Under the Forbidden Sun
Part 6 – Recall
Doyle sighed, shifting again in the chair in Giles’ kitchen. Being watched almost constantly by the ex-watcher was making him nervous. As the ex-
watcher left to check on Buffy, Doyle almost sighed in relief, but then again, nervous paranoia was better than the memories.
***flashback***
Doyle sat in a rundown bar, nursing a bottle of whiskey, when a girl sat down next to him. He glared at her balefully, before getting a good look at her.
“Doyle?”
“Aye, that’s me.”
“My name’s Jericho. I’m here to help you.”
“Don’t need no help, lass.”
“ ‘Course you do. Look at yourself, you’re drinking yourself to death.”
“Better dead than alive, trust me,” he said, turning away.
She switched to his other side. “Uh uh, hon. You’re important, you’re needed.”
“For what?”
“To save the world.”
He glared at the girl. “You have to be joking.”
“Nope, it’s all very hush hush right now. Won’t happen for a few years, but I still need you now.”
“Why me?”
“Because of what you are.”
“ ‘M nothin’.”
“No, you’re half-Brakken, and that’s part of what I need you for.”
***end flashback***
“Doyle?”
Doyle was startled out of his thoughts by Wesley. “Aye?”
“Do you want to lie down somewhere?” Wesley asked, wondering what the half-demon had been thinking about.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Well, Buffy’s asleep and I’m going in the other room. Just let me know if you need…”
Wesley cut his words off when Doyle grasped his arm. “Angel. Does he love you?”
“I… well, yes, I like to think so,” stammered Wesley nervously, wishing Rupert would return soon.
“He loved me, you know,” said Doyle, taking his hand away. “Couldna do much about it ‘cause o’ the curse.”
“Yes,” said Wesley softly, “he told me. When I found a spell to anchor the soul more securely. He can still lose it, just not as easily.”
Doyle turned away, losing himself in his memories again. Wesley stared at the man for a minute, then sighed and went into the other room to continue working on the prophecy.
Wesley’s words burned into Doyle’s mind, giving him hope. ‘Does he love you?’ ‘Well… yes, I like to think so.’ That meant Angel had never said the words to the Englishman.
***flashback***
Doyle sneaked another glance at the brooding vampire. Jericho had told him to watch him and make certain nothing happened to him. Too bad she couldn’t have warning him just how beautiful the vampire was. Every time he looked in those tortured eyes, he fell, drowning in their depths.
He meant to tell Angel everything. But every time he started to confess, something stopped him. Doyle knew it was a geas or a spell that demon-girl had placed on him. She must have known his conscious wouldn’t allow him to stay silent. It was hard too, lying to Angel, lying to the one person he wanted to bare his soul to. He had fallen hard for Angel, and with the realization, knew it would be his eventual downfall.
“Angel?”
“Yes, Doyle?” asked Angel.
“Are there ways to break a geas?” Doyle asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Well, yes. I suppose. It really depends on the type of geas and how powerful the cast is. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. I guess I was just curious.” Doyle turned away, cursing inwardly. A few minutes later he heard Angel sigh.
*** ***
Doyle and Angel had just returned from slaying a demon. They were both covered in dried blood and crusted-over slime. Doyle plopped down into a chair, and sighed, “I’m never getting up again.”
“Oh, really?” said Angel skeptically.
“Yep. I’m just going to sit here and rot.” He grinned at Angel. Angel mumbled something. “What was that, Angel?
Angel stared at Doyle for a minute, as if weighing his options, before replying, “I said, I wouldn’t like that much.”
“Oh,” Doyle felt his stomach doing flip-flops, “and why is that? Too messy? Too smelly?”
Angel ducked his head as he said, “No, I would miss you too much.”
It was Doyle’s turn to stare at Angel. Finally, he decided to take to plunge, “I love you.”
Angel’s eyes bugged out for a second, then he whispered, “I love you, too. But, you know we can’t do anything about it.”
Doyle smiled sadly, “I know, but it’s enough just knowing you feel the same way.”
***end flashback***
Doyle sighed, remembering the love and pain he had seen in Angel’s eyes that night. They had never spoken about it since, but he had known Angel’s feelings had never changed. He knew because he had sometimes caught Angel watching him: sometimes with a heated look, sometimes with sadness, and sometimes, the times that make his insides melt, with a look that spoke of eternal love and desire.
Wesley sat in Giles’ living room, thinking about what Doyle had asked him: about if Angel loved him or not. Wesley was sure Angel did love him, but he knew that there was a part of the vampire that still loved and would always love the half-demon. He just didn’t want to know how large that part was. And the way Angel had looked at Doyle when he had pushed his way past Giles had torn something inside.
Sighing, Wesley reached for his copy of the prophecy and quickly scanned the lines, hoping for a revelation. He read the middle section once, then twice, finally stopping when he came to a line that now made almost perfect sense. ‘One seemed gone but not at all, shall rise again to forever fall.’ Doyle. Everyone had thought Doyle was dead, but here he was. ‘Saved’ by Jericho and returned to them. Wesley pondered the last bit of the line, worrying about the varied interpretations of the line. He considered the slightly unbalanced half-demon, and prayed that the ‘forever fall’ was merely the man’s descent into madness. “Merely, ha!” he thought. “There’s nothing insignificant about that.” Wesley returned to the prophecy, hoping to discern the meaning of some of the other lines.
Doyle heard Wesley mumbling to himself in the other and wondered if the Englishman was working on the prophecy. He laughed to himself, knowing nothing the others could do would stop the Rebirth from occurring. “And I should know,” he thought bitterly. “Not even death could keep me from my fate.”
He shuddered, recalling the anguishing mental torture he had been put through. Physical torture, rare and excruciating when used, was much preferred to the agonizing torment of being forced to second-guess and doubt everything he once believed. The only thing keeping him sane was the knowledge of Angel’s love, and even that had begun to unravel the longer he was kept in that pit of despair.
Joholen had delighted in taking his memories and twisting them to suit his purposes until Doyle had no way of knowing which version of the memory was real and which was created. And that was what made Joholen the master he was: the removal of hope. Turning and changing every thought, every memory until no fondness, no kindness, no love remained believable.
***flashback***
“Hello, Doyle,” came a smooth, cold voice.
Doyle whimpered, turning away from the approaching demon.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
Doyle moved as far away from the ice-filled voice as he could, shaking violently.
“I asked you a question. You know what happens when you don’t answer,” the voice said with amusement and anticipation.”
“I don’t know,” said Doyle frantically, as two hands grabbed him and pulled him forward.
“Of course you do,” said Joholen, fixing an icy stare on the half-demon. “You nearly failed. Without Angel,” he sneered the name, “ or you, the greatest triumph ever will not happen.”
Joholen released his captive, leaving Doyle watching him in fright. Finally, the crimson-haired demon turned back to his prisoner, a strange look in his orange eyes. “You do know,” crooned the Saveric demon, “that you were meant to ‘die’; that you had to screw up in order for the timeline to be accurate. How else could you fulfill your part?”
Doyle tried to shut out the words, chanting a silent mantra, “He loves me, Angel loves me. He won’t leave me here. He’ll find me. He loves me.”
Joholen laughed then, “He doesn’t ‘love’ you! If he did, wouldn’t he have been here by now? He doesn’t care. He barely even missed you!”
Doyle stared up at the demon. “You’re wrong,” he spat. “Angel loves me. He won’t leave me here. He won’t!”
“Of course he won’t,” said Joholen patronizingly. “I’m sure he’s mourning you right now. Let’s look and see what he’s been doing lately.” Joholen retrieved a two-foot mirror from one side of the room, then spoke a spell over it.
Forced to watch, Doyle recoiled from the scene forming before him. Angel, standing under a streetlight, was kissing another man. Doyle screamed in denial, the scene changing to one of Angel and the same man tangled together in a bed.
Dimly, he noticed Joholen had left, but Doyle couldn’t move away from the mirror as it showed Angel and his unknown lover again and again. “Why?” he whispered, tears running unnoticed down his face. “Why Angel? How could you do this? I thought you loved me.”
***end
flashback***