fear. “Must be inside...Fred and Cordelia are...”
“Get down!” Angel could suddenly be heard shouting wildly. Wes and Gunn turned, and saw him running towards them full tilt.
“Everybody get down NOW!!”
Angel jumped, and the explosion ripped the night wide open behind him.
Thirty seconds earlier, Angel pounced upon Proto as he tried to recover his footing. He hammered the dazed Proto with a rain of blows, staggering him into inaction. A loud, low wail emerged from the creature as he stumbled beneath Angel’s attack. The vampire, having had more than a long enough night, grabbed Proto hard by two of the looser flaps of skin near his neck, holding him tight.
“Who sent you?” Angel glared into what he figured were Proto’s eyes. “What are you? TALK.”
“...omega boom...”
Angel narrowed his eyes. “Pardon?”
Proto snapped back, and Angel barely held onto him. “OMEGA BOOM!!”
“Omega what? What, is that your name or...ouch!”
Angel released Proto, his skin suddenly ratcheting upwards in temperature. His eyes started crackling, and now Angel could feel the heat coming off him from a distance. Proto trembled.
“Oh. Rats.”
Realizing the situation, Angel gave Proto a hard kick, knocking him backwards. He then turned and ran for the club, where Wes and Gunn were standing amidst an approaching crowd of onlookers from inside.
“Get down! Everybody get down NOW!!”
Jumping at the last minute, Angel heard Proto detonating behind him, the force of Proto’s suicidal explosion slamming into his body and rocketing him forward. He sailed overtop of a rapidly ducking Wesley and Gunn, crashing into the neon sign over the main entrance back-first. Sparks flew, and Angel came crashing down to the ground in a shower of glass and dust.
“Thank you, Doyle...”
“Angel! Are you all right?”
Wesley helped Angel to his feet, brushing his coat off. “I’m...oww...I’m fine. Where’s Doyle?”
“Still inside, we think. Gunn saw another of that creature’s cohorts heading in. We should hurry.”
Without another word, all three men bolted for the inside of the club, fearing the worst, but finding quick relief when they saw Fred and Cordelia. They had both already regained consciousness, though they were a little unsteady, being helped by a few bystanders. Angel rushed to Cordelia, trying to avoid the slime being dripped by the Chaos Demoness propping her up.
“Cordy, what happened?”
Cordelia blinked a few times, getting her bearings. “Chased some woman who was flashing Buffyb...Doyle’s picture around. Staked a vamp pal of hers, but something knocked me out. Got Fred, too.”
“That was amazing, the way you dusted that creep,” the demoness gushed, “...are you seeing anybody?”
“We need to find Doyle NOW,” Cordy continued, urgent. Wes and Gunn came closer, followed by Fred and the rather attractive woman who’d caught her earlier.
“...I’m fine, really,” Fred was saying, a little bashful, “...although I HAVE been feeling a little icky lately, now that I think of it...”
“There’s a lot of flu virus going around these days,” the woman said, handing Fred a small card, “...I have a private practice downtown. Call me if you still feel poorly...or, you know, just want to talk.”
“Thanks, Julie. Uhm, me and my friends really have to talk now. But thanks!”
Julie smiled, slipping away into the crowd. Gunn and Wes both gave her an appreciative glance, and Cordy turned to the demoness.
“Listen, thanks for the propping-up and all...could you excuse us?”
The demoness sneered, turning away with a disgruntled sliming.
“Probably too butch for me anyhow...”
Cordelia flared in annoyance, looking a little petulant. She returned her attention to the gang. “This is what my social life in LA has come to? Uppity slime-monsters in birkenstocks?”
Fred tried to be sympathetic, but couldn’t keep the slightly superior grin off her face. “Mine was a doctor...”
Cordelia glared evilly as Fred averted her eyes, humming to herself. “So who were these guys?” Gunn asked, genuinely curious. “And why are they gunning for Buffybot?”
“Or Doyle,” Angel offered, “...I mean, can we really assume it’s coincidence they tried this tonight, within minutes of our channeling him?”
“There’s another possibility,” Wesley added, “...they may have been after Buffy. They ARE virtually identical, after all, and a Slayer would have no shortage of enemies.”
“Fashion sense notwithstanding,” Cordy admitted, “...they are pretty much the mirror image. That leaves us with not a lot to go on...The gal in the cheap power-suit was our only lead, and she’s flown.”
Gunn thought for a second. “Should we be very worried? I mean, the Monster Squad ain’t nothin’ but a corpse and some dust in the wind now. Whatever the plan was, I’d say it’s ancient history.”
“I’ll feel better when we find Doyle,” Angel said, “...ask around, maybe someone saw her...HIM leave. I’ll talk to Jerry, he knows most of the regulars.”
Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Jerry?”
“The doorman..I know him. Don’t start!”
Angel pointed a finger at Fred, who raised her hands in acquiescence. “Let’s get our guy back, people...he could still be in danger. Anything could be happening to Doyle right now...anything.”
The door to Verity’s apartment slammed shut, and Doyle was pressed hard up against it, Verity kissing him passionately the moment they got inside. It had been all he could do to keep her hands off of him on the car ride back here (and he wasn’t sure WHY he’d been trying to stave her off, exactly...), but the kid gloves were off now. He’d barely had a chance to catch a look at the place before she was making with the makeout. Where had girls like this been when he was alive?
At gay bars, he reminded himself. Verity kept on with the kissing, making Doyle oddly uncomfortable after a minute or so. What, didn’t she need to breath either..?
Finally she pulled away, smiling wickedly and breathing deep. Doyle smiled politely back, glancing from side to side...anywhere but right at her, actually.
“Nice place you got,” he noted, nodding thoughtfully. He spotted a charm necklace hanging off a spellbook on a nearby coffeetable. He looked surprised.
“You a wicca, then?”
Following Doyle’s eyes, Verity spotted the charm in question. She turned back, smiling, still pinning him to the front door.
“I dabble...some enchantments, readings...sex magic.”
Doyle was happy for a moment that Buffybot didn’t have a heart, because his would be leaping out of his chest right about now. “Do tell?”
Verity kissed Doyle again, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him away from the door. He awkwardly returned the embrace as they spiralled together further inside the apartment, which really WAS pretty swank, Doyle had to say. There was art all over the walls, the kind he had absolutely no eye for, happening little kitchen, killer love seat, and were two people with breasts really supposed to hug like this? It felt to Doyle like they were entirely too far apart for two people kissing like this...weren’t they?
Doyle felt Buffybot’s gyros issuing an alert, a moment before he toppled backwards onto Verity’s positively stunning, deep red Victorian style sofa, her hands roaming across his body, and why the hell was he paying attention to the blasted decor at a time like this??
Stray fingers found their way to under Buffybot’s shirt to play across her abdomen, and Doyle nearly jumped off the couch. In a flash, it hit him. He understood why he was noticing the decor. He knew he should have kept drinking.
“Is everything okay?”
Verity stopped, looking down at Doyle, who was preparing to hate himself in the morning. “I finally get it,” he told her, a little sad. She didn’t understand.
“...why she’s always goin’ on about her emotional buffers,” he explained, which didn’t really help Verity all that much. “I get it now.”
“Sorry?”
Doyle shook his head. “I’M sorry, actually. I...I can’t do this.”
Staring down, Verity shook her head right back at Doyle. “Sure you can! I’ll show you. Very easy. It’s just like doing it with a guy, only...more fun!”
Doyle tried not to laugh. “Wouldn’t doubt THAT, darlin’. And it’s not that the flesh...or whatever I’m covered with right now...ain’t willing. Truth is, I’ve got a plasmonic yen for you right now that’d make a sailor blush.”
“You are so very odd,” Verity had to say, her dark hair sweeping down across Doyle’s neck, “...so what’s..?”
“There’s someone else.”
The words blurted out, and Verity inhaled sharply, then slowly backed herself up, brushing her hair behind her neck. She and Doyle both eased into a sitting position, beside one another.
“I see.”
If Buffybot’d had awkwardness sensors, Doyle was betting a year’s bartab they’d be screaming blue murder right about now. He felt about an inch high, and rather expected that generous estimation of himself to shrink vastly over the next few hours.
Tonight, Doyle scolded himself, would NOT be remembered as one of his better moments. Thank goodness he’d already had his day of reckoning.
Shifting, Verity gave Doyle a sideways glance, offering a hopeful smile. “Promise I won’t tell,” she said, half as a statement, half an offer. Doyle appreciated the gesture.
“Pretty sure she already knows,” he answered, avoiding Verity’s slightly hurt expression as best he could, “...we’re pretty close. And I think I’m gonna catch some well-deserved Hell for tonight as it is. I...I’d like to not let things get any worse. She deserves better.”
Verity nodded, head sagging slightly towards her lap. “Sounds like a nice girl.” Doyle smiled.
“You’ve never met the like,” he promised, a hint of pride showing on his face. “Listen, I should probably...”
“I know.” Verity cracked a sardonic grin as Doyle slowly rose, straightening out Buffybot’s skirt and jacket as he did. He made a few steps towards the door, and she watched him go with a curious gleam in her eye.
“I’m not usually this good a loser, you know.” Doyle turned before the door, watching as Verity rose off the couch. “But you have an honest aura. I’m a sucker for the truth.” She gave Doyle a skeptical look. “You’re not really a Brachen demon, are you?”
Doyle paused, recalling the tale he’d told her in the car ride over. He offered up a lopsided grin in return.
“Long story,” was all he could come up with as response. It was true enough. “Thanks for the ride, but...I could use the walk home right now. Clear my head. Both our heads, actually.”
Before Verity could ask what he meant, Doyle opened the door. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, giving her one last look, and using the full range of Buffybot’s optic sensors to appreciate the way Verity’s dress held to her body. He bit his lip.
“Hoo boy, am I sorry.”
A moment later he turned, heading out and pulling the door closed behind him. Verity stood for a moment in her quiet apartment before taking a long, deep breath, and letting it out very, very slowly.
“Wow,” she said at length, tapping her fingers along her legs over and over, “...that was just incredibly frustrating.”
Quinn pulled Lara tight to him, her dark hair spilling across his shoulder. It was nearly three AM as they leaned back in his couch, feet up, Neil Young playing softly on the stereo in the background. Lara had waited until they were comfortable to tell him about today. She was happy when he only cringed a little.
“Arcane? Those screwups? Lara, sweetie...”
“I know, I know!” Lara ran a hand across Quinn’s chest. “I thought it was worth a shot...they’re competent in a COUPLE of realities. Besides, I couldn’t use any regular Wolfram and Hart contractors. I used up a lot of resources fixing that stupid Vengeance Demon-robot situation. Oh...I promised her your Gacy paintings, by the way.”
Lara waited, but Quinn didn’t seem too concerned. “Take’em. They give me nightmares. I just don’t want you to get in any trouble over this, babe.”
“I’ll be fine,” Lara answered with a smile, “...no harm done. Looks like Arcane Inc. is out of commission, at least, so no messy trail leading back our way.”
“I love the silver linings. So shiny.”
“This one gets shinier. Before they cashed in, I got some interesting intel from our group...the Burkle scenario I told you about? Looks like it might just be manifesting in our reality.”
Quinn shifted, squeezing Lara’s shoulder. “Marcel would go ape for that...and he’s got those Thanatonic reliefs I need. Are you sure?”
Lara shrugged, snuggling in closer. “Get your psychics on it, but I think it’s a safe bet. Be careful...Angel’s dangerous.”
“Don’t worry. Last thing I want is a live champion on my case.”
Pulling Lara up to him, Quinn ran his fingers through her hair, wearing a happy grin. He gave her a quick kiss on the nose.
“I prefer them dead, myself.”
The next morning...
Doyle had arrived back at the hotel before dawn, finding a rather cranky demon-hunting crew awaiting his arrival. Recriminations and death threats had thankfully not taken up as much time as he’d imagined they would, and even though Doyle was by then well prepared to remonstrate himself pretty much ad infinitum, things moved on quickly from there.
Introductions were made. Doyle became fast friends with Fred, and exchanged more than a dozen off-colour jokes with Gunn, who told him he was glad Buffybot had a friend like him. He considered it a high compliment.
Wesley seemed almost awkward at first, being around the hero he’d so narrowly missed encountering those years ago. But Doyle had rightfully prided himself on being able to charm, eventually, just about anyone, and pretty soon Wes too was laughing out loud at Doyle’s tales of the early days of Angel Investigations. They all were.
It was nearly noon when everyone started to notice that they hadn’t slept all night, and Doyle made the inevitable suggestion.
It was time to give Buffybot her body back.
“There’s more’a this girl on girl hugging,” Doyle joked, Fred wrapped tightly around him, “...just feels weird, is all I’m sayin’.”
Fred sniffled, puling herself away and looking at Doyle. “You take care of yourself, Doyle...and Buffybot, too. Come back and visit!”
“Damn right!” Gunn stepped up beside Fred, shaking Doyle’s hand. “And next time, man, the host body’s on me. You can possess me anytime.”
Doyle grinned. “Thanks for the invite, friend. I’m not so sure pink is my colour, t’be honest.”
Glancing down at his skirt, Doyle let out a silly laugh. Wesley walked over next.
“It’s been an honour, Doyle. You do live up to your legend...every shade of it.”
“Ahh, you Watchers! Masters of the backhanded compliment, you are.” Both smiling, Wesley and Doyle shook hands.
“Keep an eye on ‘em for me, huh, man? They need a lotta takin’ care of.”
Wesley stood firm. “They do at that. I’ll try not to let you down.”
Doyle smiled. “I know you won’t.”
Coughing, Wesley stepped back, and so did Gunn and Fred, as Angel walked up. He stared at Doyle for a long moment, then reached out his hand.
“You know how much I owe you, right?”
Doyle waited a moment, looking into Angel’s infuriatingly intense glare, before taking his hand. “You just keep fighting, brother. And we’ll call it even. Okay?”
Angel started to laugh, and he and Doyle kept staring at one another. Doyle started to fidget.
“Man, I’m glad I can’t cry right now,” he admitted, “...or I’d be shortin’ out the ‘Bot’s circuits left and right.”
A warm smile cracked on Angel’s face. “Not too big on the crying myself.”
“An emotionally stunted man...now there’s a shock.”
Doyle didn’t need Buffybot’s audio recognition programs to recognize Cordelia, and the others parted to let her move up close to Doyle. He steeled himself...this was just gonna get harder and harder, wasn’t it?
Cordelia stopped inches from Doyle, giving him a beautiful, loving smile. He started returning it when she slapped him hard across the cheek.
“OW!” Doyle raised a hand to his cheek and gave Cordelia a wicked look. “I mean, that didn’t technically hurt, but ‘OW’ on principle! What was that for?”
“THAT was for giving me the visions, mister noble sacrifice. You owe me about a tanker full of aspirin.”
“Oh...right.” Doyle’s hand dropped slowly down, and guilt started peppering out of Buffybot’s emotional buffers. “Listen, that was kind of a spur of the moment epiphany...”
“Turn around.”
“What?”
But Cordelia wasn’t talking to Doyle any more. She’d turned her head, addressing the others, who were equally confused. Cordy gave them a stern glare.
“You heard me! Turn around. Do it!”
Twirling her finger as rather patronizing demonstration, Cordy waited impatiently as, one by one, Angel, Wesley, Fred and Gunn turned and faced the far wall. Satisfied, she returned to face Doyle, who was utterly baffled by this point.
“What’s all this? Little late in the morning for hide and...”
Cordelia leaned in and kissed Doyle, softly at first, but picking up steam rapidly. They both closed their eyes and let it happen. It had been a long time coming.
After a long time, but not long enough, Cordelia pulled back, moist eyes fluttering open. Doyle looked back at her with no heartbeat to speak of, but artificially generated emotions doing their level best to make him forget all about that minor oversight.
“What...what was THAT for?”
Cordelia smiled, letting a few stray tears fall down her cheeks. She spoke in a soft whisper.
“That was for giving me the visions,” she explained, trying not to cry harder, “...dumbass.”
Doyle only stared, Cordelia crying a moment longer before willing herself back to some kind of clarity. She leaned in closer, raising a somewhat menacing eyebrow.
“If you tell ANYONE about this...”
Doyle surrendered instantly. “Hey, my spectral lips are sealed tight! But, uh...Fred was peeking.”
Cordy turned in a flash to see Fred, sneaking a stare over her shoulder.
“Fred!!”
“Sorry! Sorry!” Fred ducked her head down, turning back around, and Gunn leaned towards her.
“What? What’d I miss?”
Doyle stood alone, facing the others in the lobby. Wesley held the possessing crystal in his hand.
“So what’s the deal, Wes? More of the seance action, or..?”
“Just an incantation,” Wesley explained, somewhat anticlimactic, “...that’s all. You’ll return to your ghostly form, and Buffybot will resume control of her body.”
“But it’s okay,” Angel said, smiling eagerly, “...we know you’re here now. We can work together...all of us.”
Fred nodded an enthusiastic second. “Yeah, I mean...Cordy’s OUR connection to the powers, and Buffybot’s got YOU...there’s gotta be a lot we could do with that. Right?”
Doyle looked out at the hopeful, happy faces looking back at him, and he felt another quiet little flutter in Buffybot’s emotional buffers. He slowly nodded.
“Right as right,” he said drily, smiling. This had been a good day, he decided. Better than his last time on the material plane. And not just because he hadn’t been incinerated.
“We’ll see you soon,” Cordelia said, ”...and make sure Robogirl keeps us updated from now on, okay? No more secrets.”
“No more secrets.” Doyle looked into Cordelia’s eyes, resigned. He was lying.
“Let’s do it, Wesley,” he said with a wide smile, rubbing his hands together, “...I think the little lady’s rarin’ to get back in the drivers seat.”
Wesley nodded, holding the ruby crystal at arm’s length towards Doyle.
“Return.”
A flash of mystic light filled the room, emanating from Buffybot. A swirling mist flowed out of her eyes, snaking through the ether up and around her, settling to her left. It was only a few seconds before it coalesced into Doyle, back in his non-corporeal incarnation, just like that. In an instant he felt his renewed connection to the powers, and breathed a mild sigh of relief. Although it felt...different, now. Good different.
He looked to his right. “Buffybot?”
Buffybot took a moment to readjust, taking measure of all the sensor data she’d missed while she was...wherever. It took her by surprise.
“It’s me...Buffybot. I’m back!”
Doyle smiled. “Glad to hear it, darlin’. You wear yourself better’n I ever could. Listen, I...”
“What’s happening??”
Buffybot leaped into high alert status when she scanned the room. Everyone seemed to be frozen, some sort of mist clouding their eyes. Buffybot was having trouble reading their vitals.
“Something’s gone wrong with the spell! We have to do something!”
“Easy, doll, easy. Nothin’ wrong. This is just...the surprise finish.”
Buffybot calmed a little, but still didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
Doyle looked at the others, held fast in time. “The way it had to be. This was the deal I made with the Powers. They let me have this...today. One last visit. And when it’s over...it’s over. Like it never happened.”
“Like it never..?”
“They won’t remember,” Doyle explained, a little sadder than he’d expected he would be, “...not about me. Only you and me get the full story.”
Buffybot vacillated her eyes between Doyle and the others, logic processors trying to keep up. “But...I don’t understand? Why can’t they remember?”
“I told you, Buffybot...this isn’t about me.” Doyle turned, facing the bewildered robot head on.
“It’s about YOU. You, finding out who you are, what you can be, where your place in the world is. And that’d be a lot harder with this lot always lookin’ over your shoulder to find me.”
Buffybot thought about protesting, but Doyle shook his head softly, an oddly comforted smile on his face. “I’ve had my kick at the can, darlin’. No regrets. Now it’s your turn. But thank you...thank you so much for this.”
Turning, Doyle looked at his friends, old and new. “They’re good people...every one of them. I get that better now than before. I’m glad for that.”
“Me too,” Buffybot said, trying to be optimistic about what she was inherently finding just a little sad. “But...I’d like it if everyone would stop forgetting things all the time.”
“Sorry about that,” Doyle offered, starting to redden, “..and about...well, everything else. How much do you remember about...”
“You’re here, you’re queer, get used to it. You certainly did make a spectacle of yourself, Mister Doyle.”
“I’m SO sorry.”
Buffybot smiled. “I forgive you...you were just a little goofy from being in a body again. Although...I’ve kissed two more girls, now.” Confused, Buffybot looked at Doyle. “Do they count as yours or mine?”
“Dibs on Cordy,” Doyle replied immediately. “But the bartender we each get half-credit on. Only fair.”
That sounded fine to Buffybot, reviewing her memory files from Doyle’s possession with occasional shock. “She was kind of a hottie, wasn’t she?”
Doyle rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, Lord...TELL me about it.”
Giggling, Buffybot looked back at the others. The mist surrounding them was dying down. “What happens now?”
“You keep going,” Doyle answered from her side, “...keep looking. Fight the good fight. Hero type stuff. You’re good at that.”
“I try. You’re a good friend, Mister Doyle.”
“It’s just Doyle,” he corrected with a grin, “...You gonna be all right?”
Buffybot nodded smartly. “You bet!”
“Great...cause I’m beat. Mind if I..?”
Doyle jerked a thumb over his shoulder, a move Buffybot interpreted correctly as a desire to leave. She figured it HAD been quite a day for him.
“Go ahead. I’ll call if I need help, or...someone to talk to.”
A happy smile greeted that proposition. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Slowly, Doyle faded from Buffybot’s view. And for a few seconds she was essentially alone in the lobby, until the mist surrounding the others evaporated completely, and they started moving again in a rush. Buffybot watched them with interest. They seemed a little disoriented.
Wesley shook his head, getting his bearings and noticing the crystal in his hand. He did a quick double take, then shrugged and started packing it away in his nearby kit bag. The others stumbled around a bit, slightly dazed, before Fred noticed Cordelia and became alarmed.
“Cordy? Are you all right?”
Fred was staring at Cordelia’s face, still red from crying. Cordelia could still feel the flush of emotion and smiled a silly smile.
“Oh, God, yeah...yeah, I just feel a little...it’s weird.”
Fanning herself with her hand, Cordelia stared at nothing in particular. “I just had the weirdest thing, like...deja vu. I was just thinking about...”
“Doyle,” Angel said, finishing Cordy’s thought. He looked at her. “You too?”
Cordy nodded, to Fred’s confusion. “I’m sorry...who’s Doyle?”
Wesley closed his satchel and walked over. “Doyle was Angel and Cordelia’s first partner in Los Angeles,” he explained, surprised to find he’d been thinking about the same thing just now, “...he died, just before I arrived here.”
“I remember you mentioning him, a few times,” Gunn added, unable to ignore the strange sensation in his head, “...he gave Cordy the visions, right? You guys never talked too much about him.”
Angel stepped closer to Cordelia. “I guess...I guess we don’t really talk much about him, no.”
“It’s funny,” Cordelia said, smiling broadly now, “...I have this urge to just yap about him for, like, hours right now. God, that’s so...”
“Doyle...I never met him, right?”
Buffybot stepped forward, hoping her interruption wouldn’t seem rude. She smiled as bashfully as she could managed, holding her hands together in her lap. She took a seat in the middle of the lobby, facing the others.
“No,” Cordelia agreed, “...Doyle was WAY before your time. He was great, though. He was a hero.”
Buffybot leaned forward, an eager smile on her lips.
“Tell me about him.”
NEXT EPISODE: The Collector makes his move!
ADDENDUM
GHOST is a movie starring Patrick Swayze as a dead man who eventually reunites with his still living girlfriend by possessing a human (Whoopi Goldberg, a far cry from Buffybot indeed)
Wolfram and Hart lawyer Lee Mercer was pink-slipped (or shot in the head, whichever way you want to put it) in BLIND DATE, Angel Season 1.
Doyle died, giving Cordelia his visions in HERO, Angel Season 1.
Buffybot sang about being a real girl in ONCE MORE WITH BUFFYBOT.
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