The Task

By Esmeralda

Part Five

Angel and Spike trudged through the sewer in silence. Angel glanced over at his Childe and sighed. He couldn't fault Spike for his anger. It was more than justified. His only defense was that he hadn't expected another vision to strike Doyle so soon. He'd thought that they could tackle the Zagharat and get home before the next one hit. The wave of pain and dizziness had caught him off-guard and for several minutes he was unaware of anything around him. His next coherent moment was on the other side of the fence, staring up at Xander - smelling the blood and seeing the tight expression of pain.

Xander could have been killed. Angel closed his eyes briefly against the rush of grief and guilt that assailed him. He had nearly caused the young man's death. Spike was furious with him, and Doyle was hurt and angry. All because he had wanted to handle things on his own. Oh yeah, he was really handling them. Angel shook his head in self-disgust. He wondered if apologizing again would do any good. He looked closely at his Childe. Spike's lips were set in a thin, hard line: the jaw muscles clenched so tight they were jumping. Nope, probably not.

Spike stopped suddenly. He crouched down, poking at something in the sludge. He stood, holding it aloft for Angel's inspection. Angel grimaced. It was the spine and tailbones of a cat; a few stray clumps of ginger fur still clinging to the pitiful remains. Something else caught Spike's eye and he bent to retrieve it: a tartan collar, too large for a cat.

"Bingo," said Spike, dropping both items back into the dirty water.

Angel looked further along the tunnel; spying the gleam of bone and some dark matted clumps that might be fur. "I guess it comes here to feed undisturbed."

A noise ahead alerted them both. A sort of chattering, followed by a wheezing sound, like eerie laughter. Spike drew a dagger, Angel a short sword - the tunnel too cramped for anything larger. As they went to go forward, Angel lay a hand on Spike's arm. "Remember, don't get in too close. It must spit some kind of corrosive substance " Spike shot him a hateful look and shook free.

They took opposing sides, each keeping pace exactly with the other, as together they closed in on the strange wheezing laughter. The noise stopped abruptly. Angel frowned. Had their approach been detected? The tunnel turned sharply. As they came around the bend they almost stumbled into it. The creature let out a shrill shriek and scuttled up the wall like a lizard. In an instant it was above them. It turned its head and spat a stream of viscous yellow fluid into Spike's upturned face.

"Will!" Angel threw himself in front of his Childe, his back toward the creature. The corrosive stream spattered across his back and shoulders, hissing and sizzling as it began to burn through the leather. With a grunt of pain, Angel quickly struggled free of his coat, throwing it aside. His shirt had also succumbed to the caustic fluid, and the exposed skin beneath was pink and blistering.

Spike had stumbled back when Angel dived in front of him. Taken by surprise, he'd lost his balance and now he sat in the sludge, wearing an expression of startled amazement. He snapped out of it quickly. And in the next instant he threw his dagger, catching the demon in its chest. The creature gave a choked, gargling cry and fell. Spike leapt to his feet and finished it off with a well-placed Doc Martin - crushing its skull. Retrieving his dagger, Spike turned back to his Sire. Without saying a word, Spike gently spun Angel around in order to examine his back. "Stupid," he muttered.

Angel shrugged, and then winced. "Better my back than your face." He turned back toward Spike.

One corner of Spike's mouth was twitching, in what was possibly the beginning of a smile. "That what you really think?"

Angel skimmed a knuckle down Spike's cheek, wisely resisting the follow-up urge to chuck him under the chin. "Well it's a nice face. I've kind of gotten used to it"

Spike seemed to be mulling something over. All at once he darted forward. Kissing Angel quickly, teeth nipping Angel's lower lip before he drew back.

Angel brightened visibly, despite the burning pain in his back.

"Don't look so chipper," Spike cautioned. "You ain't forgiven yet."

Angel's expression fell slightly.

However, despite his words, Spike's gaze was hedged with warmth. "But maybe I'll work on it." And with that, he turned and walked off, whistling loudly.

Angel smiled, tried to hide it, failed miserably, and hurried after his Childe.

Part Six

"What? No. I can't. I can't sing," Angel sputtered, eyes wide with panic.

Spike sniggered. "He's not bleedin' kiddin'."

Xander jabbed his lover sharply in the ribs, and turned to the bar's proprietor. "Does it have to be Angel? Or can any of us do it."

Lorne regarded him with bemused blood-red eyes. "If you want me to throw some light on their little problem." He glanced over at Angel and Doyle. "Then one of them has to take the spotlight. Sorry, boys. That's just the way this ticket works."

"I'll do it."

They all turned to look at Doyle.

"Wonderful," said Lorne. "The stage is yours. Why don't the rest of you take a seat." He waved them toward a table, and wandered over to a stool beside the bar.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Angel asked. "If you're not I can…I can try." He looked like it was the last thing on earth he wanted to do.

But Doyle knew that if he asked, Angel would do it in a heartbeat. He smiled and reached for his lover's hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't even like singin' in the shower. I think mebbe I should handle this one, okay."

"Okay," Angel agreed fervently.

"Can you sing?" Xander whispered, as Doyle passed by him.

Doyle just smiled slyly and took to the stage. He ignored the Karaoke machine, and perched on a high stool slightly off from center. Beneath the blue spotlight, his upturned face seemed startlingly pale. He began to sing softly in Gaelic. And if the audience didn't understand what he was singing about, they didn't appear to care. They listened in rapt silence. Entranced by Doyle's melodic, slightly husky, tenor.

Xander noticed that Angel was silently mouthing the words of the song, wearing a somewhat wistful expression.

Five minutes and a round of applause later, the four were stood in front of Lorne, who looked impressed. "Sweetie, you can sing here any time." He dabbed at the corner of his eye with a hanky. "Look at me. I'm crying like a baby here."

Doyle gave a self-depreciating smile and studied the floor. He looked up as Lorne continued in a more serious tone.

"You weren't teasing when you said that you had a problem." Lorne shook his head sympathetically. "I wouldn't want to step into your shoes."

Angel cut to the chase. "What can you tell us?"

"I can tell you this isn't The Powers doing," said Lorne in a low voice. "Oh, they're still sending you visions. But someone else out there is interfering with the signal. If you get my meaning."

"Someone's hijackin' my visions?" Doyle didn't try to disguise his alarm. "How? An' why? An' who?" he asked, firing one question rapidly after another.

Lorne threw up his hands and leant back. "Easy there, hon. I only get a peek at these things. I don't see the full picture."

"So what do you know?" Spike cut in impatiently.

Lorne pursed his lips and glanced around him before continuing. "You've had some problems with a big law firm; one that likes to handle those unusual cases?"

"Wolfram & Hart," Xander supplied.

Lorne nodded. "Well, you've been treading on some very sensitive shoes. These guys really don't like to be bested. And they have the contacts to pull some very powerful strings."

"Why do this?" Angel asked, his voice tight with anger. "Why not just kill us all outright?"

"Too gauche," said Lorne. "These are lawyers, not common thugs. They like to use their imaginations. Twisted as they may be. Besides, I didn't say that they were trying to kill you."

Spike frowned. "If they ain't tryin' to kill us. What do they want?"

"I believe that you should consider this a calling card. Their less-than-pleasant way of bringing matters to your attention." Lorne frowned, and looked pointedly at Angel. "You're the key, big guy. They want something from you." He held up a hand to forestall Angel's next question. "I don't know what. Like I said, I just get a quick review, not a detailed account. But they definitely want something. And my guess is either you have it, or you can get it. And if they can make you suffer in the mean time, well, that's just sugar in the mix." Lorne looked at Doyle apologetically. "Sorry, hon."

Doyle nodded absently. His expression was grim. This was a hell of a calling card. And what did they want from his lover?

"So what do we do?" Xander asked.

Lorne shook his head. "Don't look at me. I just pour the drinks."

"They wanted my attention," said Angel coldly. "They've got it."

Spike grinned wolfishly. "Time to return the favour, an' pay them a call, yeah?"

Angel nodded. He turned to face Doyle and Xander. "You two should go back to the apartment."

It was hard to say who was more vehement in their refusal.

"What?!"

"No way."

But Spike was of the same mind as Angel, and less reticent about voicing it. He addressed Doyle first. "You're probably due another vision. When it comes, you'll be back huggin' the carpet. An' we can't be cartin' your useless hide around with us." He moved onto Xander next. "Your job is to take care of him. Right now he needs a nursemaid, an' you're it."

Two pairs of eyes glowered furiously at him. Though Xander's carried slightly less heat. Deep down, he knew that Spike was right. Doyle was defenseless for hours after a vision hit. He needed someone to watch out for him.

Doyle was less understanding. "I don't need a fuckin' nursemaid. And mebbe it is you they're tryin' to get a hold of. It's me that they're usin' to put in the call. I'm not just going to sit around while you two go head-to-head with 'em."

"Doyle-" Angel tried.

"No."

Spike was through being nice. He stepped in front of Doyle and stared him down, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Look, this isn't about whose got the biggest brass balls. I'm not tellin' you girls to go home and knit. But I'm not about to risk my neck watchin' out for you and him." He jabbed a finger at Angel. "Bad enough he falls apart every time you 'ave a vision. I ain't carryin' both of you."

Doyle directed an anguished gaze toward Angel. Clearly, he'd forgotten that his visions were now also affecting his lover. He turned back to Spike. "You'll look out for him." It wasn't a question.

Spike rarely responded well to demands, but there was always the exception to the rule. He nodded his agreement. "An' you'll watch out for the whelp."

"Hey!" Xander was indignant. "I thought I was the one doing the watching?"

Spike smiled wryly and ruffled Xander's hair. "Pet. You need twenty-four hour supervision."

Xander pouted.

"Well, this is all very nice, children. But can we take it elsewhere. Some of us want to get their beauty sleep." Lorne made a dramatic showing of yawning as the last of his patrons trickled out the door.

"Thanks for the help," said Doyle.

"Honey, it was my pleasure. Just be sure to come back sometime and do me an encore," said Lorne. He watched them leave and added under his breath: "That is, if you've still got your vocal cords."

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

Angel drove them back to the office apartment. Little was said, as he and Spike collected the necessary items from the weapons cabinet. Emotional goodbyes were something they had always tried to avoid. Under normal conditions, they fought side by side, and as such, farewells were redundant. Ready to go, Angel and Spike turned to face their respective lovers. Both young men looked drawn and pale; the stress and fear of the past few days clearly evident in the lines and shadows that marked their faces. Spike stepped forward first. He took Xander's face between both his hands and kissed the young man long and hard. Then he released him and turned on his heel, walking away without a word.

An anguished Xander watched Spike leave, sitting down heavily in a chair as the last thudding footfall faded away.

Angel's gaze was fixed upon Doyle. He opened his mouth to say something, but Doyle shook his head.

"Don't. Don't say anythin'. I-I-" Doyle shook his head again, this time more forcibly. "Fuck. I can't do this," he muttered. He walked over to the other side of the room, wrapping his arms around his chest, hugging himself miserably.

Angel's expression was desolate before he quickly regained his composure. He understood. This was tearing him apart too. "Take care of him," he instructed Xander softly. Xander nodded, and with one last glance at Doyle's rigid back, Angel left. He'd reached the top of the stairwell when Doyle called out after him.

"Angel. Wait!"

Angel stopped and turned around.

Doyle raced up the stairwell, taking the steps two and three at a time. He almost fell into Angel's ready embrace. Doyle quickly hooked his arms around his lover's neck, drawing Angel down for a last deep, desperate kiss. When they finally broke apart he kept his face buried against Angel's shoulder. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay?" he whispered shakily. "I need you, Angel man. I can't do this without you anymore."

Angel stroked Doyle's hair, rubbing his jaw against the short, unruly strands. "I love you."

Doyle's arms tightened in response to the softly murmured declaration. He looked up, eyes suspiciously bright. "Yeah. Well ditto. So just be sure you and Blondie get back in one piece."

Angel answered with another fervent kiss. Breaking it, he left almost at a run, wanting to leave before his fragile composure shattered. He found Spike waiting by the Cadillac. Spike stubbed out his cigarette and they both got in. They drove off without looking back.

*******

Xander glanced up as he heard Doyle descending the stairs. He offered an understanding nod when Doyle reappeared. Yep, this sucked all right. And part of him couldn't help resenting the fact that he had to stay here and watch over Doyle, when what he wanted was to be battling it out by his lover's side. And he instantly felt horribly guilty for feeling that way. Doyle hadn't asked for this, and he was suffering worse than any of them. Xander got up, and wandered over: speeding up when Doyle suddenly cried out and stumbled, clutching at his head. Oh, God. No. Not now. Not now.

Part Seven

Time passed with agonizing slowness and Xander continued to regard the pale, still form of his friend with barely stifled panic. Finally, a faint groan of pain broke the prolonged silence. "Doyle?" Xander whispered hopefully. Eyelids fluttered and slowly opened, revealing two dull green slits. Xander sagged in relief.

He'd been badly shaken by Doyle's sudden collapse - recognizing at once that Doyle was having another vision - and never having had to cope alone before. Xander had managed to catch Doyle as the man fell, cushioning his descent. And had held him through the violent muscle spasms; feeling helpless and wretched in the face of his friend's suffering. Now Doyle was stretched out on the floor with his head pillowed on Xander's lap; a wet cloth draped across his forehead.

"How long was I out?" Doyle mumbled. Wincing as he raised a shaky hand to rub at his right temple.

"Forty-five minutes and twenty-six seconds," said Xander without hesitation.

Doyle blinked, eyes widening.

Xander flushed. "Hey, it's a nice watch. I like looking at it," he defended lamely.

Doyle realized that he had scared the younger man. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," said Xander, assisting him up.

Doyle sat hugging his shins, resting his forehead on drawn-up knees. He shifted the cloth around to the back of his neck, and felt Xander's hand come up to hold it in place. He took a few steadying breaths before raising his head. "We're gonna hafta deal with this one ourselves."

"Shouldn't we wait?"

"We don't know how long the pair of 'em are gonna be. I might have another vision before they get back. Mebbe more than one." Doyle tried to quell the tremor in his voice. "We sit around and wait, an' we might end up with a back-log. An' I don't wanna risk upsettin' The Powers on top of everything else. Do you?"

"No," Xander agreed hesitantly. "But what about what that Lorne guy said - about someone tapping into your visions. How do we know this is a real vision?"

"We don't," said Doyle bluntly. He slipped out from under the cloth and Xander's hand, and struggled to his feet. He swayed alarmingly for a moment before regaining his balance. He refused Xander's silent offer of assistance, but was obliged to use the furniture to aid his journey over to the weapons cabinet. Xander shadowed him every step, frowning when Doyle took out a knife and a small crossbow.

"This is a very bad idea." A touch of alarm had crept into Xander's voice

Doyle didn't answer. He took a leather knapsack from the top of the cabinet and put the crossbow and several bolts into it. The knife he tucked into his belt.

Xander had noticed something else. "You're bleeding,"

"Yeah, well, some idiot managed to get his stupid self bit," Doyle muttered.

"Let me see." The uncovered wound reminded Xander of a shark bite. A series of neat puncture wounds, stretching from front to back. Not too deep, but oozing thin trickles of watery blood. "We should maybe put something on it," he decided. Though he wasn't sure what the risk of infection actually was from a virtual bite.

"It's fine."

Xander retrieved the iodine anyway. Better to be safe than sorry. He daubed a little on each tiny incision, apologizing every time Doyle sucked in a sharp breath, and covered the two deepest - perhaps caused by the creature's canines. Which made Xander think of something else. "Do you really think we can handle this? I mean. I'm down one arm, and no offence, but you've definitely looked better. And this thing's got to have some major dental work going for it."

Doyle slung the bag over his shoulder. "Look, I can't make you come. Stay if you want. But I'm goin'." He walked toward the stairwell. Xander ran forward to block his exit

"Woah. Hold up." Xander caught Doyle's arm. "Hey, just listen to me for a minute here, okay. All I'm saying is we don't know what we're walking into here. And if Angel and Spike find out, we're toast."

Doyle shrugged and managed a faint smile. "So we don't tell 'em."

Xander shook his head. "Uh, uh. It doesn't work like that. The Bond, remember? They'll know if we get into trouble. And that could be very bad news. We don't know what's going on with them, but it's a good bet that they don't need any distractions."

Doyle briefly lowered his gaze. When he looked up his eyes were dark with pain and anger. "I hear what yer sayin'. But this whole deal effects me an' you too. An' I don't know about you. But I can't just sit here and an' do nothing."

Xander was torn. Part of him agreed with Doyle: it was agony to just sit around and do nothing. However, he was also in full agreement with Spike. Right now, Doyle was a liability. If a vision struck he was helpless. But one look at Doyle's expression told him that the other man's made was already made up. Doyle was going, with or without him. "This is a really dumb idea," Xander complained as he jogged back over to the weapons cabinet. He rifled through the contents hurriedly. Finally settling on the hand axe that Spike would never let him use. "And when we get found out - and we will get found out - I reserve the right to say I told you so."

"Fine," said Doyle. "Now can we get goin'?"

"I know I'm going to regret this," Xander muttered as he ran into the bedroom. He yanked open a drawer and pulled on a sweater, pushing up the sleeves, which were a little long.

"Come on," Doyle called out impatiently.

Xander reappeared carrying Doyle's coat. "Here. Put this on. I'm not going to be responsible for you catching pneumonia on top of everything else."

Doyle rolled his eyes, but dropped his bag briefly, in order to shrug into his coat. "All right. Can we go now, mother?"

Xander pulled a face and sarcastically waved Doyle forward. "Sure, let's go. I'm always in a hurry to greet the wrath of Spike."

"Chicken," said Doyle, without malice.

"Yeah, yeah. You just remember that when Angel is giving you the third degree," Xander called after him as he followed Doyle up the stairs to the office.

Part Eight

The night air was cool and sharp. Xander shivered and drew his sleeves down over his hands. (He'd already placed the axe in Doyle's knapsack, since he'd felt pretty conspicuous carrying it.) After a few blocks, he began to wish that he'd stopped to take a couple of painkillers before they'd left. His shoulder was throbbing. A distracted Doyle eventually seemed to notice his mounting discomfort.

"Here." Doyle dug around in his pocket and withdrew out a small bottle of white pills. He smiled lopsidedly. "Never leave home without them."

"Thanks." Xander accepted the bottle gratefully. Tipping two onto his palm, he swallowed them dry. Grimacing slightly at the taste. "Your head's still bad, huh?"

Doyle nodded, taking back the bottle. "Like a non-stop tequila hangover."

Xander gave a sympathetic nod, and they walked on in silence. After they'd gone another couple of blocks, Xander decided to ask. "So where are we heading?"

"Fella who got bit by this thing was in an underground car park."

"Well that narrows it down," said Xander.

Doyle let Xander's sarcasm wash over him with barely a grimace. "Well, I did get the name of the office above it: Magus, Brooke, and Meson."

"Do you know who they are?"

It was clear from his expression that Doyle did, but for some reason he appeared reluctant to say.

Xander mulled the name over in his mind, and then a very nasty thought came to him. "Oh, please. No. Don't tell me. They're a law firm, right?"

Doyle gave him a slightly sheepish look.

"And this doesn't strike you as being ever so slightly suspicious?" Xander asked, his voice rising.

"Of course it does," Doyle snapped. "I'm not a complete idiot. But that's what the vision gave me. An' Lorne said the visions were still comin' from The Powers. So we check it out. That's all. If it looks dodgy we hang back and get reinforcements. Now let's find a cab. I don't feel like walkin' across town."

Xander was wholeheartedly in favour of that idea. His shoulder was screaming at him to go home to bed, preferably with Spike tucked up along side of him. And he was only slightly mollified by the suggestion that they were only here to do reconnaissance. His panic escalated when they exited the cab, to discover that the offices of Magus, Brooke, and Meson were situated directly opposite the imposing glass tower of Wolfram & Hart. He looked at Doyle. "You're going to tell me that's a coincidence?"

"Okay, so mebbe you're right," Doyle agreed. "It is a little suspicious."

"A little?" Xander was incredulous. "It couldn't be any more suspect if it was painted yellow and waving a placard saying 'Hey, everyone. I'm suspicious.'"

Doyle scowled, and then darted behind a convenient patch of shrubbery, dragging Xander with him. They watched as car drove into the underground car park of Wolfram & Hart. "Someone's working late," Doyle muttered.

"Now that's suspicious," Xander whispered.

"Will you stop sayin' everything's suspicious, " Doyle hissed.

"Well it is," Xander insisted. "How many lawyers do you know, that do the graveyard shift?" He groaned. "And did I have to mention the 'g' word."

"'G' word?"

"Graveyard," Xander explained.

"You're spooked by graveyards?" Now it was Doyle's turn to sound incredulous.

"Hey," Xander defended. "You grow up next to a Hellmouth and see how happy you are tap dancing amongst the tombstones."

Doyle shook his head. The kid was practically married to a fully paid up member of the evil undead, but graveyards freaked him out? Go figure. However, now was most definitely not the time to be delving into Xander's psyche. "Time to summon the troops."

"Huh?"

"We need to let Angel and Spike know we're here."

"Oh, believe me, that won't be a problem," said Xander gloomily.

Doyle sent him a sideways look. "You've really got a handle on this Consort thing, haven't you?"

Xander attempted a one-shouldered shrug. "It gets easier. Though I still get the wiggins sometimes when Spike's feeding off someone-" Xander trailed off when he saw that Doyle was staring at him. "Oh, yeah. I guess you don't really experience that much with Angel," he finished weakly.

"Let me get this straight. You feel what Spike feels? When he's snackin' on someone's jugular. Oh, man. That's-" Doyle stopped and pulled a 'eww' expression.

Xander wasn't sure how to explain it. "It's not. I mean, yeah, it's weird, but not in a gross-out way. He gets really high from it."

"He gets off on it?"

"No. Yes. Sort of."

Doyle grinned. "Well that's nice an' clear. You know, I'm really glad I've got you to explain this stuff to me."

"Oh shut up," Xander groused good-naturedly.

"No, really," said Doyle. "I mean, think how confused I'd be if I had to muddle through on my own."

Xander gave a martyred sigh. He raised his eyes to the skyline. "I need this?" he asked no one in particular.

Doyle nudged him gently. "Hey, I'm kiddin'. I appreciate you tellin' me stuff. I know this is all kinda private and personal. I guess I should ask Angel more. I know he'd give me the answers. I just don't have the questions."

"S'okay," said Xander. "I kind of like having someone to talk about this to."

"So, how do we let them know we're here?"

Xander smirked confidently. "Watch and learn, Obi-Wan. I'm going to give you a lesson in the power of the Force." He closed his eyes

Doyle watched, fascinated despite his earlier teasing.

For Xander, the Bond was like a living thing, melded to his soul. Subdued at rest, now, as he reached for it, he felt the familiar surge as it flooded his body. When he re-opened his eyes Doyle was looking at him expectantly. "They're inside." Xander didn't try to disguise his concern as he nodded his head towards the Wolfram & Hart office. "I can't tell where exactly. Spike's really wired about something. I didn't want to risk distracting him."

"Are they fightin'?" Now Doyle was worried too.

Xander looked helplessly at him. "I don't know. He's angry and…" Xander searched for the right word. "Unsettled about something. But I don't know what. It's like he's trying to shut me out. Whatever it is, he doesn't want me to picking up on it. I had to really push to reach him, and then it all kind of rushed at me." Xander was having difficulty explaining it. "It's like he's shut himself behind a wall, but he's having trouble staying there."

"An' is it like that when he's fightin'?" Doyle pressed.

In his frustration, Xander couldn't stop himself from snapping: "I don't know." He was seriously worried. Something was very wrong. "I've never tried this when we're fighting. I mean, yeah, we connect through the Bond, but it's more of a subconscious-type-thingie."

"Could you use the Bond t'find him if we go in there?"

"Yes, but-"

Doyle cut him off. "Then we go in."

Xander hesitated. He was afraid for his lover. And opening up the Bond link had intensified his need to be close to Spike. Instinct was pulling at him. But he was wary of walking into the lion's den. "Okay," he agreed. "But first you have to try to contact Angel." Doyle was shaking his head, but Xander was adamant. "Look, if you get the same vibe from Angel, then we know something is definitely going down. Besides, if we get split up, you'll need to be able to find Angel on your own."

Doyle reluctantly conceded the point. "What do I do?" he asked.

"Close your eyes," Xander instructed.

Doyle did as he was asked. "Now what?"

Xander tried to think what Angel had told him. "Make your mind go blank."

Doyle's eyes snapped open. He gave Xander a 'you've got to be kidding me' look.

"Close your eyes. Close your eyes," Xander whispered frantically. "Come on. Just try this. Work with me here."

Doyle closed his eyes again.

"Okay," said Xander. "Now the thing is not to think of anything and kind of let the 'link' kick in on it's own. You'll-"

"-I can feel him." Doyle's voice was slightly awed. "Angel," he whispered softly.

Xander smiled, remembering. However, the fond reminisces would have to wait. There were more pressing matters to deal with. "How does he seem? Can you-?"

"He's angry," said Doyle. "No. Scratch that. He's fuckin' livid." He opened his eyes. "We hafta get in there." He straightened up.

Xander yanked him back down. "Not yet. You have to turn it back down, so it's a sort of low buzz in the background. If you don't it'll drive you nuts."

Doyle's forehead creased with concentration. "I can't."

"You have to," Xander hissed back. "I'm not heading into the danger zone with you tripping on Angel vibes. Now shut it down. That's an order, soldier."

Doyle muttered something uncomplimentary and tried again. After less than a minute he opened his eyes and nodded. "Done."

"You're sure?" Xander asked. When Doyle stood up, he peered anxiously into slightly glazed green eyes. "It's just background noise? You're one hundred percent positive?"

"Come on," said Doyle impatiently. Darting out from behind the shrubbery, he kept to the deepest shadows as he made his way toward the car park entrance.

"This has got very bad idea written all over it," Xander muttered, as he followed.

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