Silent Witness
Cordelia frowned slightly as she aimed the crossbow. Steady... steady... now. She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She lowered it with a satisfied smile. She could do this. Weapons were easy. You just aimed and fired. Besides, if Doyle could use one of these things, they couldn't be too complicated. She decided to try it again, only with the crossbow loaded this time. She was sure Angel wouldn't notice a small hole in his wall. She picked up a bolt from the kitchen table. Now, how do you load this thing? She turned it this way and that trying to figure it out. This one was a little different than the ones they'd used back in Sunnydale. She'd seen Buffy load that one many times. But this one... Wasn't a crossbow a crossbow? Maybe this one was broken...
"Cordelia?" She swung around, dropping the bolt and raising the crossbow to throw it. Her wrist was caught before she could.
"Angel!" she shrieked, as the shadow behind her resolved itself into her boss. "God, lurk much? You could have given me a heart attack or something! We so need to get you a bell." Angel didn't bother responding as he carefully took the crossbow from her.
"What are you doing with this?" he asked gently.
"Just looking," Cordelia responded innocently. "I mean, we need to be sure that all the weapons work, right? And I think that this one is broken or something. You can't load it. Now, what would have happened if you had gone to fight some big nasty and your crossbow didn't work?"
"The crossbow isn't broken." Angel replied as he retrieved the bolt from the floor. He straightened, automatically glancing over the bolt to make sure it wasn't broken. Then he quickly loaded it into the crossbow and held it out for her inspection. "See?"
She glared petulantly at the crossbow and folded her arms across her chest. "Well, it wouldn't work before."
A fleeting smile crossed Angel's face. The first since Buffy's visit a week ago. Cordelia didn't notice. "I could teach you how to use it," he offered seriously.
She looked at him skeptically. "Please! I just run the office, remember? Do I look like SlayGirl? I'm not Little-Miss-Demon-Hunter," she told him tartly.
Angel turned away, pulling the bolt free of the crossbow and checking over the weapon, but with only half-hearted interest.
"Sure," he said solemnly, his voice thickening as he tried to push aside his emotions. "Just thought I'd offer."
Cordelia watched him as he put the crossbow away, and frowned at the stiffness of his motions. He looked bad, she noted, inspecting his disheveled appearance. Usually one to be well groomed, despite his lack of fashion sense, Angel wore a white v-neck tee shirt over rumpled gray slacks. One of his shoes was untied, and he looked like he just tumbled out of bed. Which, she supposed, he probably had.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "Because you don't look good. I mean appart from the whole being dead thing."
Angel shrugged. "I'm fine," he said, his tone a bit harsher than he intended and his answer was the raising of a perfectly shaped and rather skeptical eyebrow. "Really," he assured her, lowering his voice. "It's just...."
"Hurricane Buffy blew into town," she finished with a nod. "She was only here for like, five minutes. I guess you weren't ready to see her again so soon, huh?"
Angel dropped his gaze to his feet and shuffled away from her. "It seemed longer than five minutes," he answered softly.
Cordelia nodded again and touched his shoulder gently, drawn to the uncharacteristic display of affection by something undefinable in Angel's voice. He needed to get his mind off of the blonde. An idea popped into Cordelia's head, and she smiled to herself. "You know, after thinking about it," she told him, trying to sound flippant and not the least bit obvious. "Learning how to protect myself might not be such a bad idea."
Angel smirked at her, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Aren't you afraid you'd break a nail?" he teased her.
She looked at him and shrugged. "Putting it in perspective, Angel, I'd much rather break a nail than my face." Angel quirked an eyebrow at her, impressed with her rather mature attitude towards self-defense. "I mean," she continued. "Can you imagine trying to get an audition with a black eye, or a broken nose? Eww!"
* * *
The two figures ran down the side street. Their feet pounding the pavement in counterpoint to the hammering of their hearts. Behind them, other feet hit the pavement in a slower, but steadier rhythm. Many other feet.
We'll never make it, thought the one in the lead with grim certainty. They'll catch us before we even get close. But he kept running. He stumbled over something he hadn't seen in the dim light of the alley, barely regaining his footing. His companion glanced at him worriedly as he took the lead. There wasn't time or breath to ask if he was all right.
The other feet were getting closer.
Don't look back, he told himself. Just keep running and don't look back.
As they reached the end of the street they were on, he took off down a side alley. Only one short glance could be spared for his life-long friend as he turned and ran down another alley. One of them had to lose their pursuers. One of them had to warn the others. They needed to give them the time to take what they could and run.
They had been found.
* * *
She twisted a silver ring around and around her little finger listening to her many bracelets jingle. It was normally a sound she loved, but there was no pleasure in it today.
What was taking them so long? They should have been back with the provisions by now.
She could clearly see that everyone was becoming as restless and worried as she, though most tried to hide it. Only a few children playing in the corner seemed entirely unaffected by the growing tension.
She smiled as her eyes lingered on her own precious daughter.
You will not die, she promised silently. Not here, not like this. I looked in the cards and I saw so much in your future. Her gift of foresight was a comfort where her daughter was concerned, but she hadn't been able to see what would happen to the rest of them and that frightened her.
Where were they?
"Someone's coming," cried a boy as he came running into the room.
"Who?" she demanded, her voice was lost in the myriad of others all asking the same thing in many variations. Fear and hope warred for dominance in the faces around her...
Angel: the Cyber Series
"Silent Witness"
Written by Cleo
Edited by
Michele & Ellen
Produced by
Cleo and Ellen
Based on the characters created by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt, and the series produced by Mutant Enemy,
Inc., Greenwolf Corp., Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, in association with 20th Century Fox Television. No
copyright infringement intended, no profit received from this work of fiction. The original story is copyrighted ©
2000 by Cleo Calliope and Random Productions. This revised edition is copyrighted © 2010 by Cleo Calliope,
AtCS, and Prosephone's Lyre Productions.
This story may not be reprinted or presented in any way without express permission from the author and notification
of the AtCS production staff.
'Silent Witness' was originally written in the year 2000 and was produced by Michele and Random Productions. This
re-release has undergone massive editing and is reproduced with thanks to Michele for her original help and to Ellen
for her aid in the editing of this second version of the story.
Angel stood quietly in the doorway for a moment before speaking. Cordelia sat behind the desk she had claimed as her own, engrossed in a magazine. Doyle lay sprawled on the couch reading the newspaper. Neither one seemed to realize that it was well past the time they usually closed for the evening.
"Are you two going to stay here all night or are you going to go home?" They both looked up in surprise.
"Well, so the brood guy finally decided to join us." Doyle's voice was sarcastic, but there was sympathy in his expression.
Cordelia glanced at her watch. "I had no idea what time it was. God, I have so got to get a life. I can believe that I'm still here!" She stood up, gathering her magazine and other odds and ends together.
Doyle rose from the couch to lean over the desk. "Maybe ya jus' don't wanna leave me company, Princess."
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Please, like I have nothing better to do than hang around this office with you. As if!"
Angel smiled as the banter continued, half-teasing, half-flirting. He didn't really listen to the words. He didn't have to. He had grown very familiar with these rounds over the last few months and right now he found the tones oddly soothing.
"Oh God."
"Angel...!"
He realized the banter had stopped just in time to step forward and catch Doyle as he pitched backwards. The half-demon had gone very pale and his body was convulsing. His eyes were wide and sightless as the visions in his head blocked out the world around him.
It was dark. The demons ran every which way. Looking for a way out that wasn't there. They tripped over each other as bodies piled up. Screams and pleas to a God that did not hear filled the air along with the stench of blood and fear.
Blood and fear...
Only Angel was close enough to hear the choked words, "Not this. Not again."
Angel cocked an eyebrow at the odd comment, but he only murmured soothingly, "Shh, Doyle. It's OK." He lowered them both to the floor when Doyle's knees gave out, sitting back on his heels with Doyle leaning back against him. Cordelia knelt beside them, smoothing her short skirt with nervous hands.
"The visions don't usually last this long," she whispered, concern etched in her features.
Angel didn't reply as Doyle sagged against him, his eyes closing. "Doyle? Are you alright?" he asked.
Doyle groaned. "Yeah... um... I'm still here... I think. Oh God." He remained where he was, his eyes tightly shut against the pounding agony in his head. The hands he raised to his temples were shaking badly.
"What did you see? And whoever it was, do you think they could afford to pay?" Cordelia asked hopefully. Angel gave her a long suffering look, but she just shrugged.
"Is there anything you need?" Angel asked. Cordelia had been right about one thing. Angel had never seen one of Doyle's visions last this long. He knew that they were never very pleasant. One of this duration must have been hell.
Doyle moved to sit up and both Angel and Cordelia reached out to help him. He struggled to a sitting position and clutched at his head.
"Yeah, some aspirin... and a single malt scotch."
Angel grimaced. Of course Doyle wanted a drink. The guy drank like a fish. It worried Angel sometimes that he drank so much but this was not the time to bring it up. He stood and went to pour him one and get the bottle of aspirin they always kept on hand for Doyle's visions.
"No, wait!"
Angel turned in surprise to find Doyle scrambling up. Cordelia rose as well, watching the Irishman worriedly. She reached out to steady him as he winced and swayed slightly on his feet.
"Doyle, what are you doing?" Angel demanded, reaching out as well, uncertain that Cordelia would have the strength to keep Doyle from falling if his knees gave out again.
Doyle shook both their hands off. "We have ta go now. There isn't time." Angel stared at him, not moving. He didn't think that he had ever seen his friend this agitated. He met his eyes and found them nearly panic-stricken. "What I saw, it's going down now! We've gotta go!" This last finally got Angel to move. He grabbed his coat as Doyle and Cordelia quickly grabbed up their own things. Doyle snatched the bottle of scotch on the way out.
It wasn't until they were in the car that Angel noticed Cordelia was with them. "Um, Cordelia, why..."
"Cause after you kill the bad guy you're dropping me at home. Did you see the time? There's no way I'm taking the bus home at this hour."
When Angel still hesitated, Doyle spoke up. "Whatever. Just go, Angel. I'm serious. There are people dyin' right now. We've gotta get t' the warehouse district."
Angel nodded, momentarily taken aback by the harshness in Doyle's tone. He pulled out of the garage and allowed the complexities of driving in LA traffic to occupy his mind. As he drove, though, he watched his friend out of the corner of his eye, waiting for details of Power's newest vision. Doyle took a large swig of the scotch that made Angel's throat burn in sympathy but then just sat there, saying nothing.
"What did you see?" he finally asked, as Doyle remained silent. "What are we up against?"
"I saw people runnin'... lots o' blood... bodies on the ground..." Doyle's voice was distracted as he stared off into space, still seeing the images.
"How many people?"
"D' know. A lot. Too many. I think a lot of 'em are already dead." The tightly controlled pain in Doyle's voice told Angel as much about the severity of the situation as anything else. He'd seen a great deal despite his fairly young age, more than most people saw in a life-time if they were lucky. And though it effected him more than he was willing to admit most of the time he was usually able to keep it well hidden. When something was capable of making him loose his cool this much, especially in front of Cordelia, it was bad.
"Did you see who or what was doing it?"
"No. When do I ever?" Doyle replied, still staring at the passing scenery and seeing none of it. Then he sighed and turned towards Angel. "One thing though. The people bein' killed? They're not human."
"If they're not human then why are we running to their rescue?" Cordelia demanded leaning forward from the back seat.
"They're part human."
"Come again?"
Doyle glanced over his shoulder at her. "They're part human, part demon. Half-breeds." His voice was quiet as he turned away from her. Angel frowned, wondering if the possibility of discovery was a large part of what was upsetting Doyle so much. While Doyle didn't particularly want to keep secrets from Cordelia he wasn't eager to face the consequences of Cordelia discovering his own mixed-heritage. He caught Doyle's eyes for a moment at a stoplight and tried to communicate his sympathy. Doyle gave him a slightly forced smile in return.
"You mean to tell me that humans and demons..." Cordelia began. "I mean that they... That is so... eww."
"It's not that uncommon, Cordelia," Angel said, hoping to spare Doyle any more of Cordelia's anti-demon sentiments. It wasn't that she didn't have reason for them, growing up on a Hellmouth she'd seen the biggest and baddest of the demon world and not much else. It wasn't surprising that she found it difficult to see any good in them. If only Doyle would tell her the truth, things may change. But that was for the future.
"Well, it's still gross," she insisted.
There was very little talk for the rest of the short trip. As they entered the warehouse district Doyle directed Angel through the winding streets to a building that looked like it should have been condemned fifty years ago. Angel stopped the car and they all sat in silence for a moment.
They could smell the sea here and in the distance a few seagulls called, but there were no other sounds. Angel had never heard any part of the city so quiet. Los Angeles was not a quiet city. It was loud and busy at all times, day or night. But this place was like a tomb. It made his skin crawl and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"So, were are all the running demon people?" Cordelia asked, her whispered words sounding like shouts in the stillness.
No one wanted to answer her, but her question galvanized them into action. Doyle grabbed flashlights from the glove box as Angel got out of the car and opened the trunk to retrieve the extra crossbow and battle-axe he kept there. He closed the trunk and came around the car as Doyle and Cordelia got out.
"Cordelia, stay in the car." Angel said quietly as he handed the crossbow and bolts to Doyle. They began to walk towards the warehouse.
Cordelia ran after them. "Are you kidding? There is no way I'm staying in the car alone in this neighborhood," she hissed back. Angel decided not to argue. After all, she had a point.
A door directly ahead was open. No, as they neared, he could see that it had been torn off its hinges and Angel's muscles tensed. They stepped quietly inside, trying desperately not to make any noise. The warehouse was cavernous and empty. Light from nearby street lamps shown in through windows set high above them, bathing everything in orange, giving the whole scene a surreal quality. Doyle led them toward the center of the warehouse where a trapdoor gaped open in the floor. They moved as quietly as they could, trying desperately not to disturb the oppressive silence.
The trapdoor was a hole into absolute blackness. Even Angel's eyes couldn't discern anything down there, but he didn't have to ask Doyle if this was where they were going. He could smell blood from the darkness below them, not human blood and not demon blood. Angel looked up and caught Doyle's eyes. The look on the half-demon's face told him that he could smell it too. Doyle handed a flashlight to Angel and another to Cordelia.
Angel knelt, shinning his light into the space bellow them, but only an old wooden step ladder, attached to the floor beneath their feet, and a concrete floor at the bottom were immediately visible. He turned and put one foot on the ladder, testing it. When he was sure it was sound, he continued down. Doyle came after him and, after a brief moment of indecision, Cordelia followed.
They found themselves in a small rectangular room, doors leading into more black silence stood open at both ends. They stood looking between the two for a moment, ears staining for the smallest sound. There was none.
Finally, Angel moved towards the door to their left from were the smell of blood was coming the most strongly. Doyle and Cordelia followed, keeping close behind him.
What if we're too late? Angel wondered. It was so terribly quiet down here; he couldn't hear anything but Doyle and Cordelia's racing hearts and slightly ragged breathing. The air was stuffy and full of dust and the smell of blood and death were so thick that he was sure even Cordelia's human nose could detect it now.
He stepped carefully through the door into a narrow hallway. Shinning his flashlight straight ahead he could see that it didn't go very far. There were three doors to their left and two to their right. In the middle of the floor, about halfway down the hall, a body lay on the ground. Doyle took a deep breath as he came in behind Angel, trying to keep his composure. Cordelia made no sound at all, but she moved closer to her companions.
The demon lay on his back; he had long dark hair and wore jeans and a T-shirt. Angel could clearly see that the young man's throat had been cut so deeply that his head was nearly severed from his body. His eyes were wide open and his face showed a very human look of terror. His skin was reddish and raised ridges ran along his cheekbones up to his temples. Two more ridges met between his eyes, forming a V on his high forehead and ended in two very small horns at his hairline.
The three stood still for a moment before Angel forced himself to move forward. They were too late to help this one, but there could be others still living. Doyle kept his eyes on the body until they reached the first door. All the while Angel ran his eyes along the walls looking for a light switch. He stepped into the doorway on their left and immediately found another body, this time of an old woman, lying just inside and to the right. She was the same kind of demon as the other in the hall and looked as though she had been shot in the chest. He stepped just inside the door and ran his hands along the inside wall. This time he found a switch.
The lights were dim, but after the darkness of before he was blinded momentarily when they came on. The room was large, all the doors on the left side of the hall led into it. Only a few ancient florescent lights were set in the ceiling and most of them were burned out, but there was enough light to see what was in the room. Angel almost wished there wasn't. The floor was littered with bodies: men, women, and children. Most had been shot, others seem to have been stabbed, and yet others had been bludgeoned or suffered the same fate as the young man in the hall. Blood had dried in little rivers and lakes all across the cold concrete floor. Some had obviously tried to fight. They lay with baseball bats and other makeshift weapons still in their hands. Others looked as though they had run and had been taken from behind as they tried to escape. The looks of terror, pain, surprise, and, in a few cases, anger were forever engraved on the faces of the dead. The objects of their lives, clothes, a few tables and chairs, pots and pans, were scattered haphazardly throughout the carnage.
It must have happened so fast, he thought. They never really had a chance.
Angel knew he was blocking the doorway. Doyle and Cordelia were both nudging him to move, not wanting to break the stillness with words. For a moment more Angel remained where he was. In some part of his mind he wanted to give them both a few more moments without this horror forever imprinted on their memories.
Finally, he moved forward a couple steps. Doyle slipped in to stand beside him and he could hear his breath catch as he froze. Cordelia began to push her way between them, but froze as well and made a little sound that, coming from anyone else, Angel might have said was a whimper.
His eyes swept continually over the room searching for signs of life and tallying up the dead as best he could. 20? 30? More than that, he thought, and there were still the rooms across the hall and whatever lay beyond the other door back at the ladder.
"Why?" The broken whisper shattered the silence and made both Angel and Cordelia jump. Angel turned and was surprise to see tears in Doyle's eyes. "Why send the vision if there's nothin' we can do?" Angel didn't respond, he wasn't sure he could.
Oddly enough, it was Cordelia who answered him in a strangled whisper. "Maybe someone's still alive. We need to look." Despite her weak voice, her face was determined and Angel found himself admiring how well she was holding herself together. He hoped that it lasted. Hell, he wasn't sure how long he could stand it down here and he had seen, and even committed, more atrocities than the ex-cheerleader could ever even dream of.
He moved into the room, Doyle and Cordelia fanning out to either side, neither more than an arm's reach away. They carefully stepped over bodies and around the largest pools of blood, looking for hiding places where someone could have survived. Most of the blood was tacky, some still actually wet. Whatever had occurred here had only just happened. Had been happening when Doyle saw it.
Later, none of them could remember who started it, but they soon began to reach out tentatively to the bodies to close their eyes or cover their faces as best they could.
Angel didn't know how long to took them to search the entire room. Time seemed to have no meaning in this soundless hell. It could have been years or minutes. Despite their best efforts blood and dust speckled all their clothing and coated their shoes. Cordelia made occational small noises of disgust, but was otherwise quiet. They were all quiet.
At last they made their way back out into the hallway. Angel leaned against the wall and examined both his friend's faces, wondering how well they were holding up. He had found himself forcing back tears more than once and he could see that both his companions had lost that battle. Silent and unheeded tears cut through the dust on their faces, little tracks that made his heart ache. He caught and held Doyle's gaze and the pain he saw there was awful. He wanted more than anything to get him and Cordelia the hell out of here, to never have come at all.
Doyle gestured toward the first door across the hall. Angel nodded and turned to Cordelia to see how she was fairing. She had held up fine in the room, but now that they were out, her head was bowed and she was shivering violently. He stepped over to her and put his hands on her arms. Doyle was by her side in a moment.
"Princess?" She looked up at that. Meeting first Doyle's eyes then Angel's. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before opening them again.
"This is so not how I wanted to spend my evening." Her voice was choked but the flash humor, however small, brought small smiles to both Angel and Doyle's faces. She looked very pale though and Angel was worried.
"Why don't you stay out here while we check this room. We'll be back in just a moment."
Even before Angel finished speaking she was shaking her head. "No way."
Doyle reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. "We won't be long, Sweetheart." She bit her lip and after another moment both men moved away to the next door.
Once they had disappeared into it Cordelia sagged against the wall trying hard not to look at the body a few feet away. But her eyes were drawn to it nonetheless. He wasn't much older than she was. She found herself staring at his Far Side T-shirt. The morose humor of Santa being smushed on the front of an airplane seeming almost grotesque here, but somehow it made her smile. She had to stifle a giggle before it could escape.
Come on, Chase. Hold it together. This is no time to become hysterical. But she wasn't sure how much longer she could stay down here. She felt like she'd been in this basement forever.
Walking through that room had been like a nightmare. At first the people had just been demons, at least so she kept telling herself. She had seen dead demons before and felt nothing but relief. Then she started seeing other things. Noticing how young some of the children were, babies dead in their carriers, and seeing the personal items scattered around; a hairbrush, a doll, an earring, a pair of glasses. There had been a young woman who was wearing a pair of shoes almost exactly like ones that Cordelia had bought only last week. Soon she had stopped seeing demons and started seeing people.
There has to be someone left, she thought. Why else would they send us here? Please God, let us find someone. Just one, please, just one. It had become her mantra as she prayed to a God she no longer really believed in. Just one, please, just one.
She hugged herself and wondered what was taking them so long. The worst part was being alone out here with this body. It couldn't be that much worse in there than it had been in the other room, could it? At least she'd be with Angel and Doyle; she wouldn't be alone.
Finally she couldn't stand it any longer. She pushed herself away from the wall, straightened her shoulders, and walked determinedly to the door. She paused on the threshold to catch her breath and to force back the bile in her throat. This room was smaller, but it held the same carnage as the other. Over near the far wall Angel and Doyle moved quietly along, searching as they had before. Neither noticed as Cordelia stepped into the room and began to look around.
From the right, a flash of gold caught her eye. She picked her way to the side of the room and found a woman in her late twenties or early thirties. What had caught Cordelia's eye had been the many gold bangles she wore on her wrists. She also wore silver rings on her fingers and her colorful skirt alone seemed to defy the somberness of the room.
What do you know, a demon gypsy, Cordelia thought. The woman had been shot in the chest and her clear silver eyes staring up at nothing made Cordelia shiver. She looked for something to cover the woman's face with, but could find nothing. Making a little face she reached over and carefully closed the woman's eyes. She began to move away, but stopped when she saw something else.
A small sneaker.
It only just showed beneath the woman's body. Cordelia's breath caught and she glanced over at Angel and Doyle. They had moved over to the other side of the room, still apparently unaware of her presence.
Disregarding the blood on the floor, she knelt and gently laid her hands on the woman's body. With another quick glance toward the two men, she pushed. The woman slid easily away and revealed a smaller body beneath her. The child had been hidden, both by the woman's body and by the length of flowing skirts. As her cover was moved away the little one curled into a tight ball. She appeared to be dressed in overalls and striped shirt, and was covered in blood.
Cordelia was still for a moment before she gently touched the child's long dark hair. This produced a small whimper of fear and the child tried to curl even tighter into herself.
"Shh, it's alright, it's going to be OK." Cordelia murmured as she tried to gently urge the child's hands away from her face. "I'm gonna to help you. It OK now." The child finally relented and a small face streaked with dirt, blood, and tears was revealed. She looked to be about four or five years old, was the same kind of demon as all the others, and her wide panic filled eyes were the same odd silver color of the woman whose body had hidden her.
Cordelia carefully smoothed the child's hair back from her face and began looking for any sign that the girl was injured. She found none and ignoring the mess that covered her, she tenderly pulled the little girl off the floor and into her lap. She wrapped her arms tightly around her and began to rock gently back and forth.
"It's gonna be OK. It's gonna be OK." She just whispered it over and over. She was crying freely now and she began to cry harder as she felt two little arms wrap around her neck.
"Cordy?"
She looked up to see Doyle kneeling beside her, Angel standing just behind him.
"She's alive," was all she could say through her tears.
She had found one.
* * *
The flashlight gave only feeble illumination from where it sat on its end on the floor. But it was enough to show Cordelia sitting on a rung of the ladder with the little girl still wrapped in her arms. The blood on both of them had dried and their clothes had to be ruined. But for once Cordelia didn't seem to notice the state of her clothes and didn't complain about how much her shoes had cost. That in itself was enough to worry Angel. He and Doyle had left her there while they searched the rooms through the other door.
They had found no more survivors. What Angel had found were a few containers of kerosene. They didn't have the time or a place to give all these people proper burials. So, it was decided that they would give them the next best thing.
Cordelia looked up as they came back into the little room where she was sitting. Angel shook his head at her questioning look. She nodded and hugged the little one closer.
"Ready to go home, Princess?" Doyle asked.
"Am I ever. I must look like a monster or something." Doyle smiled and Angel understood the relief he saw in his eyes. If Cordelia could complain about her looks everything was going to be alright. Strange what could be comforting in the right situtation.
Cordelia stood and, with Doyle's help, was able to get up the ladder without putting the child down. Doyle took a deep breath once they were out. He then knelt down by the trapdoor and watched as Angel doused the sides of the room with kerosene as they had already doused much of the inside. Doyle stood as Angel climbed out of the hole. He waited for Angel to douse the ladder as well and then tossed his lighter to him. Angel caught it easily and carefully set the ladder on fire. The three then took off running for the door as the fire began to spread below them.
It was a relief to be out in the night air again, to breath something other than dust and death. When they reached the car they turned to watch as the fire began its work on the building.
The three stood in silence. The little girl finally raised her head from Cordelia's shoulder to watch as well. Smoke plumed skyward as the fire consumed the warehouse with angry passion, the flames reflecting in four pairs of eyes.
A silent vigil over the funeral pyre, for what Angel believed at final count to be more than eighty lives.
* * *
The drive back to the office was even quieter than the drive there. Each was lost in their own thoughts and no one wanted to talk. When they arrived, they stumbled up the stairs and into the elevator.
"We all smell awful." Cordelia commented. "The Munchkin and me get the bathroom first."
"Munchkin?" Doyle asked, with a slight grin.
Cordelia shrugged. "That's what my aunt always called kids." The little girl raised her head from Cordelia's shoulder to look at her as she spoke. Cordelia smiled at her. "You don't mind being called a Munchkin do you?" The little girl didn't respond, didn't appear to have understood at all.
They stepped out of the elevator and Cordelia grabbed some of the clothes that she always kept at Angel's in case of emergencies, like having to slice and dice icky demons or other things that got gross stuff all over her clothes. She also grabbed a garbage bag for their ruined stuff and then headed off to the bathroom.
Angel headed into the kitchen and pulled off his duster, wondering if it could be saved. The boots were goners and probably the pants as well, but with some cold water and soap he thought that there was still some hope for the coat.
Doyle was still standing near the elevator, staring at nothing. Angel grabbed a beer from the refrigerator for him and walked over.
"You know, I think that jacket can be saved."
Doyle looked up. "What was that?"
Angel sighed. "Leather is pretty durable. If you clean it up I think your jacket won't have to be tossed." Angel frowned, as he looked downward. "On the other hand, I think that those pants and shoes are done for." Angel handed him the beer, which Doyle accepted gladly.
He opened it and took a few swallows before answering. "Oh well, it's not like they were designer made or anythin'." He gave Angel a small smile, which was returned.
Then Angel grew serious again. "Do you have any idea what could have done that, or why?" Doyle tensed and, for the first time since earlier that evening, Angel remembered Doyle's comment during his vision. He stepped closer and spoke softy, "when you had your vision you said, 'Not this. Not again.' What did you mean?" Doyle's breath had quickened and he hesitated before meeting Angel's eyes. Then he looked away, shame etched into his features.
"You've seen something like that before, haven't you?"
Doyle nodded slowly, still not looking at him. "Yeah, I have."
* * *
Cordelia had given up on her clothes and her shoes. There was no saving the little girl's things either.
"It's OK. I'll get you some new ones. Don't worry about it."
Not only was there no saving either of their clothes, but, because of all the blood, the clothes had dried stiff making them very difficult to get off. Cordelia was able to get the little girl's shoes off and she then stood her in the empty tub. After taking her own shoes off, wincing internally when she thought of how much they had cost, she dumped both pairs of shoes in the trash bag and joined the little one. She pulled the curtain and turned on the shower. With the water soaking into the fabric and softening the blood Cordelia was finally able to get both her and the child divested of the ruined things. After dumping the clothes in the bag and rinsing the worst of the blood off of herself and the Munchkin, she filled the tub and proceeded to scrub them both clean.
The whole time she prattled on ceaselessly about stupid things. The smell of the soap, similarity in their hair color, her hopes for stardom, anything to keep her mind off what she had seen earlier, and what was causing the pink tint to the bath water. Finally, she got out and wrapped a towel around herself. Turning back to the child in the tub, she found that the girl was watching her intently.
Cordelia sighed as she knelt by the tub. "Do you understand anything I'm saying?"
After a moment the child nodded.
A grin broke across Cordelia's face. "That's so great! I was really starting to think that you didn't know English and I so don't know any demon languages. OK, so... um... do you want to get out now?" For a moment the child didn't respond, but then she nodded slowly and stood up. Cordelia wrapped a towel around the child and lifted her out of the tub. She knelt in front of her and dried her off, smiling the whole time.
"OK, so you know English. Wanna tell me your name?" The little girl shook her head. Cordelia was surprised and effected a mock pout. "You don't? I told you mine," she said trying to pretend she was hurt. The little girl just looked at her. Cordelia sighed. Shock, she thought, it had to be shock. After all, Cordelia had found her under a dead body in a room full of dead bodies and covered in the blood of a woman Cordelia was inclined to think had probably been her mother. God, this kid was going to need some serious therapy when she grew up.
"That's OK," she said, tucking a strand of wet hair behind the child's ear. "Maybe you can tell me later." Again, the little girl didn't respond.
* * *
It had been a few months after Harry left when Doyle had returned to his apartment to find someone waiting for him. He had smelled something the moment he had come in, still mildly horrified at these new senses that came with the full manifestation of his demonic heritage. He pretended not to notice at first, as though he was still too human to be able to detect the intruder. Shrugging out of his jacket, he took the cigarette out of his mouth and surreptitiously picked up the baseball bat sitting by his couch for just such an emergency.
He turned around quickly.
"Who's there?"
"A friend," a voice answered from the shadows on the other side of the room.
Doyle's hands tightened on the bat. "I don't have any friends."
"All right. Maybe I'm more of a relative." His visitor had stepped into the light coming through the blinds from the street lamp outside. "Who's in trouble and needs help."
The man's features were clearly that of a demon, not only that, they were the same features Doyle had seen a the mirror the few times he'd dared to look when he was in demon form. Doyle's stomach rolled.
He lowered the bat, but remained tense. "What the hell are you talkin' about? And who the hell are you?"
"My name is Lucas. I'm a Brachen demon, like yourself. My clan is from Oregon. We've been living in the woods there, safe until... they came. Not all of us escaped."
The words sent shivers down Doyle's spine and a knot of cold fear began to form in his already unsettled stomach. At that moment, Doyle really wasn't sure whether he regretted the couple of beers he'd had at the bar or regretting not having more.
"I don't know what you think I can do," he answered. "I've got problems of my own."
"They know we're here," Lucas answered grimly. "They're coming for us." The knot grew and Doyle began to feel physically ill.
"What are you talking about? Who's coming for you?"
"The Scourge."
"Who the hell is that?"
* * *
Doyle sat hunched over on the edge of the couch studying the floor, his elbows on his knees and his half-empty beer bottle hanging forgotten from his hands. Angel sat beside him, watching his friend's profile intently.
"The Scourge?" He echoed softly. Doyle nodded and glanced up at him briefly, his expression unreadable, before looking back down at the floor.
"An army of pureblooded demons. They have a big hate-on for us mixed heritage types. Very into pedigree. They hunt us down like animals." There was an emptiness in Doyle's voice as he spoke and Angel swallowed. In his mind he kept seeing the rooms from earlier, the bodies scattered like so much garbage. Except now he began to see Doyle lying among the dead and it scared him.
He wanted to reach out and touch Doyle, to offer what little comfort he could but he remained still. He couldn't be certain if his touch would be welcome or not.
"No one fights back?" he asked.
Doyle shrugged. "Sure they do. All the time. You can kill 'em, but these guys believe in what they're doin'. They're ready to die for the cause and there's always more where they came from."
"Hard to fight fanatics," Angel said quietly, beginning to understand just what it was they were up against.
"More like impossible."
* * *
"I'm not asking you to fight," Lucus insisted. "Just help us hide until we can get out of town."
Doyle was panicking, certain now that he was either too sober or to drunk to deal with this. All he wanted was for the walking nightmare, the refection of the part of himself he loathed, the part that had distroyed his life, to leave. To never had come.
"You got the wrong guy, pal. You want to set up a little off-track betting then I've got the know-how. But demon-hiding? It's not my line."
Lucas looked like he'd been hit. "You're one of us."
Doyle felt the bile rise in his throat. His response was just a little too quick, a little to vehement, betraying the nerve the demon had touched. "No, I'm not. I was raised human. I'm not lookin' to explore me roots."
He had to turn away then, not wanting to see the dying hope in the demon's eyes. Not wanting to know that the thing to feel in the same way he could.
"We don't have anyone else to turn to," Lucas said.
Doyle sat down on the couch, suddenly feeling worn out. "Look, I don't know what t' tell you, man. You're up against somethin' real big here. Anybody that helps you... They're takin' a chance. And I'm not dyin' to take chances." He just wanted the guy to leave, to stop making him feel that he might just have an obligation to these people. He hadn't wanted this, hadn't wanted this thing inside him. All he'd ever wanted was to be normal, average, human.
When Lucas spoke next his voice had hardened. "Doyle, if you don't believe that we share a common family, believe that we share a common enemy. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
When Doyle remained silent and wouldn't look at him he sighed, the last of the hope being replaced by the small flash of anger. "Guess not." He turned to leave.
* * *
"I punked out. I'd only just found out about me demon side. I didn't know what it meant, didn't want to know what it meant. The idea of havin' family obligations with guys that looked like big blue pin cushions... it was just a little bit too much to take right then."
Finally, Angel did reach out. He laid his hand on Doyle's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. When Doyle looked up, he tried to put as much understanding in his eyes as he could. "What happened?"
"Nothin' at first. Part of me felt guilty for turnin' the guy away but I couldn't make myself wanna go after him either, even if I had known were t' look." He looked away from Angel then, unable to meet his eyes any longer. The guilt and shame evident on his face caused a lump to form in Angel's throat. He knew those feelings all too well.
"Nothin' happened 'til the next mornin'. When I got the visions for the first time, I thought I was havin' a stroke. I didn't know what the images meant. But I had to know if what they showed me was a dream... or real."
He was quiet for a moment. "It wasn't a dream," he whispered.
"You couldn't have known."
Doyle shook his head. "Doesn't matter. What happened to them is still my fault. I'm bein' held accountable for them." He looked over at Angel wearily. "So, that's why I'm here workin' wit you. To atone for that, to try and get their blood off my hands."
Angel held his eyes, not giving him the chance to look away again. "I'm sorry for what happened but I can't say I'm sorry you're here."
At that Doyle smiled a little. "Thanks, man."
Angel suddenly began to feel awkward. They were sitting so closely, his hand still on Doyle's shoulder and Doyle gazing up at him, his heart in his eyes. Far more fragile in that moment than Angel had known he could be. Angel dropped his hand.
"So, you think that it was this Scourge that killed the demons at the warehouse?"
"Yeah, I'm nearly certain of it." Doyle glanced toward the bathroom. "Ya know, I've never heard of a survivor of a Scourge attack before. They're pretty damn thorough."
Angel shrugged. "There's a first time for everything."
As if on cue, Cordelia exited the bathroom carrying the little girl. She had thrown on an old pair of sweats pants and a tank top. The little girl was in a T-shirt that nearly reached down to her ankles.
"I hope you left some hot water," Angel commented dryly.
Cordelia smiled. "I make no promises," she said airily. "Go find out for yourself. Oh, and it seems the Munchkin here does understand English, she just doesn't feel like talking yet. Isn't that right?" she said, looking at the little girl with a growing fondness in her eyes. The "Munchkin" was staring uncertainly at Angel and Doyle. At this, she turned and buried her face in Cordelia's shoulder.
Angel couldn't help but smile. He turned to Doyle. "Why don't you go ahead and grab the shower next. You can borrow some of my clothes."
"You sure, man?" Doyle asked. Angel just nodded. "Thanks." Doyle put his beer on the coffee table and went into Angel's room to find something that might halfway fit... or at least not fall off.
Angel watched him until he disappeared, still trying to process what he had just learned. He couldn't believe that Doyle was being made to suffer the visions and the dangers of working with Angel for one moment of bad judgment. He known for a while now that Doyle could never intentionally do anything to harm someone, killing demons and vampires who were trying to kill people not withstanding, and he had often wondered what he could have possibly done to be forced into earning redemption. He had more or less come to the conclusion that Doyle had probably got himself involved deal of some sort – one of his "sure things" – that went wrong as they so often did. Some deal or job involving magic or something of the sort. Something arrangement that he hadn't looked into too much until it was too late and he was stuck holding the bag, as it were.
This though... this was unexpected.
Angel was intimately familiar with the pain his friend was suffering, that kind of guilt was seared into the vampire's soul. And to have those old wounds re-opened again tonight by having to watch more half-demons die, by having to again see the aftermath of a Scourge attack... But this time Doyle had never even been given the chance to help them, none of them had and that was something Angel couldn't understand. Wasn't the pain and suffering of the visions enough of a punishment without putting him through that particular hell again?
The only purpose of the vision, so far as Angel could see, was to save one little girl out of nearly a hundred people. Why?
Cordelia had taken the child into the kitchen and sat her on the counter as she searched the refrigerator for something to eat. She chatted away as she looked, "Hmm, bagels? I don't thing so. There's some eggs in here. Naw, too early for breakfast. How does left over pizza sound?"
Angel walked in and leaned again the door jam, the little girl watched him with huge silver eyes. He smiled tentatively at her, but got no response. Cordelia pulled out the pizza box and a carton of orange juice. "Hey, Angel," she said over her shoulder as she put her items on the counter beside the child. "Want to join us for a midnight snack?"
Angel sighed wondering how much of Doyle's story he should tell her. She needed to know about the Scourge, about the dangers they might be facing by harbouring this child. But he was certain that Doyle wouldn't want her to know about the Brachen demons or what he was atoning for. Not yet, anyway. Besides, Angel wasn't sure he wanted her to know yet either. For now, it was just between Angel and Doyle and in some selfish part of Angel's soul he found wanted to keep it that way. At least for now.
* * *
Doyle slept fitfully and woke first. The clock said that it was ten o'clock in the morning. Less than five hours of sleep, he thought. Wonderful. But he didn't feel like trying to go back to sleep. His dreams had been full of vague, but awful images and Lucas' voice echoed through them all, "Believe that we share a common enemy." He was more than happy to get up, to get away from the memories of last night and the ones from several years ago it had brought painfully back into focus.
Angel slept soundly on the floor a little ways away. Doyle wondered what he thought about him now. Was he horrified by what Doyle had done? He didn't seem to be. He had tried to comfort him, telling him that he "couldn't have known." But he should have. He was grateful that Angel hadn't said anything about it to Cordelia, beyond what was strictly necessary. He felt oddly better for having told Angel, though. He'd never told anyone else about Lucas before. He didn't want to deal with seeing the blame he felt for their deaths reflected in someone else's eyes. But, Angel, of all people could understand. After all, the things he'd done were far worse and he knew was it was to be eaten alive by guilt.
The bedroom door was open a crack already and he pushed it open a little more to check on Cordelia. The little girl had nearly wrapped herself around her, and Cordelia had responded enclosing the child securely in her arms. The both of them were fast asleep and neither stirred as Doyle stood and watched them for a few moments. It was an odd picture, but one that affected him deeply. After all she'd said about demons, when presented with a child in need the girl's race has ceased to matter entirely.
He turned away restlessly, looking for something to keep his mind occupied. All he could see when he closed his eyes were dead bodies, the ones from last night, the ones from four years ago... He shook his head trying to dislodge them. His eyes fell on the bookshelf devoted to Angel's collection of books on demonology. He turned the reading lamp by the leather chair on, glancing at Angel to make sure he didn't wake him. Grabbing the book closest to hand he began to read.
Two hours later, he had found what he was looking for. He got up from the chair and turned off the light. Scribbling a note that said he was going back to his apartment to change, he was almost to the stairs when a voice called after him softly.
"Doyle?"
He turned to see Cordelia blinking sleepily at him from the bedroom door. "Mornin', Princess," he whispered back.
"Where are you going?" She asked, as she walked over to him.
"Home," he said. "It was nice of Angel to let me borrow his clothes, but I think I'd rather get somethin' that fits." He smiled wryly at her.
She smirked back. "I'll bet. While you're out, stop by... somewhere and pick up some clothes for the kid, OK?"
Doyle's smile faltered. "Where d'ya get kid's clothes?"
"How should I know? Now, I checked out the sizes on her clothes last night before I had to trash them so this is what she needs..."
Doyle sighed, but dutifully memorized the list she gave him before turning to go. At least she asked for clothes by size and not by designer labels.
* * *
Angel awoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Cordelia singing off key along with the radio. He looked over to find the couch empty. Then he felt eyes on him and sat up. He saw the demon child standing in the kitchen doorway watching him, still wearing Cordelia's T-shirt.
Angel smiled at her. "Good morning," he said softly. "Did you sleep well?"
She just watched him for a moment and then slowly nodded her head. Angel's smile widened.
"I'm glad to hear that. I don't think we were introduced last night. My name is Angel. What's your name?"
The little girl didn't respond, but after a moment she hesitantly walked over to him. He was careful not to move so he wouldn't frighten her. She had caught the end of her hair with her left hand and was absently twirling a few strands around her finger. She was studying him with an odd look on her face.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. She shook her head and then smiled timidly. Angel smiled back at her.
Just then, Cordelia appeared in the kitchen door. "Morning, Angel." He looked up at her, surprised at how happy she sounded this morning, almost as if last night hadn't happened. That illusion was shattered, though, when he looked into her eyes. There were circles under them as if she hadn't slept very well, and there was a slightly haunted look in those depths hadn't been there twenty-four hours ago.
"Good morning," he echoed softly. "Where's Doyle?" he asked looking around.
"He wanted to go and get some clothes from his apartment and I asked him to pick up some stuff for the Munchkin on the way back."
Angel smiled. "We really need a name for her. How about it," he said turning to her. "You sure you don't want to tell us your name?"
The little girl bit her lip but said nothing.
Cordelia sighed, then smiled. "I made some breakfast," she said hopefully.
Angel got up slowly and held out his hand to the little gir1, smiling softly down at her. "How about it. Do you want to try and brave Cordelia's cooking?"
The little girl smiled back and took his hand. They walked into the kitchen to the sound of Cordelia's outraged protests that there was nothing wrong with her cooking.
* * *
Doyle walked cautiously into the bar, looking for signs of anyone that he needed to avoid. It was only just after one o'clock and the dark interior of the bar was mostly empty. Not seeing anyone he needed to worry about he strode more confidently up to the bar.
"Hey ya, Tony," Doyle called in a cheerful voice. Tony, a large, black man, turned from where he was polishing glasses. He groaned.
"What they hell do you want, Doyle."
"It's nice to see you, too," Doyle replied, holding his smile in place. He slid onto a barstool and gestured towards the taps. "I'll take a Guinness if ya don't mind."
Tony folded his arms. "I do mind, as a matter of fact. Do you know how high your tab is? You don't get so much as a glass of water 'til you start paying it off."
Doyle rolled his eyes. He pulled out his wallet and passed thirty bucks across the bar. Tony took it and frowned. "More than that, Doyle."
"Aw, come on, man. A guy's gotta eat." Tony just held out his hand. Doyle looked in his wallet. Hell, he could just keep raiding Angel's fridge for the next week or so, he thought and slapped thirty more into Tony's outstretched hand. Tony nodded. He rang up the money on the register and tucked the cash safely inside before getting the beer and setting it down in front of Doyle.
"Thanks, man." He took a drink of it. "By the way, have you heard anything about any T'Pari demons in town?"
Tony frowned. "What the hell do you care about T'Pari demons?"
Doyle shrugged. "I'm just lookin' for 'em 's all. Had a friend who's a T'Pari and I'm thinkin' maybe he's in the area."
Tony shook his head, smirking. "You don't have any friends, Doyle. In any case, I haven't heard anything." He began to turn away.
Doyle reached out and caught his arm. "Come on, Tony. Everyone comes in here eventually." Tony looked pointedly at the hand on his arm and then back up at Doyle. The half-demon quickly removed his hand. "'Sides, I got plenty of friends."
Tony snorted. "Yeah right, which is why you had to take a good look at who was here before you came in. You're just so, damn, popular. I know of a few people who'd be very interested to know that you're still in town ya know."
Doyle shifted uncomfortably. "What d'ya want, Tony. I just gave ya all the money I had on me."
"What information do you have? We might be able to make a trade if you've got anything worth my time."
Doyle sighed. This was going to take a while.
* * *
Angel looked up from the book he was reading as Doyle came in. He had a shopping bag in one hand, which he deposited wearily on the kitchen table. Angel followed him and leaned against the doorjamb. "I didn't know shopping for kids clothes took so long," he commented watching Doyle closely. The truth was, he had been getting worried. It was after three o'clock and according to Cordelia, Doyle had left about noon. His apartment wasn't that far away but when Angel had called there hadn't been any answer. Angel paused as he breathed in deeply and then frowned. "I don't think it's the kind of thing you'd get at a bar either."
Doyle looked up then. "No," he said. "But ya do get information there."
Angel quirked an eyebrow. "What kind of information?"
They were interrupted then as Cordelia sailed into the room. "God, Doyle, what took you so long? What did you get?" She pounced on the bag and began pulling things out. The little girl wandered in after her and pressed herself closely to Cordelia's legs as she studied Doyle uncertainly.
Doyle walked over and squatted down so that he was nearly at eye level with her. "Hi. We met last night but I becha don't remember me?"
She shook her head.
"Oh well then. Me name's Doyle. Pleased t' meet ya." He held out his hand, smiling encouragingly at her. After a few moments she smiled back and tentatively took his hand. Doyle's grin widened and he shook her hand very gently. Releasing her, he continued talking.
"I hear yer from North Dakota originally. Must be strange livin' in some place so warm after all tha' snow, huh?" The little girl smiled again and nodded. "D'ya like snow, then?"
This time she shook her head.
"Ya don't? Well, I'll tell ya a secret," he leaned in and the child leaned forward as well. Then he whispered, "I don' like th' stuff either. Way too cold." The little girl giggled.
Angel and Cordelia watched the exchange with some surprise. Angel was reminded that Doyle had been a teacher once. It had always seemed odd to try to picture him teaching children but for the first time Angel saw what he must have been like then.
"North Dakota?" He asked, as Doyle stood up. Doyle nodded.
"I've got a little bit o' information 'bout the..." he paused then smiled, "Munchkin's clan."
"OK," Cordelia interrupted. "Hold that thought. I'm going to change the kid and put her down for a nap, then you can spill your guts."
Angel and Doyle watched her take the child and the bag of clothes out of the room with odd expressions on their faces.
"Is it jus' me, or is our Cordy turnin' into a mother in front o' our eyes?"
"Well, it is supposed to be biological." Angel shrugged. "Wait until the next big sale, though. She'll be out the door in a second leaving one of us with the Munchkin."
Doyle grinned, and then suddenly sobered. "Ya make it sound like she's stayin'. We need to find her family, man."
Angel nodded. "I agree, but for now, she's here and there isn't anyone else to look after her. Social services doesn't exactly take demons."
Twenty minutes later found the three of them sitting in Angel's living room.
"Not only are the T'Pari part human," Doyle explained, "but they're also of mixed demon heritage. Some Dbarcris blood, an' some Ghartrackt blood... among others. They used t' be well known as historians and the like. They kept track of important events fer thousands o' years. They always remained neutral in every conflict and jus' recorded what happened, but for th' last... oh hundred an' fifty years 'r so, they've pretty much been keepin' t' themselves. No one seems to know why, an' no one really seems t' care. They're histories... even the clan itself, seem t' have been almost forgotten. All anyone seems to know is that they've been livin' in complete solitude up somewhere in North Dakota for th' last fifty years, or there 'bouts. And most people don't even know that."
"If they're so big on the whole, Joe Recluse thing then what were they doing in LA?" Cordelia asked.
Doyle shrugged. "I'm guessin' that the Scourge went after them in North Dakota an' they ran. An' they just kept runnin' 'til the Scourge caught up wit' them last night."
"A big city is a good place to go when you're trying to disappear," Angel observed grimly.
"That too," Doyle said.
"Did you find out when they got here? Or anything about any others?" Angel asked.
Doyle shook his head. "No one seems t' even have known they were in town. Actually," he sat forward slightly. "No one seems t' know anything, period."
"A little too ignorant?" Angel asked.
"I don' know. Like I said, these guys weren't exactly big news. So, they might have just snuck in without anyone knowin', but then again that many people are gonna be kinda hard not to notice."
"It smells fishy to me," Cordelia agreed. "Find out anything more about these Scourge guys?"
"No," Doyle said, sitting back again. "No one'll talk about them, but then that's not all that unusual. There're just not a popular conversation topic, if ya know what I mean."
"Everyone is afraid of them," Angel said nodding.
"No, it ain't that. It don' affect the humans, so they don' care. It don' affect the full demons either an' half o' them think that the world would be better off without the half-breeds anyway. They jus' don't talk about it 'cause they still do business wit' half-demons."
Doyle fell silent, lost in his own thoughts. Angel studied him, but for once he couldn't seem to read his face. He'd never really thought about what it must be like for him beyond his refusal to accept his demon half. He had never thought about what kind of discrimination he might have had to deal with. His mind flashed back to the demon who had been sent to collect money from Doyle. He'd asked Angel why he was helping "some little demon half-breed". At the time he had been too concerned about saving Doyle's life to consider that the comment and prejudice behind it might be part of a more general discrimination against half-demons. It wasn't a nice thought.
"OK," Cordelia said after Angel and Doyle had remained silent for several minutes. "So, what do we do now?"
No one had an answer to that.
* * *
"Dennis, where's my hair brush!"
The little girl stared wide-eyed as the requested article floated out of the bathroom. Cordelia grabbed it out of the air with a mumbled, "thanks."
She set to work, brushing the child's hair, deftly pulling it back into a pony tale. "There, isn't that better? It won't flop in your face so much." The little girl looked over her shoulder and smiled at Cordelia shyly. She was dressed in some of her new clothes, a pair of jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt with Mickey Mouse on the front. Cordelia smiled back and gave her a quick hug. "OK, how's this Munchkin, why don't you play and I'll make us some dinner?"
The little girl nodded and nearly scrambled over to the coffee table where her very own sketch pad and a brand new box of crayons waited for her. It had been Angel's idea to give her a piece of paper and some pencils to play with while they continued trying to research where others of her clan might still be living. He seemed to have hit on her favorite thing. The little one's eyes had lit up and she had sat happily drawing for hours. Actually the pictures weren't bad for a child of her age, and several now adorned Angel's refrigerator. Doyle had gone out that afternoon with some of Angel's money and bought her the sketch pad and crayons.
Cordelia watched her draw for a few moments, before heading off to the kitchen to see if she could make anything halfway decent. This was their first evening here. They hadn't known what to do with the kid, but she had latched on to Cordelia so tightly they had decided that it was best if she stayed with her. Also, Cordelia was finding that she was oddly loath to give her up. Something she decided she didn't want to analyse too closely. After all, she wanted to be a woman with a career, there wasn't really a place in her plans for a kid. The little one was still a little shy of Dennis, but Cordelia was sure that she would get over that soon.
All in all the little girl seemed to be taking everything rather well. She had been plagued by nightmares since... well since. But that wasn't surprising. And of course, there was the whole not-talking thing, but Cordelia was sure that that would change in time too.
Dennis turned the TV on to some basketball game, the little one drew pictures of forests, and Cordelia felt oddly contented as she fought with the tuna helper.
* * *
"So that's it." Angel's voice sounded dull.
"I guess so," Doyle muttered. They sat in Angel's kitchen, frowning at the books that were still scattered across the table. They had tried everything they could think of. Contacted everyone they knew. They had found nothing. No trace of the child's clan, no whisper of any others or even a place to start looking.
Doyle sighed. "I did hear one thing though."
Angel looked up. "What?"
"Well, I called Harry, asked 'er if she'd heard anythin'. Ya know, 'bout the Scourge or the T'Pari."
"And?" Angel prompted as Doyle paused.
"Seems the city's been a big empty in the half-demon department of late. It's like everyone who wasn't full blooded, one way 'r another decided it was time fer a vacation."
Angel sat back, staring into space. "They knew that the Scourge was coming." He glanced at Doyle. "Why didn't you know then?"
Doyle shrugged. "It's no' like I mix with th' others very often." He looked away. "Actually, I avoid them if I can."
Angel's frown deepened as he watched Doyle's face. "Doesn' matter," Doyle continued. "The point is they've been comin' back."
"Back? To the city." At Doyle's nod, he sighed. "It's over then."
"That's what I'm thinkin'."
"What happens if they come back? How do we fight them?"
Doyle shook his head. "We don't, man."
Angel's gaze turned hard. "Yes, we do. I'm not going to let what we saw happen again. It's over for now but there's a lot of mixed blood in LA. This isn't the first time they've come here and I doubt that it'll be the last. We have to start looking into this. We need to be ready when they come back."
He met Doyle's eyes and held them. He could see that Doyle didn't want any part of this, but after a few moments he looked away. "If ya say so. Yer the boss, right?"
"Doyle, you have to care about what's happening. I know you do. It's a threat to you as much as to anyone else."
Doyle stood up and walked away. "I don' need remindin' 'bout my mixed heritage, Angel," he said, sharply. He leaned against the counter and stared at the floor, his arms crossed.
Angel ignored Doyle's uncharacteristic harshness as he rose and walked over to him. "I know you're scared." This got Doyle to look at him. He seemed like he was about to protest when Angel forestalled him. "I am too. But I can't see what happened to that little girl's family happen again. And I know that you don't want to see it again either. This isn't going to be easy, but we all have to face our fears. And no matter what, I swear I won't let anything happen to you." Angel held his eyes.
Neither moved for a few moments. They stood still, eyes locked, until Doyle smiled slightly, the tension draining out of his frame.
"Thanks, man," he said softly.
"You're welcome." They stood together in silent understanding.
* * *
Cordelia glowered at the badly animated cartoon hero on the television. "OK, this guy is totally pathetic," she commented from her place, curled up in one corner of the couch with her second cup of coffee cooling in her hands. The little girl glanced at her and shrugged. She then turned her attention back to the checkerboard on the floor in front of her. She moved a piece and looked back to the cartoon.
"I mean look at those moves!" Cordelia continued. "Angel could do that blindfolded and the side kick is just... I mean DOYLE could kick that guy's ass."
Dennis moved the next piece on the checkerboard and the little girl frowned.
"You winning, Munchkin?" Cordelia asked, leaning forward to see the board. The kid smiled at her over her shoulder and nodded. "Good for you."
They lapsed into silence again, intermittently watching Saturday morning cartoons and the checker game.
"Are you gonna be my momma now?"
Cordelia jumped. "Did you say something?" she asked in shock.
The little girl nodded. "Are you gonna be my momma now?"
Cordelia put down her coffee mug and went to sit on the floor next to the little girl. She sighed, watching the child closely. "I don't know. You're going to stay with me for a little while, just until we can find some more of your family. Do you know were there are any?" The child shook her head and Cordelia felt relieved in spite of herself.
"Wha' do I call you?"
Cordelia smiled. "Cordelia is fine, or just Cordy. So, now that you're talking, what do I call you? I can't just call you 'Munchkin' forever."
"Dinah."
Cordelia swept Dinah up in her arms and hugged her.
* * *
Angel picked up the phone on the fifth ring, glancing at the clock. Soul or no soul, if this was those guys from Sprint again he was going to kill someone.
"Yeah?"
"Angel, guess what! The munchkin's name is Dinah. Isn't that a sweet name? Oh and she's talking..."
Angel found himself smiling as Cordelia continued to chatter.
Fade Out
Closing Credits