SquidgeWorld Archive

The glittering lights of the city slipped through the slanted blinds, casting a soft glow that separated the thick shadows that dominated the dark room. Angel stared out into the electric lights that covered Los Angeles like an ever-present mist, seeing, but not seeing the thrum of life occurring on the other side of the closed window.

After two-hundred and forty plus years of existence, he had been forced to expect and accept a multitude of changes as a means of survival. Sometimes, those changes were welcomed and helpful. However, more often than not, new changes came with a heavy price of pain.

And pain, for Angel, had become a constant companion since the restoration of his lost soul.

A familiar ache gripped his chest as his drifting thoughts once again rested on Buffy. God, he missed her. The days after his departure from Sunnydale had been among the hardest and most lonely of his existence.

What he was feeling was not the loss of love, or rather, not the kind of love that he once had in his heart for her. After their one ill-fated night together that led to the loss of his soul for the second time, and all of the events that followed that had literally sent him to hell and back, his feelings for the Slayer had changed. His love had not diminished, but as Angel finally accepted the total impossibility of a relationship between a vampire and Slayer, their love had grown into a deep friendship. It was her friendship that he missed most about her; her willingness to listen and support him through his most trying times.

Going on without that support had been more difficult than he ever imagined. So, he had retreated back into the shadows that Buffy had pulled him from.

Relentlessly throwing himself into his self-appointed task of protecting as many people as he could from the demons that stalked them, as he had once done, Angel had been determined to maintain a strict line of separation between him and those he sought to protect.

It seemed so much safer to him that way. The mortals were protected from the demon that silently watched over them, and Angel was shielded from any further pain of caring about people he had no right to care about. So, that was what he began to do. He watched from the darkness, and saved the innocent from those who sought to pray upon them.

Then, one night, he returned home only to be greeted by a voice from the shadows.

Angel closed his eyes as a slight shiver swept lightly through his body as he recalled the night he had first met Doyle. He was startled, and not just a little bit annoyed, that someone had managed to enter and wait for him in his home without him immediately detecting their presence.

What was even more surprising, was the fact that he couldn't make himself throw Doyle out.

When Angel had questioned this out loud at their initial meeting, it was more for his benefit than for Doyle. At first, the vampire rationalized his unexpected tolerance for the intrusion on the simple fact that he missed talking to people. His self-imposed isolation had begun to wear on Angel sooner than he expected, so hearing a voice in his lonely home after months of silence was refreshing.

Then, there was the voice itself. He had been struck right from the first words uttered by the half-demon. The rich Irish pitch drew Angel, and unexpectedly comforted him in a way that no other voice had. He found himself struggling to pay attention to the actual words being spoken, instead of losing himself in the soothing tone.

The fact that a stranger was standing uninvited in his home casually recounting the pieces of Angel's life to him should have unnerved the vampire, but he found instant and unexplainable ease in Doyle's company. It also amazed him how easily Doyle could read him; how he had managed to understand the growing hunger in Angel that strengthened each day since Buffy offered her blood to save her former lover.

That insistent hunger had really worried Angel. During the summer months after his arrival in Los Angeles, he had sensed the call for living blood growing sharper. The mere sight of it had begun to blur his reasons for refraining from drinking from humans, and that scared him deeply. He had felt himself slowly begin to spin out of control.

Doyle's arrival managed to somewhat ease his mounting fears, and at the same time, present him with a clearer purpose.

Apparently, the "Powers that Be" felt that he had been going about his quest for atonement in the wrong way, and had sent Doyle to guide him through. Angel seriously doubted that there was any real redemption waiting for him at the end of his journey, but Doyle seemed to believe there was a chance.

And Angel couldn't find it in himself to truly doubt Doyle.

He was also unable -- or, perhaps, unwilling -- to place a name to the emotions that Doyle drew from him. It alarmed him that after building up so many walls to protect himself from the pain of caring, Doyle had managed to break them down quicker and more easily than even Buffy. What did that mean for Angel?

Buffy and Doyle both inspired a connection from Angel, no matter how much he tried to hide from it.

One of the biggest pulls to Buffy had been her innocence. She had been so different than Angel; she was hope and light, where he had been despair and darkness. It was this difference that had sparked the love between them, and ultimately, doomed that love to destruction.

Angel saw many things when he looked into Doyle's amazing and expressive eyes. There was passion, determination, and a surfacing wisdom that seemed almost ageless. There was also a jaded understanding that could only belong to someone who understood the evil in the world, but chose to rise above it.

Doyle was, in no way, any kind of model for a saint. Witnessing him down a six pack or ogle Cordelia would quickly dispel any such notions. However, there was a deep rooted compassion and kindness that shown through to anyone who was looking.

Looking, for Angel, was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes.

Angel shook his head. He had so far managed to more or less to avoid that line of thought. The vampire had enough to worry about without endlessly contemplating his growing attraction toward Doyle. He was determined to avoid that avenue for as long as possible, or else he may risk another disaster similar to what he had gone through with Buffy. And if his feelings toward Doyle were occupying his thoughts so early in their association, what kind of chance would he have of being able to walk away? And would he want to?

He stood and ran his hands over his face. Okay, this was starting to get out of hand. It was time to think about something other than Doyle.

He glanced at the clock on the cluttered desk, and idly wondered how much more time of privacy he had left before Doyle came in to drag him off to do more 'socializing'?

Oh. That went well.

His thoughts were finally broken when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Allowing himself a small indulgence, he took a moment to deeply scent the air. The now familiar not-quite-human scent filled his nose, and he felt his body begin to instantly relax.

He listened to the small click of the switch as the room was flooded with light.

"Well, why am I not surprised to find you here?"

Although he did not turn, Angel could hear the smile in the beautiful Irish voice.

It was just as well. Angel had done enough thinking for one night.