He held his hands to his head, trying to slow the freight train that was moving through it. After a few moments, the roaring had died down enough for him to try to open his eyes and look around. He was completely disoriented, but as he tried to concentrate, the memory of what had happened to him came flooding back.
Cordelia.
He tried to stave off the memories of the terror, the fighting, the blinding pain at the end, in favor of the flowers and sunshine in that one sweet kiss. Whatever was in store for him in the afterlife, he would have that. Always.
He began to take stock of his surroundings and he realized he was lying on a white tile floor in front of a long, ornate hallway. He scrambled to his feet and started to walk towards the hallway, when an unseen force threw him back against the wall, rendering him nearly unconscious. He tried to focus, to resist the urge to fade into the blackness, when he felt a cool hand on his forehead. As his head cleared he saw a woman bending over him with a look of concern on her face.
"That path is closed to you, mortal." she said kindly. "But take heart. Other paths still remain."
"Who are you?" he said, although his mind had begun to connect what he was seeing to Angel's description of his trip through the portal.
"I suppose you could say I am your advocate," she said, as she straightened up and looked at him closely.
"My what?" said Doyle, still trying to understand. "You're- you're with the Powers That Be?"
She laughed then, not maliciously but mirthfully, as if amused by the antics of a small child.
"The Higher Beings do not concern themselves directly with such things. At least, not as a matter of course. I am merely a proxy. A deputy. It is my duty to guide your course and do as their will bids."
"You're my guide? Then why haven't I met you before?" said Doyle, suspiciously.
"You know me through your sight, through your calling." At his scowl she continued, "It is not the way of the Higher Beings to present themselves to mortals. It is considered...indelicate."
"Indelicate." Doyle scoffed. "But what, now that I'm good and dead its not taboo anymore for you to make contact? Where the heck were you when I was getting my arse kicked?" If they were going to pass judgement on him, he wished they'd just get on with it. He wasn't sure he could endure the waiting much longer.
She stood before him, unmoved by his outburst, and said, "You appear before me because your fate is unclear. In this instance, I have neither the ability nor the authority to steer your path."
Doyle tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. What was worse? Knowing you had a supernatural guardian or being told that she was jumping ship because your fate was sealed? He didn't understand. He thought he had made good there at the end. That ought to have counted for something, right? Instead of giving voice to these notions, he just said, in a slightly broken voice, "What happens now?"
Her face broke into a small smile and she said, "You misunderstand, mortal. It is you who must choose."
"Choose? Choose what?" said Doyle, who was starting to wonder if he wasn't hallucinating.
"Your path. You have made the ultimate of sacrifices, and for no less than the very cause that precipitated your initial fall from grace. The Higher Beings have decreed that your atonement is complete. Now you must choose."
"I- I don't understand," stammered Doyle.
"You are in a state of perfect balance," said his guide. "To proceed further into this realm you must prove that you are worthy of such accomodation. Because of your heroism, you have been given a choice of two paths. You may remain here, in the outer realm and become an Advocate, like myself, until such time as your deeds earn you consideration for the higher planes. Or you may continue in your present capacity, until your life reaches its natural conclusion."
Doyle stared at her for a moment, stunned. "What are you saying?" he whispered. "I- I can go back?"
"That is an option open to you, yes," said the guide. "In which case all will be as it was, however your atonement is complete. Your actions henceforth will be the sole determinant of your fate."
It wasn't even a choice, really. He had the opportunity to finally tell Cordelia he loved her, tell Angel he was sorry, protect his two best friends in the world from harm. How could he possibly want to do anything else?
With tears in his eyes, he looked at the woman in front of him and said, "I'm going back."
*****
Cordelia Chase sat in the outer office of Angel Investigations, sipped a mocha latte that she didn't taste, and stared at a magazine she wasn't reading. She dared not tear her eyes away to look at anything else though. She'd see the couch he used to nap on, the desk he used to put his feet up on, the door he used to walk through every morning and give her a smile that was almost as bright as the sunrise itself. God, it so wasn't fair.
She knew Angel was worried about her. He was used to his own guilty brooding style, but he wasn't used to seeing her like this. She made no effort to cheer him up, nor to be cheerful with several of their former clients who had stopped by that week. She hadn't acted like this when she had caught Xander and Willow in the factory...but then again Xander hadn't died. Nor had he died saving her life, before she ever had a chance to tell him how she felt about him.
She pulled the video tape out and fast forwarded it to the last few seconds of the commercial. Angel had swore that he'd take it away from her if he found her watching it again. It inevitably ended with Doyle saying "Is that it? Am I done?" and Cordelia losing it for at least a half an hour afterwards. Somehow, though, it connected her to him. He was there, right in front of her, at the push of a button. And she at least owed him her grief. It was the least she could do.
She checked her watch and, realizing that Angel wouldn't be upstairs for at least another hour, started up the part she wanted to see. She was so intent on the screen that she didn't hear the door to the office open, nor the sound of approaching footsteps. She felt the tears coming and she let them fall, hoping one of these days she'd finally run out of them completely. Doyle glanced off-camera and asked the same question that he'd repeated a thousand times in the office since that night at the dockyard. Still silently weeping, she went to turn off the tape and a hand beat her to it.
She looked up to see Doyle leaning over her, with tears streaming down his own face.
"Well, Princess," he said, "Looks like I'm not done after all."
She had only the time to say "Oh, God-" before she was wrapped in his arms and he was kissing her like a drowning man who had finally found the most pristine of springs. Her brain took awhile longer to catch up with her heart, and after a few minutes of basking in the warmth of his embrace and the passion of his kisses, she said "You're here. Oh God, you're really here."
He pulled away and gave her a loving smile, saying, "It's okay, darlin'. I'm here. And I'm not goin' anywhere."
End