Chapter Five: Rainbow's End. Ah, the happy ending. At long last.

Wesley was hungover. Again. And he greatly did not appreciate being hungover, thank you very much.

Not that anyone cared that he was hungover except him, so he just sat on the couch and drank a cup of very hot, very black coffee, as slowly as possible. Cordelia was in her office, pretending to work but really just making indecipherable happy noises to herself about the fact that Doyle and Angel were upstairs, curled up asleep on the bed. Wesley knew this for a fact because she had dragged him up there, and made him open the door for her so that he would get yelled at if they woke Angel up, and then had made happy noises about seeing them and had dragged him back out.

He took another slow sip of coffee. Thankfully, it was only Cordelia. He knew that she'd called Gunn, but Gunn had, very fortunately, decided not to come in. Or so Cordelia had told him when she'd gotten off the phone with him. Which he'd been very glad to hear, because the only thing that could make his morning worse right now was-

"Hey, decided to come in anyway. How're the lovebirds doing?"

Oh, of course. Because his head didn't hurt enough when he was by himself, he now had to deal with Gunn, as well. Splendid.

"They're asleep," Cordelia told him, when it became clear that Wesley wasn't going to say anything, or even move from his completely comfortable sprawl on the couch. Of course he wasn't going to move- his head hurt too much to move.

"Wes had too much to drink yesterday and is on the couch, again," Cordelia informed Gunn, and Wes lifted one hand above the back of the couch in a half-hearted wave without actually bothering to sit up. "Wes, get up and say hello."

"I'm comfortable, thank you all the same," Wesley said, his voice very, very dry. He could feel Cordelia's glare from across the room, but he felt a devastating lack of motivation to do as she wanted and get up. Mostly because he was perfectly well aware of the fact that she was just trying to play matchmaker between him and Gunn, and that she was doomed to fail in that respect. He and Gunn were never going to be able to get along, much less be comfortable around one another or, God forbid, actually get together. It was just so far out of any possible scope of imagining that he couldn't even think about it without his brain threatening to shut down completely.

"It's fine, Cordy. Wouldn't want to hurt his head, or anything."

Wesley snorted quietly at that. Right. Gunn, caring about his welfare?

Gunn must have heard his snort, because he could feel the glare that was sent in his direction, and it wasn't from Cordelia, either. Oddly enough, he didn't care. He didn't even care enough to sit up and show Gunn how very much he didn't care.

He did sit up, however, when he heard a yawn from the top of the steps. Angel, most likely, which was confirmed when Cordelia said, "Angel, you're awake!" and he looked up to see Angel, wearing only a pair of black jeans and a halfway-buttoned shirt, started down the steps, buttoning his shirt the rest of the way as he went.

"Barely," Angel said. "And I have no idea why. God, I'm tired."

"Well, it's not like you got much sleep last night," Cordelia said, which no semblance of tact whatsoever, and Wesley had to laugh out loud at the disgruntled look Angel gave her.

But Angel surprised him by replying, "No, I didn't get much sleep last night," with a wicked little grin on his face. "I had better things to do."

"Yeah, like Doyle," Cordelia said with a little snort. "If ever anyone was a bottom-boy, it's him."

Angel looked like he was actually blushing, but it was hard to tell from as far away as Wesley was. "Thank you, Cordy. You couldn't maybe share those opinions while I'm not in the room?"

"Not really," Cordelia said, supremely uncaring of Angel's discomfort. "Speaking of Doyle, where is he?"

"Enjoying his first shower in several years, when I came down," Angel said. "He might be out by now, though."

Right on cue, there was a brief flash of color from above, and then Doyle was standing in the middle of the lobby floor, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I don't suppose you considered actually using the steps?" Wesley asked mildly, and Doyle shot a smug glance his direction. Wesley sighed. "No, I didn't think so."

"Mornin', all," Doyle said, and wandered over to Angel's side. "And good morning to you," he said in the vampire's ear, and pressed a quick kiss to the side of his neck before wandering behind the counter to look for coffee.

Angel shivered, and watched Doyle, and everyone pretended that they didn't notice. Wesley thought of several things he wanted to say, and indeed, several of them he probably should say at some point, but most of those were things that only Angel and Doyle needed to hear, not the entire lobby. He'd have to wait until he could get them alone.

He lay back down again and threw an arm over his eyes, ignoring the way that the abrupt movement made his head throb. The complete blackness that his arm provided was reward enough to put up with a brief head-throb, considering that his headache disappeared almost completely a moment later, providing that he stayed very, very still.

Just as he was finally settling down into a dark, quiet, peaceful sort of place, bolstered by the murmurs of Doyle and Cordelia bantering in the background, he heard footsteps approach and stop right next to him. He briefly considered just ignoring Gunn, because it couldn't be anyone but Gunn, but after a long moment of thought he lowered his arm with a sigh and cracked one eye open.

Sure enough, there was Gunn, staring down at him from a great height, which seemed even greater than usual because he was lying on the couch. The expression on Gunn's face was new, though- a sort of tentative, half-nervous, half-smiling expression that sat very oddly on his usually blank face. Well, it was usually blank around Wesley, anyway. When he wasn't glaring.

In one hand, he held a steaming mug.

"Hangover remedy," he said before Wesley could ask. "Don't ask what's in it. I found the recipe in one of your books last time Cordelia made us clean, and you probably don't wanna know what's in it. So don't ask."

"Don't worry, I won't," Wesley said, and sat up slowly before cautiously taking the mug. Their fingers brushed when the mug changed hands, and Wesley felt the heat flash through him, the same way it always did when he and Gunn touched. Gunn looked startled and jerked his hand back, and Wesley barely managed to avoid spilling the mug.

Gunn took a few steps back, and Wesley braced himself for the sarcastic, cutting, and/or derisive comment that would inevitably follow.

"Um... well... yeah."

And with that particular piece of eloquence, Gunn fled to Angel's office.

Wesley stared after him, deeply confused. This wasn't like Gunn at all. Gunn was... arrogant, and sardonic, and he didn't like Wesley. That was just the way things were.

Ignoring the little voice that told him that it wasn't the way things used to be, he wrapped both hands around the mug and, anticipating the disgusting taste, drained it in one swallow.

Several hours later, Wesley finally managed to corner Doyle in Angel's office. Angel was... off somewhere else, which was just as well, because as comfortable as Wesley sometimes felt around Angel, it was much less awkward to bring up this particular subject when it was just Doyle.

Doyle watched him with inscrutable eyes as he shut the door and leaned against it, trying to work up the courage to start this conversation. He fidgeted for a moment, and cleared his throat a couple times, and even started to reach for his glasses with the intent of cleaning them before he realized what he was doing and dropped his hands to his sides again, a blush staining his cheeks.

"Just spit it out," Doyle told him finally, sounding amused. Wesley sighed.

"It's rather awkward," he pointed out. "Which I'm sure you know since you know exactly what I'm trying to talk about, damn it. You're just enjoying watching me squirm."

"Only a little," Doyle admitted. "I'm also trying to avoid talking about it. Not really something I want to think about, you know."

"I know," Wesley said. Even to himself, he sounded tired. "So I'll talk about it." Deep breath. "Angel's curse. I know you, er..."

"Did the wild thing?" Doyle supplied helpfully. "Heated up the sheets? Made sweet, sweet love all night long?"

"Yes, thank you very much," Wesley said, very dryly, not sounding grateful at all. "Even a decent attempt to sidetrack me. However, I'm fairly determined to talk about it, since the issue rather concerns us all. You had sex. He obviously didn't lose his soul."

"No," Doyle said, and he sounded less than happy. "I know he didn't. And before you ask, I don't know why. I didn't think he would- I wouldn't have if I'd thought there was the chance- but I don't know why I thought that, or why I was right."

"Interesting that you knew that before the fact," Wesley mused. "Still, we need to know."

"Why?" Doyle burst out. "Why can't we just leave it be?" Wesley opened his mouth to answer, and Doyle cut him off. "Or if you simply can't let it be, can't you let it wait? Just a couple of days. Or even one. Just a little time where I don't have to worry about something. We're happy, damn it all to hell. Finally. This has been a possibility between us since the first moment we met, and after two and a half years, we have it. I don't want to have to think about it going wrong. Can't it wait?"

Wesley paused, and then chose his words carefully. He'd never seen Doyle this upset. Not even when he'd stormed away from the hotel a few days before, not even in the depths of his not-drunk despair. This was upset bordering on the edge of hysteria.

"I can look into it on my own," he said finally, very cautiously. "You don't have to worry about it." Doyle's eyes looked so painfully hopeful that Wesley sighed, and gave himself up to several days of work with no sleep and quite possibly getting himself killed. "In fact, don't even think about it. Go back out. Bother Angel. I'll take care of everything. I swear it."

Just then there was a knock at the door, and when Wesley called out an automatic, "Come in," and moved away from the door Angel came in, looking worried.

"I heard you talking," he said. "Just voices. Doyle sounded pretty upset. What's going on?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Wesley said, and he knew it was true. He was going to make sure of it. "Just some business I need to take care of."

Angel looked at him silently for a moment, clearly not believing him, and then apparently decided that it didn't matter at the moment and brushed past him on his way to Doyle's side. Doyle smiled up at him and took his hand, all trace of upset vanished, and said, "It's nothing. Don't worry about it. I'm not."

Seeing that he was no longer needed, Wesley slipped out and headed for the stairs. He knew that Angel kept some things in his room that he might need, if he was going to find the answers he was looking for.

The sun was just setting when he left the hotel and headed for his flat, a small black bag slung over one shoulder and a plan worked out. He had a book on his shelf that he wanted to check, but he was almost certain that he could get all the information he needed, now. It was only a matter of time.

"Hey."

He turned around, one hand resting on the seat of his bike and the other clutching his helmet, and stared at Gunn. "Hello."

Gunn stared at him for a minute, not saying anything. Wesley said nothing as well, determined to wait him out, but after a moment he gave up and with a sigh he asked, "Was there something you wanted?"

"Yeah," Gunn said. "I wanna know what you're up to."

Bugger. "I'm going home," he said, as calmly as he knew how. "That's all."

"And where you goin' after that?" Gunn said, and shook his head as he studied him. "Oh yeah, you're up to something all right. Let me guess. Angel and Doyle? Perfect happiness? Curse? How am I doin'?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Wes said, and turned to get on his bike.

Gunn grabbed his arm and Wesley turned back, startled. Gunn didn't touch him. Ever. Even when they were standing toe to toe and screaming at each other, which had happened once or twice in the last few weeks, Gunn had never touched him.

"Let me go."

"Uh-uh, don't think so. Y'see, I've got this theory. You wanna know what my theory is?"

"I couldn't care less," Wesley snapped, trying to keep his heart rate down to normal by sheer force of will, and he tugged uselessly at his arm. "Maybe I'll care after you let go of my arm."

"Don't think so," Gunn said again. "Not risking you taking off before I get a chance to get some answers out of you. Let's try, what's at your apartment that you need? And then let's try, where are you going, and what the hell are you gonna do?"

"None of your fucking business," Wesley gritted out, and Gunn was so surprised that he loosened his grip just a little, just enough for Wesley to wrench his arm free. He jammed his helmet onto his head and swung onto the bike. "Don't follow me," he snapped, and then rode away with a roar.

"Freaking brilliant," Cordelia said from the doorway. Gunn ignored her as he stared at the corner where Wes had turned a moment before, disappearing from sight. "I'm sure you coulda been a little bit more caveman if you'd tried. Maybe."

"Shut up, Cordy," he growled. "He's going to do something tonight."

"Why, so am I," Cordelia said, sounding shocked. "Most people do things at night. Eat dinner. Take a shower. Maybe watch a little tv."

"Something dangerous," he said, and turned around in time to catch the worry that flitted across her face before settling down into well-worn grooves around her mouth and eyes. "He made some sort of promise to Doyle, to take care of something for him- Angel told me he overheard that much- and it doesn't take three guesses to figure out what."

"The curse," Cordelia said. "He's going to try to find away to make sure we never have to worry about it."

"That's right," Gunn said. "He took something from Angel's room, and then he takes off for his apartment and I'm pretty freakin' sure he's goin' somewhere after that. Somewhere dangerous."

"You think he's going to get hurt?" Cordelia said. "Because hey, bad thing. Why did he take off without us?"

"Because he knows we'd stop him," Gunn said. "Which is why I know he's not just gonna get himself hurt. My boy's gonna get himself killed."

Cordelia looked at him a little oddly and said, "Your boy?" but he didn't hear her because he was already several feet away, heading for his truck. No way he was gonna let Wes get himself into this out of some misguided idea that he had to fix the fucking world.

"Where is he going?" Angel asked from behind her as Gunn drove off, turning the same place Wes had. Cordelia turned to face him with a sigh.

"He's following Wes, who is going somewhere bad and doing something potentially fatal to make sure your curse isn't an issue," she said, too worried about both men to cushion her words. And too surprised by Gunn's heartfelt, "My boy." Was it possible that the two lunkheads were finally getting it?

"He's doing what?" Angel demanded. "He's not that stupid, is he?"

"He promised Doyle, apparently," Cordelia said. "He takes promises pretty seriously. And you know how far he'd go for a friend."

"Shit," Angel said succinctly, and vanished back into the Hyperion, yelling for Doyle.

Cordelia agreed with him. The whole mess was a Bad Thing. She was worried about Wes, and worried about Gunn because he was going after Wes, but still... There was a small spark of hope, too. It was starting to look like the two of them were going to stop butting heads at every opportunity and make with the kissing, at long last.

She just hoped that they were alive long enough to get the chance.

Wesley knew perfectly well that Gunn was going to follow him. He'd said not to, as if his words would make a difference to whatever decision the younger man made, but he knew better. Gunn was going to follow him, and it was inevitable.

Which was why he took a different route to his apartment.

This way was just a hair faster, especially with him on a bike and Gunn in that big clunking truck. He made it to his apartment, grabbed the book, took a moment to praise the Powers that he was habitually neat so that he was able to find the book, and took off again.

Just in time, too, as it turned out, because Gunn was pulling up in front of his apartment building just as he was leaving. He'd taken the precaution of parking the bike in the alley at the back, with enough wards to be sure that it wouldn't stolen, and now he watched from the shadows and Gunn went in. Then he waited till he could see Gunn's shadow at his window- he'd given him a key months ago- and then he drove off, knowing that even though Gunn spotted him leaving, there was no way that Gunn could get down the steps to his truck anywhere near in time to catch up with him, or even figure out where he was going.

Neither would Gunn be able to guess. It was a bit stupid, he'd be the first to admit, but he'd made a promise, and honestly, sometimes it didn't seem like he all that much to lose by doing it, and everything to lose if the curse didn't hold. After all, the lawyers would probably just kill him. Angelus would torture him to death.

He pulled up in front of the building and studied it. It didn't look evil. It looked like the architect had no appreciation for classical architecture, but it didn't look evil. Just goes to show that appearances could be deceiving.

He parked the bike and walked up the steps. One hand was buried in the bag, holding the amulet in a white-knuckled grip, and the other held the book open in front of him. He read the incantation as he walked, trying to hold his hand steady and keep his voice strong and sure. This wasn't exactly a stable spell, but if it worked he should be able to-

He looked up from the book and smiled at Lilah Morgan's expression of shock. "Surprise," he said. "There's something I need you to do for me."

"And why would I do that?" she demanded lazily, her shock melting away and amusement setting in. No doubt she thought him helpless. Fairly close to the mark, especially in her own home territory, but not completely true.

A different page in the same book, and a shorter incantation, over before she had time to really call for guards. A wall of fire rose from the ground and encircled her, sealing all around her without scorching so much as a stray carpet fiber.

"I always wanted to try this spell," Wesley said, in a conversational tone. "Of course, it does require extreme concentration to sustain. I wouldn't want to fumble it and have you be burnt alive."

She wasn't stupid, and she realized perfectly well that there was no real way out of this. She was probably familiar with the spell- the book in his hands wasn't truly rare, just uncommon.

"What do you want to know?" she said resignedly.

"Angel's soul. Will it hold?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "Honest. Know nothing."

"The reports are on your desk, Lilah," he said. "Don't tell me you haven't heard anything."

"Well, I do, but not enough. See, the thing is, you're asking the wrong person. I'm not the one who's felt Angel's insides recently."

"Then who do I ask?" he said. She said nothing and he said, "Oh dear, I'm starting to feel tired. Maybe this spell won't hold very well-"

"You should ask me," said a female voice from behind him. "Because I've known him for far, far longer than Lilah has."

He turned to stare at the open doorway, seeing Lindsey and a blonde woman. She didn't look familiar, but somehow, he knew exactly who she was.

"Darla."

Lindsey watched from the window and Wesley Wyndham-Pryce descended the front steps, his head down, clutching his bag with one hand. "That was unexpected," he remarked casually to the person behind him. "Didn't think he had the balls to just magic his way in here like that."

"He's different than you told me," Darla said from her seat in the chair. "What was it again? A tight-assed Brit? He was all grim determination and fire. I liked it."

Down at the curb, Wesley got on his bike and drove away. "He's not the way I remember him, either," Lindsey pointed out. "Things change, I guess. Angel and Doyle had to have caused a little upheaval around the place."

"Ah, yes," Darla hissed. "Angel is playing with his little Irish ghost still."

"You know he is," Lindsey said, letting the curtain fall closed. He turned to face her with an amused little smile on his face. "You know him better than anyone, isn't that what you told Wesley? Saw him from the inside out?"

She said nothing, so he continued, his voice low and amused, staring at the ceiling musingly. "Of course, I'd lay odds that Doyle knows him pretty damn well by now, especially since Wesley came storming in here about the state of Angel's soul. Sounds like your childe is working on a little perfect happiness with his 'little Irish ghost.'"

Darla glared at him for a long, silent moment, then lunged out of the chair. A moment later his back hit the wall with a painful thud, and Darla was plastered to his front, glaring at him like she wanted to burn him from the inside out.

"Don't talk," she ordered. "Just... don't talk."

Always happy to oblige, Lindsey bent his head and covered her lips with his.

Wesley stumbled into his apartment, feeling rather like something the cat dragged in. Christ, he was so exhausted, he could feel his bones creak. He wasn't inexperienced in magic- quite the contrary- but spells of that magnitude, done in such quick succession- that was new. And draining. He'd tapped into some of his own... life force, for lack of a better word, to sustain the ring of fire as long as he had in Lilah's office. All he wanted to do now was collapse into bed and sleep for about a week. Maybe two.

But first he had to call Doyle and tell him that everything was okay.

Twenty minutes later he managed to extricate himself from the yelling and accusations of being a "fucking stupid bastard," followed by a round of heartfelt thanks. Followed by the whole thing done all over again, by Angel, and then by Cordy. Even Lorne was there, and managed to get the phone long enough to give him a shorter version of the whole routine. Wesley suffered through it in relative silence, pathetically grateful that Gunn wasn't there to get his two cents in.

He hung up the phone and wandered into the kitchen, hoping for nothing more than a glass of water. The creak and click of his front door opening and closing should have startled him, but he'd been expecting it, and he knew exactly who it was.

"Gunn," he said, not turning around, knowing that the man was standing there because of the tingle-pain that shot up his spine. He said nothing else, just waited.

"Cordy called me and told me where you went. What you'd done."

"Darla was very informative," Wesley said, with no inflection in his voice at all. "Apparently the reason the Powers granted Doyle the chance to return was to stabilize him, to keep him from surrendering to despair. In other words, to make him happy. The curse won't be a concern."

"And I'm damn glad to know that I won't have to carry a cross in my pocket at work," Gunn said, "but more to the point- what the fuck did you think you were doing?"

"Keeping a promise," Wesley said, and turned to face him at last. The tight expression on Wesley's face made his heart clench. "Doing what I had to do."

"Bullshit," Gunn said. "You coulda just gotten the Host to read him. Why this?"

"Lorne is very accurate and a wonderful source of information," Wesley said evenly. "But I didn't just need to know that he would keep his soul. I need to know why. So that I could be sure."

"Good for you," Gunn snarled, losing his hold on his temper at last. "And what if you'd gotten killed, huh? Did you ever think about the rest of us when you wandered in and just dropped your neck on the choppin' block like that?"

"Why Charles," Wesley said, his voice dryer than dry. "I didn't know you cared."

And just like that, things were different. Tension snaked into the kitchen, and Gunn's face changed, his glare dropping away for something just as intent and with a lot more impact. "No, you don't, do you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Wesley knew he was being impossibly British and that it just pissed Gunn off, but he felt childish enough to do it anyway. Gunn just stared at him some more, instead of glaring again, like Wesley thought he would.

And he moved closer. Wesley hadn't noticed that, but someone he'd gotten halfway across the kitchen and was only a few feet away, staring at him with night-dark eyes. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" Wesley demanded. "There's something I'm supposed to be getting? Hints usually help."

"Me," Gunn said simply. "Carin' about you."

"What?" Wesley was startled to the point of being completely shocked, feeling his breath freeze up in his throat. "There's nothing about that to get. You don't like me. End of story."

"See, that's where you wrong. I do care about you."

"Of course," Wesley said. "And that's what all the arguments and insults and screaming was about. How bloody much you care about me."

"I do," he insisted. "I care about you."

"How?" Wesley demanded. "As a convenient target to let out frustration?"

"This is how," Gunn said, and kissed him.

"I'm going to kill him," Cordelia said for the hundredth time. "How could he do something that stupid without telling us?"

"Because he knew we'd stop him, maybe?" Doyle suggested. "He's pretty bright about stuff like that, Wes is."

"Not that it'd be hard to figure out," Cordelia muttered. "I mean, hello? Evil law firm? Want to do horrible things to the lot of us? And he just waltzes in there without any backup and uses a bunch of spells I know he has no experience with and calls us and expects us not to-"

She stopped. Doyle wasn't paying a damn bit of attention to her. His gaze was fixed on the stairway, where Angel was climbing the steps, looking tired but happy. A little smile lurked on Doyle's lips, and he didn't even realize she'd stopped talking. She sighed.

Men.

"Go," she said, and he glanced at her, startled. "You know you wanna be going up there with him, not listening to me bitch about Wesley again. So go on, shoo. I can complain to someone else later."

Doyle shot her a wide grin, kissed her cheek, and then just phased out and through the ceiling. She sighed again and flopped back on the couch. She was cursed to be surrounded by men who fell for each other.

Then she felt the secret little smile that curled her lips, and she gave up and let the laughter bubble out of her. Hell, they fought evil. Happiness was in short supply. She didn't begrudge any of her friends a drop of it. They loved each other, and since she loved them all, she wanted them to be happy.

But next time Doyle ignored her in favor of staring at Angel's ass, she would put something horrible in his coffee. She had to have some standards, after all. Wouldn't want them to think she was getting soft.

She went back to work whistling.

Wesley was the one who broke the kiss first. It was with something like stunned amazement that he pulled away and leaned back against the counter, apparently for support, and stared at Gunn with wonder and fear in his eyes.

Gunn snorted to himself. "You should see your face, English. What, you think I'm gonna bite or somethin'? Not unless you ask real nice."

Wesley shook his head slowly. "No, it's just... Well. To say that I wasn't expecting this would be an understatement of-"

But Gunn was laughing at him again, not a mean laugh but full of gentle, affectionate mocking. "So damn English. You ever lose your cool?"

Wesley shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "That was me losing my cool. I was hoping to say something sophisticated, and I started babbling."

"It happens, man," Gunn said, and took a slow step closer. "But see, I'm thinking that you've already forgotten about what I said before. About me carin' about you. I'm thinking you need a reminder."

But the way Wes looked at him, so sad and tired and please-don't-hurt-me-like-this, he couldn't do it. Couldn't hold up the flirting- yeah, he really did just think the word flirting about Wes- sexual stalking thing, and so he just crossed the room in two long strides and pulled Wes into his arms with no warning at all.

Wes went rigid, tense, against him for one heart-stoppingly long moment before finally sighing and relaxing against him. "I believe you," he said slowly, "I just can't... believe you, if that makes any sense at all. It's just... we've fought rather constantly for a long time now, and it's rather hard to believe that all of that isn't supposed to mean anything now."

"I'm not tryin' to erase all that's been said and done," Gunn told him. "That's pretty stupid, plus it would never work. But maybe we can work past it? I know I want to."

"I want to," Wesley said into his shoulder, then raised his head and smiled at Gunn. "I definitely want to."

"Well then," Gunn said, and taking him by the hand, started to draw him towards the couch. "Whaddaya say we start working past it right now?"

Angel heard the sound of Doyle's footsteps on the floor as the ghost followed him from the hall into his bedroom, and he rejoiced from hearing it. From being able to hear it. From knowing that some day in a distant future, he'd still be hearing Doyle's footsteps on the floor.

"You catch any of what Wesley was telling us, or were we all too busy yellin' at him to make sense of what he said past 'curse not a problem?'"

Angel turned around and smiled ruefully. "I caught some of it. Something about you being sent back just to keep me happy and not doing evil things. Or something."

"Good enough," Doyle said, and fitted himself against Angel's side as if he'd always been there as Angel pulled blood out of the fridge and put it in the microwave. "I mean, it's a full-time job, but I'm pretty sure I'm up to it."

"What, keeping me happy?" Angel spun them both around so that he was leaning back against the counter with Doyle standing between his thighs. "Oh, I'm sure you're up to it." He rubbed his hips against Doyle's to prove his point.

Doyle laughed, then sobered, and put his hand up to Angel's cheek. "I love you, you know that? I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to tell you enough, and I'm positive that there'll be times where I'm gonna beat you over the head with something to make my point instead, but here, right now, with you... I love you. I just wanted to say it. I love you."

"I love you too," Angel said. The microwave dinged before he could say more, and he laughed and reached around behind him to get his blood. He set it on the counter beside him without opening it, bringing up both hands to cup Doyle's face instead. "I know that I'm not worthy to live, much less to have been given you, but I don't care. I love you. I'm gonna hold on as hard as I can, as long as I can, for the rest of my very long life."

"From your lips to God's ears," Doyle said. "Cuz I'm sure as hell not gonna lose this."

"Stay with me," Angel said. "Stay with me forever."

"You're never gonna get rid of me," Doyle vowed. "Not even when you want to."

"That's never gonna happen," Angel growled. "I'll never be tired of you. I'll always want you by my side."

"And I'm always gonna be there," Doyle said. "So that works out."

Angel laughed, then leaned forward and gently bumped his forehead against Doyle's. "We're a pair, aren't we? You're a half-demon and sometimes-corporeal ghost, and I'm a two-hundred-and-some vampire with a soul who's destined to save the world. Is it any damn wonder we managed to find each other?"

"Hell no," Doyle said. "This is fate. This is meant to be."

"This is meant to be forever," Angel corrected. "You and me. We're forever."

Doyle smiled, and kissed Angel lightly, then pulled back enough to rest his head against the curve of Angel's neck. "Are we done with the loving vows thing now? Because I'm hungry."

"We are absolutely done," Angel said. "You want eggs, or, well, eggs? I'm not much good at anything else."

"I think eggs sound perfect," Doyle said solemnly, and they laughed as Angel went to dig the eggs out of the back of his refrigerator.

Downstairs, Cordelia smiled as she listened to them. Wes and Gunn were happy. Angel and Doyle were happy. And now it was time for her to find a little of her own happiness.

She whistled as she left the hotel, making sure to actually lock the door behind her, since no one else ever remembered. She considered the distance she had to go, and decided to take Angel's car. He'd never notice, as busy as he was gonna be tonight.

Besides, Lorne always did love Angel's car.

End

End Notes:

Because this is definitely the end. Do not ask me to update, because that's all there is. There ain't no more!

I originally meant for this story to be much longer- I had it all planned out, and there was this long story arc with Darla, and then Pylea, and I was gonna cross it over with the then-half-finished Entropy, but I gave up. I have so many stories in my head that it's hard for me to stay with one for a long time, though I'm getting much better at it. So, I wrote this chapter instead, to wrap everything up instead of getting it that much more complicated. I'm sorry to everyone who loved this story and would have liked to see more of it, but this was the best I could do.

I wrote the explanation for why Doyle came back at the end of the story, after I'd seen season 4. If everything was planned so that Jasmine could come to Earth, then why didn't the Powers see that and stop it, one way or another? So Doyle enters the picture, keeping Angel happy and Darla away from him, and that way there's never any Connor, and thus no Jasmine. And that is my explanation for why Doyle came back.