Title: Matched Pair
Author: Brenda Antrim
Email: bren@bantrim.net
Rating: NC-17 for adult themes.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: Alternate universe; severe manipulation of canon. I like Doyle. This is my fix.

He moved back home, practiced remaining in human form as much as possible, then took his courage in both hands and went back to work. Angel looked at him searchingly, but didn't say anything. Cordelia didn't notice anything different. That helped. Then when the vision hit, Doyle knew he was back to what passed for normal in his mixed-up mess of a life.

The Scourge was no stranger to him. The bastards had entered his life peripherally at the same time he was going through his second puberty, learning to control his body so that the hitherto unknown demon aspects would remain decently hidden. He'd been afraid of everything then : afraid of his own body, afraid of the world discovering that he was an abomination, afraid of other minions of Satan coming after him and sending him to hell where he was sure he belonged. When others with the same disfiguration came to him for help, he reacted from the fear, and turned away from them.

God punished cowards.

Doyle's particular punishment went beyond admission of his own guilt and atonement for his part in the deaths of his demon cousins. It meant becoming the unwilling and unwitting messenger for Powers much higher than himself. It meant taking a destroyed life and deconstructing it further, until his only reason for existence was to be a conduit between those Powers and their Warrior.

It meant living his life for Angel.

It meant other things, too, things he only learned as he lived through his past all over again. Only this time he didn't run. This time he protected, as he hadn't in the past. This time the children survived.

It hurt, of course. It hurt when Angel snapped his neck, and he snapped it back. He'd been surprised how fast that pain had faded. It hurt, in a different way, when Cordelia rejected him yet again, and he found himself unable to turn her insults aside with his usual good humor. It hurt when Angel lived up to his track record, and prepared to sacrifice himself to save the innocents.

He still felt the strength of Angel's hand gripping the side of his neck, at the juncture of neck and shoulder, right where Angel had bitten him. Saving Angel's life had been a good idea at the time, and he certainly hadn't done it so the vampire could throw all his work away on a killer weapon from the Scourge.

So Doyle did the hardest thing he'd ever done.

He knocked Angel clear off the catwalk, far enough down and away that he'd have no chance to make it back up before Doyle had done what he had to do. Then he did one of the easier things he'd ever done. He kissed Cordelia breathless.

Angel's "Doyle! No!!" was ringing in his ears as he made the leap from the catwalk to the hanging platform from whence the weapon was suspended.

Doyle could barely see the power juncture through the brilliant white light. It beat against him, flash-burning his eyes, sizzling his skin through his clothing. Gritting his teeth against the heat, he ignored everything to peer through slitted, watering eyes at the cable powering the weapon. His fingers wrapped around the burning hot cords, and he yanked at the connection as hard as he could, screaming with frustration and determination as he put every last ounce of strength he had into disabling the death-dealing weapon.

It didn't detonate. That much, he knew. The jolt had kicked him from the platform when it had powered down, and he fell the depth of the ship's hold. Landed on his back. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Couldn't move.

Was incredibly impressed, when he could gather a thought back to his head, that he hadn't been instantly vaporized by the crystal weapon.

The refugees were gathered around him, oohing and aahing, all big eyes and grateful thanks. Doyle looked up into the remains of the weapon, a big sheet of glass, and saw his reflection. He was spiked out, full Brakken face, but his skin was a funny pinkish red color. It looked great with his red eyes, but the green spikes looked strange. He resembled nothing so much as an odd sort of Christmas ornament. Before his thoughts could wander into even stranger pastures, Angel shouldered his way through the crowd and knelt beside him.

There was that hand on his neck again.

"Doyle?"

Yeah. That was him. Doyle. Hero. He managed a slight smile, and a dazed nod, but his voice wasn't quite up to talking yet.

From behind Angel, the leader of the demon half-breeds stepped forward. "We didn't know. There are two Promised Ones. Will you come with us? To Sanctuary?"

"The Scourge are gone." Doyle found his voice. The leader nodded.

"But we are still outcast. This place that we've found, it's our own. Will you come?" His glance encompassed both men. "You are welcome."

Angel helped him into a sitting position, then settled back. Doyle leaned into him and looked up at the man offering the invitation. For a moment he was almost tempted. A place where he could be himself. Where he could figure out who himself actually was. A place where he didn't have to hide.

But he'd go alone, if he did. Angel wasn't going to hide away on some tropical island paradise whilst there were still innocents out there roaming the night unprotected. Doyle smiled, wincing as the burned skin on his face protested, leaning unobtrusively against the sturdiness of Angel's thigh supporting his back.

"Thanks, but my life is here," he said softly. The refugee leader looked as if he would protest, then fell silent as Cordelia finally elbowed her way through to the center of the group.

"What are we waiting for? Are you okay, Doyle? That was incredibly brave, if incredibly stupid. I can't believe you kissed me. Are you still human? Way to save everybody! So, are we still on for dinner?" She ran out of breath and looked at him expectantly. He grinned at her.

Shook his head.

The spikes disappeared.

"Surely, Cordelia. Let's see these fine people on their way, then it's to Portofino's we go."

Angel's hand withdrew from his shoulder. He felt the loss immediately, but didn't know what to say to get it back. Or even if he should say anything. So he didn't.

It took longer to get off the ship than Doyle would have liked. There were too many thank-yous, and Angel was no help, taking off with his patented disappearance into the night. Doyle relied on Cordelia to be the battering ram that finally got them through the crowd of refugees, and after a quick stop at his apartment to change into something less crispy, they made it to the restaurant as the dinner rush was thinning out. It only took a minor bribe to get them a table. The maiter d' was distracted by Cordelia's décolletage.

It was lovely. Cordelia was glittering, the food was delicious, and catching sight of his reflection in his wineglass he decided he just looked like he had a bad sunburn. Not like he'd tried to make a supreme sacrifice to save his best friend's life.

Again.

There was a pause in the torrent of babble from the other side of the table, and he smiled, ignoring the slight pain from his stretched, tight skin. "Go on, then," he urged. "What happened next?" Not that he had the slightest idea what she was talking about. But judging by her brilliant smile, she was happy, enjoying herself, and that had been the plan. From Cordy's side of the table, it looked to be a perfect date. She was gorgeous, he was acceptably dressed, the restaurant was exclusive and expensive, and she was encouraged to talk about herself all night.

Doyle was bored out of his mind.

He liked Cordelia. He really did, and not just because she was beautiful. He'd thought about this date for months, when it seemed it was nothing but a pipe dream. Now that it was there and happening ... all he could think about was Angel.

"Are you alright, Doyle?" Cordelia's question broke into his abstraction. He glanced up.

Damn. She was looking concerned. Not happy. He made the effort to look engaged. "Oh, fine, Cordelia, just a bit tired. Long day and all. But I'm interested. I like listening to you. Go on ahead and tell me more." That seemed to reassure her, and soon she was happily bubbling on about some audition or other with some independent producer he'd never heard of. It set the tone for the evening. It was very pleasant, surprisingly fun when he wasn't distracted by wicked thoughts of Angel, and there were no sparks whatsoever.

They left the restaurant and drove for a little while, enjoying the night air, and the lights, and the quiet. For a city that didn't sleep, Los Angeles was surprisingly quiet at night, most people going about in cars, in small clumps clustered around night clubs, or theaters. There were few people actually walking the streets. Doyle smiled at his thought. Well, of course they weren't walking the streets if they could help it.

There be monsters, there.

Eventually the talk ran out, and he suggested going down to the pub for a nightcap. Again, it was pleasant, and fun, and he could as well have been out with his sister. He didn't drink nearly as much as he wanted to, needing to keep tight rein on his control so he didn't spike out in the middle of the pub and frighten the patrons. So when he did go to walk her to her door, he was depressingly sober.

She paused at the door. "Would you like to come in?" It was partly form, partly curiosity, very little actual sexual interest on her part and none on his. He smiled, a genuine smile that warmed his face and relaxed her a mite.

"I don't think so, Cordelia. I had a wonderful time tonight, and I'm not just saying that."

"But?" she dropped into the pause after he finished speaking.

"But it's not there, now, is it?" His voice was soft, and a little wistful. She suddenly looked much more relaxed.

"I like you, Doyle. A lot. But you're right. Friends?" She positively beamed at him.

"Friends it is," he grinned back, and pecked the end of her nose. She laughed aloud, then let herself into her flat, waving a little before shutting the door between them. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Being at loose ends wasn't quite the way he'd envisioned ending this evening.

He got back in his car and drove around aimlessly for awhile. The evening was relatively young, only a little after two, and he could have found a club to play at until he felt tired enough to go home and try to sleep. As wound up as he felt, that should only take about three days. A mental image of standing on a table spouting off about Betty Rubble in full demon face put the kibosh on that idea right then.

Without making a conscious decision, he found himself walking up the steps to Angel's offices, then winding his way down the long way to get to Angel's living quarters without firing up the lift.

He found himself leaning up against the wall in Angel's bedroom, staring into the darkness, vaguely impressed by his own night vision as he watched Angel sleep. He didn't know how much time had passed before he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Then stretching out along his side.

Brushing the hair back from Angel's forehead.

Nuzzling Angel's neck.

Nibbling on him.

Running the edge of his elongated incisors against the cool white column of throat, and slipping the sharpened points into the flesh there.

Angel was dreaming, an incredibly erotic dream the likes of which he hadn't had since he turned Drusilla. He was naked, lying in bed, trapped in the bed linens, unable to move as she hovered over him, brushing his face with her fingertips. Cool breath misting over his skin, along his jaw. Soft lips moving over his skin, skimming over the surface, returning time and again to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, then suddenly diving in and biting him. Biting and needing and drawing together -- flashfire arousal lanced through his body, and he thrashed, only to realize several things at once.

It wasn't a dream.

It wasn't Drusilla.

He wasn't tied down.

He vamped out, exploded from the bed and attacked his attacker, arms and legs flying out in defensive moves too fast for a human eye to follow. His attacker wasn't human, though, and countered every single move. By the simple expedient of wrapping himself around Angel like a blanket and smothering his attack.

Angel fell back onto the bed, carrying his attacker with him. He didn't recognize the vampire struggling against him, but something held him back from releasing his full strength against the stranger. Conflicting emotions twisted in him, to fight, to stop fighting, to hold him, to throw him far away and protect himself ... to protect the attacker. The complexity of his own reaction threw him, and he instinctively bit at his attacker's neck, his oldest and most ingrained instinct coming to the fore.

He was delicious.

Angel buried his face in the other vampire's throat at the same time that the other vampire bit into his own neck. Their arms were around one another's bodies, their legs tangling together, groins thrusting against one another in a frenzy of blood lust in all meanings of the phrase. The intensity couldn't be maintained for long, and Angel screamed around the bloodied flesh in his mouth as he climaxed.

He felt the other vampire convulse and moan at the same time.

Falling into a heap atop his erstwhile attacker, Angel felt his features shift. He knew he should remain in vampire form as long as the threat existed, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to consider the man huddled in his arms to be a threat. He pulled back just far enough to be able to see the other vampire's face, not bothering to unplaster their bodies from one another.

Handsome, in vampire style. Clear dark eyes, soft dark hair, creamy white skin even paler than his own. A fine sensuous mouth, smeared with Angel's blood, and wickedly long fangs in a surprisingly delicate jaw Long, thick lashes blinked over those dazed eyes, once, twice. Then the other vampire shook his head as if to clear it.

Mid-shake, that face shifted form.

Slightly reddened green-blue skin. With spines waving from it. Bright red, still dazed, eyes.

By the end of the shake, it had shifted again, into Doyle's familiar, creamy skinned, dark haired, blue eyed visage.

With Angel's blood on his lips.

Angel opened his mouth to ask him what the hell had happened to him, when Doyle beat him to the punch. "Wha' happened?" he slurred. Before Angel could so much as shrug ignorance, Doyle's hands flew to his head, his mouth dropped open, and his eyes clenched in pain. "Oh, damnit all to hell!"

Deciding that questions could wait, Angel gathered Doyle up in a full-body embrace, ignoring the stickiness pressed between them, and rocked him gently through the agony of the vision. When the body clamped in his arms finally stopped shaking, Angel asked quietly, "What is it?"

"Guy, in trouble. About to become vampire kibble."

Angel nodded, briskly stood Doyle up and led the way out into the night, with a brief stop at the wardrobe to get dressed. Neither one of them said a word, although he noticed Doyle was touching his lips with his fingertips as if he didn't know where they'd come from or to whom they belonged.

He could relate.

They had a lot to figure out between the two of them, but first there was a mortal to rescue. In short order, Doyle led them to the alley he'd seen in his vision, not far from the offices. Angel spared a thought to wonder if he'd been guided by fate or karma or the Powers That Be to set up shop in the middle of Vampire Central, then shrugged off the thought and swung into action.

There were eight vampires running in this pack. They'd cornered a young man in the alley, circling and taunting him, and under the dark rich tone of his skin he was green with fright. Angel kicked the legs out from under the first one and knocked a second one face-first into the wall. Heavy hands landed on his shoulders but before he could turn to face the others he heard a feral growl.

From out of the shadows at his back, Doyle, in full vampire mode, dove forward into the remaining half dozen vampires. For a split second, Angel wondered which side Doyle was on. He well remembered the ravenous hunger a newly-made vampire felt. Then Doyle snapped the neck on one vampire and yanked another off the mortal with one fist in the vampire's hair.

Angel grinned.

From there it degenerated into a free-for-all, and Angel and Doyle worked together as if they'd been fighting as a team all their lives. The remaining living vampires in the gang, all three of them, staggered together and two ran for the entry to the alley. One, the oldest of the lot, snarled back over her shoulder as she turned for one last attack.

"Filthy perversions! Tainted! You'll pay for this!" She flew at Doyle, all scorching eyes and flashing fangs. He ducked, swept up a piece of broken wood, brought his hand up, and spiked her. Her scream dissipated as she turned to dust.

Angel stared at the pile of ash for a moment, turning her words over in his mind. A sound behind him caused him to turn back. Doyle was standing over the trembling mortal. Angel was at his side in an instant, just in time to hear Doyle say softly, "You okay, man?"

The mortal nodded jerkily. His eyes were huge in his face, but he looked less green now that he wasn't in imminent danger of being eaten. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from Doyle's face.

"Get along with ye, now," Doyle urged, and waved the man toward the other end of the alley, the opposite direction from where the vampires had retreated earlier. The man just kept nodding, then scrabbled away and ran as fast as his shaking legs could carry him.

"Uhm, Doyle?" Angel asked. Doyle turned to look at him. "Spikes," he explained.

"Oh, right," Doyle sighed, then shook his head, taking him from demon form back to human. "I keep forgetting."

They stood for a moment, surrounded by the carnage they'd created, looking anywhere but at each another. The silence stretched, grew awkward.

"Well, if that's all then-"

"What happened back-"

Both voices started, and stopped, simultaneously. Angel finally looked at Doyle. It took a minute more before Doyle could look at Angel.

"We have to talk." Angel's voice, quiet but firm, echoed by Doyle's nod. Doyle turned and headed back toward the office. Angel followed. For all their need to talk, not another word was exchanged until they made it all the way back and were sitting, facing one another across the small wooden table in Angel's vastly underutilized kitchen.

Angel stared at Doyle. Doyle stared at the table top. Finally, Doyle sighed and asked, "So, what's your take on the situation?"

"I've been thinking about that." Doyle gave him a 'no shit' look, and the corner of Angel's mouth quirked up into what passed for his smile. "I think the Scourge weapon didn't kill you because it only killed mortal flesh."

"Yeah, and what am I? Chopped liver?" Doyle's face stilled. "I guess that's the question, then, isn't it? What am I."

"I think I killed you," Angel went on. Doyle stared over at him, an arrested look on his face. "When I drained you. I think I killed you, and you turned. By the time you were hit by the Scourge weapon, you weren't killed because you weren't mortal. You were half demon ... and half vampire."

Doyle swallowed heavily. "And how do you come up with that?"

Angel licked his lips. Doyle's eyes followed every movement. "I recognize the scent of a vampire I've created," he explained quietly. "When you first came to me tonight, I smelled you in my sleep. I thought you were ... someone else. Another vampire I'd created."

Doyle nodded, a small, involuntary-looking movement. "If that's the case, then, how come I'm still with the visions? Why do I still care what happens to humans, if I'm not one myself anymore, if I haven't any soul?"

Angel leaned forward and captured Doyle's hands in his own. They weren't cool, any longer, they felt warm to his touch, slightly warmer than his own. "I think the visions are tied to the demon half of you," he mused aloud.

A tiny sound of agreement escaped Doyle. "Yeah, that'd make sense. They started because of the demon in me. So, what, they're not done with me yet? Not over 'til the last man's down?"

"Something like that. I don't think they're done with either of us," Angel agreed. "As to your soul ... maybe that's part of the bargain. You get the visions, and you have to help me. In return, you keep your soul."

"Bit of a matched pair, then, aren't we." It wasn't a question. Doyle's eyes had gone huge in his face, and he was swallowing rapidly, as if his mouth had gone dry. His gaze had dropped from Angel's mouth to his throat, and he wasn't blinking. Angel sighed.

"Hungry?"

Doyle licked his lips in answer. Angel got up and crossed to the refrigerator, snagging a bag of blood from the top shelf. "Have to remember to stop by the butcher's," he muttered to himself. A presence behind him, warmth plastered along his back, arms around his midriff, and a busy mouth at the side of his neck informed him that Doyle had moved. With some difficulty, he turned in Doyle's arms. Doyle's mouth immediately latched onto his throat.

Bending his knees slightly to allow Doyle full access, Angel nipped the top off the bag of blood and drank deeply. Arousal was gathering in his stomach and down the back of his legs, making his fangs itch and his hands clench. He emptied the bag and tossed it behind him, letting it fall where it would. Reaching back with one hand while he still had some motor control, he grabbed another bag. Shuffled them both forward and heeled the door shut. Maneuvered them both toward the bedroom, Doyle drinking happily from him all the way back. He dropped onto the bed, Doyle still attached, and started in on the second bag as Doyle's hands busily stripped him of his clothing.

They had a long night ahead of them. If they were lucky, many such nights. He cupped the back of Doyle's head with one hand, lazily thrust his hips against Doyle's, and polished off the second pint. He had the feeling he was going to need his strength.

fin