Rating: R for Violence and adult situations.

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy, it's characters or plots. I'm just a devoted fan with too much time on my hands and a Doyle obsession. Please send any feedback on the story to the address above.

Doyle awoke from an unusually restless sleep and yawned as he walked into his kitchen, avoiding the site of four days of pilling up dishes. Opening the scarcely inhabited refrigerator he perused his limited selection and decided upon a dish of leftover… something. Whatever it had been, it smelled the least disgusting and he decided to chance the after effects. Sitting at the table with a blistering headache and a cold cup of day old coffee, he glanced at the front page of the newspaper, finding all the motivation he needed to wake spelled out on the front page. He absent-mindedly left his half eaten breakfast on the table, haphazardly threw on some clothes and headed out the door, jacket in hand, toward Angel Investigations.

Cordelia Chase shifted positions beneath her comforter in her rent-controlled apartment. The smile on her face indicated a favorable dream, and she woke with a frown as Dennis stripped the blankets from the bed in one fell swoop. She cursed at her ghost, but all attempts to regain control of her own sleeping patterns fell on deaf ears as Dennis persisted on waking the sleeping beauty. She rolled her eyes and grabbed her robe, scowling at her phantom roommate. “It had to be a Brad Pitt dream, didn’t it Dennis?” She extended her arms above her head, stretching her rested muscles when the phone rang.

Angel hadn’t slept. Though his co-workers seemed bent on making him a morning person, he had never adjusted to the daylight schedule they enforced upon him recently. All his protests of bursting into flames were for naught, apparently, with his trying, yet endearing friends. He stared into a dark corner in his office, gently tapping his foot in a steady pattern. The ticking of the clock was just slightly off, but Angel didn’t seem phased by the inaccuracy of his rhythm. His thoughts roamed over random events, business having been slow of late. He considered making himself a snack, but his fresh stock of blood was in waiting with his provider, and he had finished off the last bag he had the night before. Though he could make his way through the sewers of Los Angeles, his hunger was not as intense as his extreme lack of motivation. He would send Cordelia out when she arrived.

Cordelia glared at the phone angrily. Whoever was calling at this hour was clearly evil. She picked up the phone with a tone only she had mastered. “This had better be important, or I’ll be hunting you down.” Doyle was barely caught off-guard, being pre-occupied with what he had seen only minutes before. “Princess, I’m on my way over. Be ready in ten minutes.” Cordelia scoffed. “Hello, have you ever heard of preparation time? And besides, I’m really not one for following the orders of badly dressed alcoholics this morning.” Doyle sighed. Normally this conversational insult was somewhat appealing, at least giving him a reason to talk to the dark haired beauty. “There’s trouble. Now, as much as I respect your little womanly ritual, nows not the time for primping. If we all still exist tomorrow, I’ll let you lecture me on the importance of twelve different shades of black.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m not happy and you will be reminded of this.” She hung up and Doyle replaced the phone on the receiver. “I’ll bet.”

After an excruciatingly long car ride, Doyle pulled into the one available parking space in front of Angel Investigations. They were going to have to invest in a lot one of these days. He slammed the door as the droning sounds of Cordelia’s complaints rang clear in his ears. She followed him into the building with her biting wit not far behind as Angel looked up startled as his employees arrived early. “Special occasion or did I miss day-light savings again?” Doyle walked to the desk and threw the newspaper down in front of the ever-brooding vampire. “Look familiar?” Cordelia walked toward the others with a shred of interest and looked over Doyle’s shoulder at the photograph as Angel stood, heading toward his apartment below the office. Cordelia looked at Doyle as he noted that she was nearly leaning against him, her face barely inches from his own. “Isn’t that the guy who detached his body parts and stalked that girl?” Doyle nodded, grimly. “Sure looks that way.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Wait, didn’t Angel bury him under the subway system?” Doyle nodded once more. “That would be him.” Cordelia stopped and looked at the paper. “Isn’t it a little odd that he’s being honored by the American Medical Association for…” She read from the paper, “bettering the lives of hundreds of sickly children in the Los Angeles area and beyond.” Doyle picked up the paper, folding it under his arm. “Hence the emergency work earliness, yeah.” Cordelia leaned against the desk, a thoughtful look on her face. “So I shouldn’t want to beat you with a shovel right now?” Doyle managed a laugh and smile. “I’d rather you didn’t. Today anyway.” Cordelia smiled as Angel walked back into the room with a large ax, a metal box about the size of a human head and a shovel. “Are we ready?”

To be continued…..