The Task

By Esmeralda

Part One

"You gonna tell him?"

"No. And neither are you." Angel's tone held a hint of warning.

Spike's lopsided shrug said he couldn't care less. But the apparent nonchalance was at odds with the edginess in his gaze. "Suit yerself," he muttered.

Angel scooped up a handful of water from the basin and threw it into his face. Had he been able to see his reflection it would only have confirmed what he already knew: namely that he was nursing the mother of all headaches. He glanced at Spike, who was slouched against the doorjamb. "Do you think…is this how he feels?" Angel hesitated. "I knew it hurt, but I didn't-" He winced and closed his eyes, letting his head drop forward to rest against the cool porcelain. "I didn't know it was like this," he continued in a low whisper. He missed Spike's look of uneasy concern.

Spike reached out to touch his Sire's shoulder - paused, uncertain - and then pulled his hand back. "You want anything?"

Angel held out a hand without looking. "Flask."

Spike frowned, but withdrew his hip flask from his coat pocket.

Angel took it without a word. He straightened up, unscrewed the cap, and took several deep gulps.

"Better?"

"No."

Spike's frown deepened. His sympathy sat awkwardly on him. He was left uneasy by his Sire's display of vulnerability. "We'd best get back; he'll be wakin' up. You ready to put your happy face on?"

By way of answer, Angel handed back the flask. Snaring a towel he drew it across his face, wiping away the water droplets. When he'd finished he tossed it aside, visibly pulling himself together. The lines of pain smoothed out as the agony in his eyes was ruthlessly banked. "Let's go." He turned on his heel and left.

Spike followed silently. He knew his Sire. And he knew that the pain had to be pretty fucking bad for Angel to be wearing it so openly. For a minute or two back there, he'd thought Angel might collapse. This was serious shit. All was definitely not well in paradise.

It had been nearly two months since their little run in with Darla. They'd spent the weeks waiting, anticipating a revenge attack from Wolfram and Hart. From what they'd learned, the law firm was the sort to sidle in and gut you when you weren't looking. Which is why Spike's internal alarm bells were currently ringing. By his reckoning, Doyle had suffered twelve visions in the past ten days. Suffered being the word. Never a fun experience, recently things had got much worse. The mind splitting headaches and loss of motor control had been replaced by terrifying fits and pain so intense that the young man blacked out, often for several hours.

The first time it had happened, Spike had thought Angel was going to join Doyle on the floor. It had taken a few repeat performances before Spike had realized that it wasn't just guilt and worry making his Sire go all trembly at the knees. It would seem that there was an unforeseen wrinkle in the pairs' new Consort Bond: Angel was now suffering Doyle's visions along with his lover. Or rather, he was experiencing the accompanying pain.

Angel - being Angel - was refusing to talk about it. But Spike didn't need chitchat to join the dots. He'd had plenty of years to learn how to decipher his Sire's body language. So he knew that Angel didn't see the dizzy rush of images that assaulted Doyle. He knew the pain was bad, and getting worse. During the last four visions Angel had barely managed to stay upright, while Doyle had simply cried out and folded to the floor. Spike was fairly certain that was to do with the lad being only half demon. The pup might have a higher than humanly average tolerance for pain - he was still no match for Angel, who'd pretty much been weaned on it since being brought over.

A pensive Spike wandered into the main room. Xander was kneeling on the floor beside Doyle, who was stretched out on the couch. Xander held a cold cloth to the young man's forehead. Doyle was still unconscious. Angel crouched down behind his lover's head and gently stroked the short black spikes.

"Anything?"

Xander shook his head miserably. "Nope. Not a moan or a whimper since it ended."

"He better wake up soon," Spike commented. "Or it'll be too late to launch the white knights brigade."

Neither Xander nor Angel responded to the sarcasm. Both recognizing it for what it was. Spike might wear his heart on his sleeve, but he defended it with a sharp tongue…and sharper teeth.

"Ughnn." Doyle moaned dully, slack features tightening with pain.

"Doyle?" Angel's voice held an anxious waver.

"A-Ang?"

The tension in Angel's expression eased fractionally. "I'm here." He let his fingers drift downwards: tenderly cupping Doyle's cheek. Doyle turned into the touch with a soft sigh. Angel stroked the sharp jaw line with his thumb. His gaze never left Doyle's face. The pain was back in his eyes, but now it was more emotional than physical.

Xander let out a relieved breath and leaned back against Spike's denim clad legs, as his lover came to stand behind him. Spike ruffled his hair and offered him a reassuring look when he tilted his face up.

"Zag-agharat."

Xander returned his attention to Doyle, who was struggling to sit up. Angel helped him.

"Zagharat," Doyle repeated in a slightly clearer voice. "Zagharat demons. In the sewers. Coming up through the tunnels and grabbin' folks."

Spike hauled Xander to his feet and went over to the weapons cabinet. He gave Xander a crossbow. "You. Will stay way back. And use this."

"Way back?"

"Way, way back," Spike emphasized. He handed Xander a bag of cross bolts.

Xander peered into the bag, doing a rough count. "Just how big are these things?"

Spike was weighing up a choice of two hand axes by holding one in each hand. "Hmm?" he murmured distractedly. "Oh, about so high." He held the right axe out at approximately thigh level.

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Really. That big?"

Spike shot him a look that clearly said 'listen and learn, idiot'. "You've got to get it round your head that size doesn't mean anything in this game." Putting down one of the axes, he rapped his knuckles non-too-gently on Xander's forehead. "They. Might. Be. Short. They've still got enough juice to take you out, like that." He snapped his fingers under Xander's nose. "Skin like sandpaper, retractable claws. Teeth that can slice through anything: flesh, bone, metal. Anything." Spike put his face close to Xander's and narrowed his eyes. "So. You're gonna keep your pretty head out of sight, an' shoot your nice toy. Right?"

Xander nodded. "Right. Got it."

Satisfied, Spike returned his attention to the two hand axes. The decision was made for him, when Angel plucked the one from his left hand.

"Mine, I think."

Spike glowered, but he'd learned to pick his fights with his Sire carefully. And squabbling over axes, when Doyle looked fit to keel over, was a sure fire way of getting his nose broken. Besides, his axe was better. "Let's go then." He was impatient to get this done. He wanted to chop the little buggers into so much bloody mince. Then he could get back home and spend some quality time with Xander. It had been at least six hours since he'd got any, and he was feeling the drought like an ache in his groin.

Doyle's soft voice cut across the room. "Hold on. I'm comin' too. Just give me a minute."

Spike snorted indelicately.

Angel shook his head. "No."

Green eyes flashed. "I'm coming:"

Angel went back over to his lover, who was struggling to get up from the couch. Angel took Doyle's arm in a firm, but gentle grip. "Doyle, you can barely stand upright." His voice was full of sympathy and understanding, but his expression said that he wasn't going to sway from this. "You're staying here."

Doyle yanked his arm free. "I'm not a fuckin' invalid."

"No. You're a fuckin' liability," said Spike flatly. He'd moved to stand beside his Sire: offering his own, unique brand of support. Doyle laid a hurt, angry gaze on him. But Spike had stared down the best and remained unfazed. Though he did soften his tone slightly. "Look. You've done your bit. You've told us where to find these gits. Now be a good boy, and get your head down. You'll probably be havin' another one in a few hours, and if you're dead on your feet you won't be tellin' us anything useful."

Doyle visibly winced when Spike mentioned the likelihood of him suffering another vision soon. He sank back down onto the couch and pressed his hands against his temples. "Fuck," he muttered succinctly.

Angel motioned for Spike and Xander to go, and the pair left via the trapdoor. Angel sat beside his lover, gently drawing Doyle's hands down and taking one within his own. "You can't keep going on like this." Doyle tried to pull his hand free but Angel resisted. "Doyle-" his voice broke.

"You need me," Doyle whispered.

"I'll always need you," said Angel. "But that has nothing to do with whether or not you have visions." He carefully tilted Doyle's head toward him with his free hand and placed a chaste kiss upon Doyle's mouth. "I love you. Remember?"

Doyle released a sigh, and smiled faintly. "I seem to mebbe recall something to that effect, yeah."

"Good. Don't forget it," said Angel. "Now we'll do the sewer detail. You get some rest. And when we get back, we're going to fix this." Doyle opened his mouth to object. Angel silenced him with another kiss. "Don't tell me it's okay. I know it's getting worse, Doyle. Something isn't right here. We need to find out what it is. I can't…I can't keep watching you suffer like this, and do nothing."

Doyle sighed again. "Okay, But you gotta promise me that you won't do anything rash n' stupid. No visitin' the Oracle on the sly. They ain't the sort to take kindly to you keep droppin' in on 'em."

"Scouts honour," said Angel solemnly.

Doyle chuckled weakly. "Come on. I know you were never a Scout."

"I might have been," Angel defended. "If they'd been around back in the day."

"I don't think they include drunken lechery with all that dib, dib dobbing," Doyle teased.

"I wasn't drunk all the time."

Doyle's eyes sparkled. "No, not if you count the hangovers in between." He laughed at Angel's mock wounded look, but the laughter was quickly overtaken by a bout of coughing. Angel held him until it passed, rubbing his back soothingly. "Thanks," Doyle croaked. He tried to ease the fear and concern in Angel's gaze. "It's okay. Really, I'm fine-"

"-Don't," Angel cut in, tight-lipped.

Before Doyle could object, Angel lifted him up and carried him through into the bedroom. Angel laid him on the bed and poured him out a glass of water from the jug on the cabinet. Doyle sipped it with uncharacteristic meekness. He recognized that Angel was at his limits with stress and worry. It was time to be a good boy and do as he was told. Besides, his body ached miserably and his head was pounding so hard he felt sick from it. "I'll get some rest," he promised. "Now go and get the bad guys."

"You'll be all right?"

"I'll be fine. Cordy'll be here to keep me company in an hour or two."

Angel gave him a look.

"Okay," Doyle conceded. "Maybe that's bein' a little overly optimistic. But she'll be here before ten any way. And you'll probably be back sooner than that. I'm just gonna be sleepin' anyway. And we've got all bells and whistles to keep me safe and snug." They hadn't taken any chances since Penn. Both their apartment, and Spike and Xander's place, had been fitted out with all the latest in security - straightforward locks and bolts, and more sophisticated spells and charms. "Go on." He gave his lover a gentle push. "I'm all right. Go do your hero stuff."

Angel leaned in close and kissed Doyle. It was a sweet kiss: the passion and love only slightly tainted by fear.

"See you soon, yeah?" Doyle whispered. He wanted Angel's promise that he'd come back whole and unhurt. But he knew that to demand such a promise was unfair. Angel seemed to read his thoughts anyway.

"I'll be careful." It was as much assurance as Angel could give.

"See that you are," said Doyle fiercely: drawing Angel back down for one last brief, urgent kiss. He finally let go, and sank back against the pillows. Doyle closed his eyes. He didn't want to witness Angel's leaving. But unfortunately, he didn't need to see to feel his lover's presence fade from the room. Instinctively, he reached out through the Consort Bond. He'd joked once that it was like something out of Star Wars - feel the Force. But there was something undeniably wonderful about being able to connect with Angel this way. When they made love, sometimes it was difficult to distinguish his thoughts and emotions from his lover's.

Right now, Doyle was very careful to hold his own emotions back from the link. Something he was getting better and better at. Drawing comfort both from the intimacy of the Bond and Angel's immutable strength, the pain faded to a dull roar, and exhaustion overtook his body. Within minutes of Angel's departure, Doyle was asleep.

Part Two

Angel found Spike and Xander waiting for him at the bottom of the sewer ladder. The light from above reflected briefly in gold-tinged eyes, before the trapdoor swung shut and total darkness descended.

"Where to, Peaches?" Spike asked, waving his hand axe from left to right.

Angel indicated left. "Zagharat like to be somewhere that reminds them of home."

"So what's left?" asked Xander.

"The zoo," said Angel simply, walking off.

Xander stared after him. "The zoo?"

Spike explained as they walked. "Zagharat have never got used to all this civilized stuff, they like the trees and the wild things."

"So why come here? Why not hang out in a National Park somewhere?"

Spike grinned nastily. "Easy meat, Pet. Ea-sy mea-t." He drew out the last few syllables. "No claws, no horns, no teeth to speak of. Just soft flesh and sweet blood."

Xander grimaced. "Okay. Enough. I get the picture. Happy Meals on legs, right." He hoisted his cross bow into a more comfortable position. "So is there anything else I need to know about these guys, other than the fact that they like to party with the wildlife?"

"They're fast, they tend to attack in pairs - one distracts, while the other ducks in and opens you up." Spike mimed a slicing motion across Xander's stomach with his axe.

Xander frowned and jumped back slightly. "All right. I don't need to actually be gutted to get the point here." Spike spared him an indulgent look. They both knew that there was never any possibility of Spike accidentally cutting him. "How fast is fast? Faster than you?"

Spike shrugged. "Probably not. But the little buggers are hard to get hold of."

"Oh, yeah, right. Skin like sandpaper."

"Anyway," Spike reminded. "Where are you gonna be when this little altercation is takin' place?"

"Xander rolled his eyes. "I know. I know. Way back."

"Way, way back." Spike corrected. He glanced ahead, frowned when he saw how far along the tunnel Angel was, and quickened his pace.

Xander sighed, sidestepped a rat and jogged after him.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the sewer system beneath the zoo compound was particularly fragrant. And Xander had renewed cause to regret his improved olfactory capabilities. The tunnels themselves were empty, apart from the occasional rat spying on the newcomers with shiny, curious eyes.

"So where are they?" Xander asked.

Spike swapped glances with Angel. "What do you think? Up top?"

Angel nodded and began to ascend the nearest ladder. He effortlessly shouldered the sewer lid aside and the three emerged on a pathway along side the reptile house. Xander closed his mouth on a question when Spike shook his head sharply, indicating that he should stay silent. As Xander watched, Spike and Angel's features shifted. Lifting gold eyes to the night sky, they scented the air like hounds on the hunt. Xander decided to mimic their approach. He inhaled sharply - and then fought not to gag as his senses were assailed by the pungent odour of decaying meat and animal excrement.

Xander grimaced and tried not to cough and splutter. Since neither Spike nor Angel seemed affected, he could only assume that they had smelt much worse. Then again, they'd both been born into eras without body deodorant. When they moved off he followed. A sign said they were heading toward the big cat enclosure. They paused just outside the high wire mesh fence. Xander's gaze caught on a slight movement within the interior. A lion, or a Tiger perhaps? A soft growl from beside him let Xander know it was neither. He squinted, targeting his gaze on the creature as it moved through the shadowy undergrowth.

Once, long ago, in a much-loathed English class, Xander had been obliged to read 'The Hobbit'. He was prepared to swear now that he was looking at a real, live Gollum. A small, shriveled mannequin, with spindly arms and legs: hideous, vaguely human features, huge unblinking eyes and grayish skin. The only difference was he had always pictured Gollum as slimy - whereas this creature had dry cracked skin, flaking in places, as if it had a dire case of sunburn. As he watched it found a piece of discarded meat, and Xander got his first glimpse of those retractable claws as they shot out like a handful of flick knives. Perhaps on the whole he preferred the other Gollum. Maybe he was creepy, but at least you didn't have to worry about him gutting you.

The big cats - lions - napped beneath a copse of trees. They didn't seem troubled by their two-legged squatters. Xander turned to face his lover and blinked when he realized that Spike and Angel were both eyeing the high fence speculatively. Xander seized Spike's arm and drew him back, speaking in a low hiss. "You're not thinking of going in there? Are you completely nuts?" He shook his head. "What am I saying? Don't answer that." He tightened his grip on Spike's arm. "Hello. Lion enclosure. Large carnivorous kitty-cats."

Spike patted his hand, and then gently peeled Xander's fingers off his duster. "They're asleep."

"And how long do you think that'll last, once you and the caped crusader here start charging through the undergrowth?"

Spike looked at Angel's flapping coat and grinned. "Caped crusader?" Then he frowned. "Hang on. I'm not the doof in red and green tights."

Xander smacked the flat of his hand against his forehead. "Why am I bothering? Go on. Go ahead. Cover yourself in cat nip and go play with the nice pussy cats."

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch," said Spike. "We'll keep an eye on them. I doubt they're daft enough to get involved. Besides," he patted Xander's crossbow, "you can cover us with this."

Xander shook his head. "Oh no. I'm not playing the part of the big white hunter. I'll shoot the little toothy guys, but you're on your own with the locals."

Spike nodded. "All right. Just be sure to keep your head down. No heroics." He grabbed a fistful of Xander's jacket and hauled him in close for a kiss. "I mean it. You stay here. Stay out of sight. And keep quiet."

"Yeah, yeah," said Xander. "You just be sure to keep your head down. Those are big cats." He couldn't keep the worry out of his voice. One wrong placed claw and things could get very messy.

Spike shot his lover a cocky grin and then walked back to Angel. He nodded in response to Angel's unspoken 'ready?' The pair leapt forward, clutching the wire; vaulting up and over it with inhuman ease. They landed silently, and went forward through the short grass.

Xander watched anxiously. Even with his improved night vision, Spike and Angel were little more than swiftly moving shadows. The Zagharat came swarming out from the undergrowth. Maybe a dozen or so in all, with long claws and wide mouths overloaded with teeth. Every part of Xander screamed at him to join his lover. But he knew that Spike would be furious. And while Xander didn't fear his lover's rages, he knew that his presence on the other side of the fence could prove to be a dangerous distraction. His heart rate calmed slightly as he watched the twosome dispatching the Zagharat with apparently little effort, despite the uneven odds.

Then something weird happened. Angel's axe had just neatly bisected a Zagharat's head, when Angel suddenly stumbled, falling to his knees. As Xander looked on in alarm, another Zagharat moved forward, its claws extended. Xander took careful aim with the crossbow. Then he swore and lowered it. Just how the Hell was he supposed to hit anything through this fence? Holding the crossbow as best he could in one hand, Xander made a run at the fence. He had little time to marvel at the ease with which he scaled it. He perched, somewhat precariously, on the overhang, and took aim again. The cross bolt took the Zagharat through the throat. It was driven back by the impact. Clawed hands scrabbled briefly at the wound before it died

That took care of the immediate threat. However, a new one was already looming. A lioness, disturbed from her slumber, had come to investigate the upheaval. She padded toward Angel, body held low in the grass. Xander didn't need to the Discovery channel to know that she was stalking the vampire. Shouting a warning would be pointless. Angel was on his knees, and Spike was twenty or so feet away, tackling the last of the Zagharat. Xander quickly re-loaded the crossbow. But even as he took careful aim, he knew he couldn't fire it. This wasn't an evil demon. This was an animal. A beautiful deadly animal….which was about to tear the head off one of his best friends if he didn't do something fast.

With a yell, Xander jumped down from the fence into the enclosure. He landed easily and ran forward, putting himself between the lioness and her would-be prey. He waved his crossbow, shouting and yelling: "Go on! Shoo! Scat! Waargh! Get!" The lioness stopped and looked at him. Tail thrashing. Muscles coiled to pounce. Faced with five feet of amber-eyed, angry cat, Xander suddenly wondered if maybe the more sensible plan wouldn't have been to shoot it. After all, lions weren't an endangered species. Were they?

Its body caught the moonlight as it sprang: a pale blur of cream fur. Xander instinctively threw his arms up to shield his face. Something struck him hard and sent him sprawling to the floor. Fortunately, it wasn't the cat.

As Spike rolled off him, Xander was suddenly aware of a sharp burning pain in his shoulder. Evidently, he hadn't been one hundred percent successful in avoiding the lioness's claws. He sat in the dirt, clutching his arm, watching as his lover dealt with the situation. The cat seemed momentarily confounded at having missed her prey. She recovered quickly however. But before she could be upon them again, Spike had grabbed a badly wounded Zagharat and hurled it toward her. She jumped back to avoid being struck by it, and then pounced forward with a snarl. There was a brief squeal from the Zagharat - cut short as the lioness tore into its body.

With the lioness temporarily distracted, Xander decided that now would probably be an excellent time to leave. Unfortunately, he was having a little difficulty getting to his feet. He could feel blood - hot and sticky - trickling wetly down his right arm. Then Spike was beside him, checking his injury, helping him to stand. Steadying him when he swayed. Head bowed, Xander avoided making eye contact. He didn't need the Consort Bond right now to feel the anger pouring off his lover's rigidly held frame. Instead, he glanced over at Angel. Who still seemed pretty out of it, despite having almost had a lioness land in his lap.

"Angel?" Xander whispered as loud as he dared. There was no sign of any response. "Erm….Spike. Maybe you should take a look at Angel? I think he could be hurt or something." Spike carried on as if Xander hadn't spoken. He was leading Xander back toward the fence, supporting him by his good arm.

Great. Go to the zoo, bleed a little, get stuck between two mute vampires. Xander sighed and then winced as he stumbled and jolted his arm. "Spike, I'm okay. I'm fine. Really. Please, go back and help Angel." He lifted his head and put on his best puppy-eyed look for added effect.

Spike's voice was low and tight with anger. "I don't need to look at the stupid fuck. He's all right. Aside from a little headache." Spike's expression turned feral as he added: "And right now he's better off with them, than me. "

"It wasn't his fault-" Xander began. His was cut off as Spike hoisted him onto his shoulder. In seconds Xander was on the other side of the fence and back on his feet. "Spike-" Xander started again. But there was no need for him to finish. Spike had already gone.

Reaching Angel, Spike unceremoniously hauled him upright and dragged him back to the fence. He half carried, half threw the older vampire over it. Angel landed with an uncharacteristically clumsy thud. He sat on the path, dazed and groggy looking.

Xander held his throbbing arm and wandered over. "Angel?"

Angel looked up, blinking. His eyes focused slowly on Xander.

Xander had no trouble recognizing the exact moment Angel noticed his wound: guilt and horror flooding his friend's features. Xander quickly summoned a smile. "Hey, I'm okay. Are you all right?"

Angel was still staring at Xander's shoulder. He shook his head slowly. "Xander, I'm so sorry. I-" He was cut off by a furious growl.

"Don't. Don't you even fuckin try to apologise to him-" Spike was nearly incoherent with fury. He snarled and spun about. Clearly looking for something other than Angel to vent his feelings upon. He settled on a nearby signpost, wrapping both hands around it and twisting violently. The metal groaned and gave way beneath his assault. No calmer, Spike released it and aimed a savage kick at a bin, sending it barreling up into the night sky. A hapless bench was the next to suffer.

Angel made no move to chasten his Childe - something that alarmed Xander almost as much as his lover's sudden fit of temper. He waited until Spike had finished demolishing the bench, before approaching him, somewhat gingerly. "Look. I don't know what's going on between you two. But shouldn't we be thinking of getting out of here? Security must be lurking around somewhere. And I'd really rather not round off the night by getting shot on top of being mauled." Xander's words had the desired effect, as Spike snapped out of his snit. He touched Xander's shoulder gently.

"You're still bleeding." The anger hadn't completely left Spike's voice, but now it was softened by concern.

"So take me home and patch me up," said Xander. He was tired of saying that he was fine. He didn't feel anything like fine. His shoulder hurt like Hell, and he was sick and dizzy. The world lurched anew as Spike placed an arm behind his knees and lifted him up. "I can walk," he protested weakly.

"Shut up," said Spike simply.

Xander hadn't the energy to argue further. He let his head fall against Spike's shoulder, inhaling the familiar smell of leather and smoke. As his eyes settled on Angel he again felt a flicker of unease. "Spike. Just tell me, okay. What's wrong with him?"

Spike regarded Angel coldly. "Visions. The stupid fuck is sharin' demon-boy's visions. Or leastways, the pain of 'em."

Xander lifted his head. Eyes round with shock. "But-?…I mean…How?" He glared at Spike. "Why haven't you said anything?" he asked, upset.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot. Nothing's been going on behind your back. I only know cos I worked it out. Peaches here has been playin' it strong'n'silent." Spike shook his head in disgust.

"So Doyle doesn't know?" Xander tried to ignore the miserable ache in his shoulder, as he looked from Spike to Angel.

Angel had finally managed to get to his feet. He stood wearing an expression that was by turns, guilty and truculent.

Xander was wondering how a guy could notch up two hundred plus years, and still have no relationship savvy. Even he knew that keeping secrets from your nearest and dearest was bad news. However, this was neither the time nor the place for an Oprah moment. He could try offering some sage advice later; when his shoulder had stopped bleeding, and the world had stopped spinning. He patted Spike's chest with his hand. "Home, James." Xander aimed a mock glower at Angel. "And when we get back we're all going to sit down and have a nice little chat."

They retraced their steps back to the sewer opening. Spike reluctantly consented to Angel's assistance - as the pair carefully lowered Xander into the tunnel. It was a brief truce. Once they were all down in the sewer, Spike snarled and shouldered Angel out of the way as he lifted Xander into his arms. Xander was too weary to play mediator. And as they set off for home, Angel simply followed behind them in silence.

Part Three

They found Doyle unconscious on the floor between the bedroom and the bathroom; and any plans for a 'nice little chat' were temporarily put on hold. A visibly distraught Angel carried Doyle through to the bedroom. Spike sat Xander down on the couch and went to retrieve the first aid kit. When he returned, he helped Xander out of his jacket and shirt.

Xander nearly bit through his lip trying not to cry out. The lioness's claws had left deep gashes across his shoulder, the worst nearly six inches long. The bleeding had slowed to a sluggish trickle, but it still hurt like hell, and Xander felt vaguely nauseated as he watched Spike examining his injuries. Spike noticed his queasy expression, and with a shake of his head, turned Xander's face away.

Spike poked around the medical box. He took out some sterile strips and bandages, and then looked back at the cuts thoughtfully. "These should do for them. But I reckon I'm gonna have to stitch that little love tap."

"Stitch?" Xander's voice came out as an unhappy squeak. "What's wrong with good old surgical tape?"

"I can tape these." Spike indicated the cuts closest to Xander's neck. "But she got you good with this one." He very lightly stroked his finger alongside the deepest gash. "Threads the only thing that'll hold it while you're healin'." Xander's expression said it all. This was turning out to be a really crappy night. Spike held out his flask. "If I were you, I'd have a drink," he advised.

Xander took the flask and drank from it; pulling a face and trying not to cough as the whiskey burned down his throat. He went to hand it back, but Spike shook his head.

"Trust me, Pet. You'll need more than that."

Xander gave him a weak smile and raised the flask in a mock salute before taking another swallow.

It took ten minutes and a lot of insisting, before Xander finished the flask. Whiskey was not his favourite tipple, and the fiery liquid sat even less happily than usual on an already uneasy stomach. Nevertheless, the alcohol, combined with the blood loss, did its job and Xander was feeling virtually no pain. Unfortunately, he was also swaying like a green deckhand on a storm tossed ship.

Spike threaded the needle and then reluctantly called out to his Sire: "Oi, Peaches. Get in 'ere and make yourself useful."

Angel appeared. He regarded Xander with concerned eyes, but kept glancing back toward the bedroom.

"The mick ain't gonna be up and around for a while yet," said Spike flatly. "Come 'ere and hold the whelp."

After a moment's hesitation, Angel stepped forward and sat down beside Xander. He took hold of the swaying young man, holding him gently, but securely.

Lips pursed with concentration, Spike took up the needle and thread and went to work. Xander's breathing became quick and ragged, the pain finding him even through the whisky haze. He lay his head against Angel's broad chest and tried not to cry out. His head was spinning, his stomach was jumping, and he could feel every stab of the needle and tug of the thread, as they slid through his skin. He clenched his hands into fists and prayed that he wasn't going to embarrass himself by throwing up all over Angel's sweater.

Just when he thought he couldn't hold out any longer, it was over. Angel's arms relaxed their grip and large hands rubbed his back soothingly. Xander felt Spike's lips ghost against the nape of his neck.

"All done, Pet."

Xander couldn't answer. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth he would loose the ongoing battle with his stomach. He somehow managed to turn his head, and offered his concerned lover a faint smile. Seemingly satisfied, Spike put a dressing on the stitched cut and then put away the contents of the first aid kit. When he left to put it away, Angel drew back from Xander slightly, tilting the young man's face up to his.

"How are you doing?" Angel asked softly.

Xander swallowed a few times and decided to risk speaking. "Okay," he croaked.

The corners of Angel's mouth turned upwards slightly. "You've got him well trained. I don't think I've ever seen Spike tidy anything up before."

Xander shook his head lightly. "Nah. He just doesn't want anything around that reminds him that I'm hurt." It was an honest answer, but one he instantly regretted as Angel's eyes clouded over with guilt and remorse.

"Xander, I-"

Xander placed his left hand over Angel's mouth. "Shut up. So I got hurt. It happens. I d-o-n'-t b-l-a-m-e y-o-u," he enunciated slowly. He lowered his hand.

"Spike does."

"Spike does what?" Spike asked, as he re-entered the room. He dropped heavily into a chair and glanced back and forth between the pair. His expression quickly took on a knowing look. "Oh, right, let me guess. Peaches here is playin' the part of the guilt-ridden martyr. And you're trying to make him feel better about nearly feedin' you to the lions?" Blue eyes narrowed angrily at Angel. "No deal." Spike sat up and leaned forward, glaring hostilely at his Sire. "You nearly got him killed."

"But he didn't," Xander cut in quickly. "I'm fine. Just a few scratches, that's all." He tried a little redirection. "Shouldn't we be checking on Doyle?"

Angel left without a word. Spike sat, his temper well and truly at tinder point. One stray spark and they'd have an inferno. Xander recognized that fact and made a show of standing up without wincing. The pain had cleared his head, and he only swayed a little. He held his good arm out toward his lover. "Come on. Let's find out what's going on." Spike just looked at him. "What?" Xander asked. "Don't tell me you're going to sit here and pass up the chance to watch Angel do some serious grovelling? You think you're mad. How do you think Doyle's going to react to this little bombshell?"

Spike grinned nastily. "He does have a temper on him, doesn't he?"

"Yep," said Xander, threading his fingers through Spike's, as Spike stood up. "Angel's not gonna know what's hit him."

Part Four

"Let me get this straight." Doyle's voice was deceptively mild. "You've been sufferin' headaches from my visions? For nearly two weeks? And you're only just tellin' me now because-?"

Looking like a chastened child, Angel stood beside the bed, hands in his pockets, head bowed. "I didn't want you to worry," he mumbled. "I was going to sort it out."

"How?" Doyle asked, exasperated. "Oh, don't tell me. You were gonna pay the Oracles a sneak visit and beg them to help ya." He thumped a fist against the bed in frustrated anger. "Don't you ever listen to me? They only help if it suits them. They ain't into doin' favours. They might have decided that choppin' yer head off would solve everybody's problems."

Spike smirked. He was enjoying this.

"Don't look so smug, Blondie. You knew about this. Why the fuck didn't you smack some sense into him?"

Spike pushed away from the doorjamb with a frown. "Hey. I'm not his fuckin' nanny. He's a big boy. He makes his own choices."

"Not when they're as dumb as this," Doyle snapped back.

Xander perched on the end of the bed and kept quiet. He was staying out of it for now. Probably a wise decision, as Doyle was apparently just getting warmed up.

"Fuckin' idiots, the pair of yer. If you'd come to me I could have told yer where to go to find some answers."

Angel's had snapped up. "Where?"

"Oh, so now you want my help." Doyle was too tired and hurt to play nice. His paler-than-usual face was lined with pain and exhaustion.

He'd hated his 'gift' from the start. From the initial agonizing pain: to the lingering headache, and the nightmarish memories. He'd borne it, by and large without complaint, because it had also given him Angel. He'd told himself that a headache and a few bad dreams were a small price to pay for time spent in Angel's company. And no price at all since they'd got together. However, over the last couple of weeks, things had been getting much worse. The visions were now coming so thick and fast that he had no time to store up his reserves from one to the next. They were wearing him down and he was getting scared. He didn't now how much longer he could keep going. And this last one had replaced fear with near full-blown panic.

Angel hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed and lay his hand over Doyle's clenched fist. "I'm sorry. I know I keep saying it, but, Doyle, please believe me. You're right. I should have told you. I just…. Things have been so bad. I didn't want to lay anything else on you."

Doyle looked into dark eyes, seeing the love, and the regret. He knew that Angel had only been trying to protect him. And while that made him madder than Hell, in all honesty, part of him enjoyed being cosseted. He'd never really experienced it before. His mother had loved him, but she wasn't overly demonstrative. It was like she was holding back - maybe seeing a little too much of his father in him. Harry had treated him as a friend and an equal; she'd neither wanted to protect, or be protected. Angel treated him as an equal - usually - but he also guarded him like he was something infinitely precious. It was weird, but wonderful.

Doyle's expression softened. "Yer an idiot."

Angel smiled faintly. "Yeah. I know."

"Good then." Doyle sighed. "And now I guess, in the interests of this new found openness and honesty, mebbe I should share something with you. Just don't freak, okay?"

"O-kay," Angel agreed slowly.

Doyle lifted up his shirt and turned very slightly. Down his right side was what looked like a burn: the skin angry red and blistered.

The others stared with equal expressions of shock and sympathy.

"Fuck," Spike muttered. "I'll go get the box." He slipped away to fetch the first aid kit.

Doyle lowered his shirt and straightened up with a wince. "It seems to be tied in with the last vision I had."

Angel was very carefully lifting the shirt up again. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I saw someone tryin' to fight off a demon and when it spat some sort of liquid, it burned them. Just like this." He glanced down at his side. "Damn. I can't believe I forgot. You need to get down to the lower East side. There's some kind of pale blue scaly thing prowling 'round the neighbourhood. It's been livin' off the local pet population. Tonight someone caught it in the act. They tried to rescue Tiddles an' got this for their troubles."

"It can wait," said Angel.

"No. It can't." Doyle caught hold of Angel's wrist. "You start slacking off, an' the Powers'll revoke your hero license. Then we're all screwed. Go. I'll still be here when you get back. Probably have another job for ya." He tried to smile but it fell flat. He was terrified at the mere thought of another vision. The pain from the last one was still making him feel sick and breathless. And the burn was something new. What would happen if he started suffering injuries to tie in with all his visions? In the one before breakfast the guy had lost an arm for Chrissakes! He was all for being sympathetic. But he didn't see how losing an arm was going to make him a better person. And what happened when some poor bastard died? He was gonna have trouble relating information from the 'other side'.

"We need to get you some help. You said you knew where to go for information?"

Doyle nodded, and tried to keep talking as Spike reappeared with the first aid kit, and Angel tenderly set about treating his burn. "Yeah. There's a place down town. A bar. A demon hangout mainly. Though I know a few humans who go there. The guy who owns it - Lorne - he gives advice and stuff." Doyle hissed as Angel applied an antiseptic cream.

"Sorry."

"S'okay," said Doyle, through gritted teeth.

"What makes you think some guy playin' agony aunt'll know anything about this?" Spike asked, absently assisting Angel.

"Oh, he's a little more than that," said Doyle. He looked at Xander and offered the younger man a conspiratorial grin. Xander looked confused, but smiled back in response to Doyle's secret amusement.

"Exactly where is this bar?" Angel asked as he finished off, gently drawing Doyle's shirt back down. "Spike and I will check it out."

Three voices clamoured in virulent protest: Spike refusing to go. Doyle and Xander refusing to stay. Eventually, it was decided that Spike and Angel would dispose of demonic kitty-killer. Xander and Doyle would get some rest. (Cordelia could manage the office alone when she arrived.) Then, tonight, the four of them would pay a visit to Lorne's premises.

******************

"Are you sure it was a good idea to send them out together?" Xander asked, as the trapdoor slammed shut with unnecessary force. "They're both wound a little tight right now."

Doyle closed his eyes with a sigh. "It's a couple of hours 'til sunrise. They'll hafta be back home by then. I think even they can avoid killin' each other for that space of time."

Xander kicked off his sneakers and stretched out on the bed beside Doyle.

An' I don't know about you," Doyle continued, "but I really don't feel up ta playin' referee while they bitch and sulk."

"Does your side hurt a lot?" Xander asked softly.

"Like a son-of-a-bitch," said Doyle succinctly. He opened one eye and turned his head to look at Xander. "Your shoulder?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Then I say we deserve some quality downtime," said Doyle, shutting his eye again. "Now go to sleep. An' stop frettin'. If they were gonna kill one another they've had more than enough years to do it in. They're family. They fight an' they fuck, but they tend to steer clear of the short pointy sticks. I don't think we'll have worry about sweepin' 'em out the sewer."

"I guess you're right," Xander murmured softly. He wiggled, trying to find a comfortable position. His shoulder had begun to stiffen up.

"Keep still," Doyle muttered, already half asleep.

Xander sighed heavily, and sat up again to turn out the bedside lamp. He lay back down and closed his eyes. Spike had given him his shirt to wear. He fingered the worn red cloth and tried not to think. The Bond meant that he was hyper aware of his lover's emotional state - and right now he didn't envy Angel. Nope, not one little bit. Maybe Doyle was right. They deserved a break. And maybe Angel and Spike would have sorted things out between themselves by the time they got back. Okay, that was probably being a little overly optimistic. But Doyle was right. Spike and Angel were family. They'd get past this…. eventually. He hoped.

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