Chapter One: Where the Heart Is. This starts somewhere soon after "Are You Now or Have You Ever Been" in Angel season 2. From that point on, it's AU.

Wesley looked around him at the piles of books and parchment strewn over the large, curving cushions of the couch in Angel's hotel. It had been a long night, and it was even now edging towards morning. And even after all the long, exhausting hours hunched over huge, dusty tomes and dustier scrolls, after agony of mind-bending headaches caused by tiny, cramped script in obscure languages, he still hadn't found the demon he was looking for. Cordelia had set him to searching for it, and he'd been looking all night, but… nothing. He'd halfway suspected when he started that she was making it up, but he'd gone along with it, and now he was almost certain that she had, indeed, created the demon off the top of her head, just to punish him. For not noticing her new shoes, of all things. As if he'd ever noticed her new shoes. Why should she start getting upset about it now?

He buried his face in his hands and massaged his temples with strong fingers. God, his head hurt so much he thought he was going pass out. He hadn't hurt this much since… since he'd almost been blown to little pieces, actually. He was exhausted, sore, hungry, and his head hurt. He was miserable.

"I need a drink," he told his palms. His palms gave no answer, but a musical clink from the table in front of him echoed in his aching ears, and he looked up to see what had caused it.

A glass. Full of amber liquid that made his stomach warm and his head buzz pleasantly just thinking about its smooth slide down his throat. The question was, where on earth had it come from? He picked it up and stared at it meditatively, noting that it looked exactly like every other glass he'd ever drank of the stuff in his life, and even probing a little magically he couldn't find anything wrong with it. He was actually lifting it to his lips for a taste before he realized with a start that not all poisons were magical, and set it down again. Wolfram and Hart was still their enemy, perhaps even more so now.

"Well, if you're not going to drink it, d'you mind if I do? It's been a while since I've had a good stiff drink, you know."

Wes jumped and stared around almost frantically for the source of the voice, finally noticing a pair of pale green eyes floating in the air about three feet away from him. Nothing else, just the eyes, though not eyeballs, just as if… as if the rest of the body were hidden, or just not visible. But the voice had to be attached to those eyes- Wes was sure of it, somehow. They just fit together. What he wanted to know was what the voice and eyes were and what they wanted with him.

"Who or what are you?" he demanded, fighting to keep his voice steady and searching mentally for any way to get away from this thing. Which proved to be a difficult task because he had absolutely no idea of what the thing's capabilities were.

"Hey, I object to the 'what' part of that question," the voice sad indignantly. The green eyes sparked and narrowed into a glare. "I'm human, boyo. Can'tcha see me?"

"Not… exactly," Wes said in confusion. "Nothing except your eyes, at any rate. Who are you, then?"

Totally ignoring Wesley's question, the green eyes shifted downwards. "Well, damn. Guess I am a tad bit invisible, after all." The eyes closed, and a body shimmered into transparency, then back again into nothingness. Wes watched with fascination as the eyes opened again and glared downwards. "Well, damn it all to hell. This is harder than learning to control my Brachen face, and that was a trial, I have to tell you."

Wes started violently. "I'm sorry… I could have sworn you just said Brachen."

The eyes looked up at him in puzzlement. "Well, yeah, I did. Half-Brachen, half-human, always have been. Took a while for my demon side to show, though. Why?"

"Is… Um, are you by any chance Alan Francis Doyle?"

The eyes stared at him in utter shock. "Yeah," he said cautiously. "How in hell'd you know that, though?"

Wes suddenly grinned, a tired but radiant smile. "I'll explain, but it'd be nice if I could actually see you, you know, instead of just your eyes. It's a little odd, talking to a disembodied voice and pair of eyes."

"I can get that," Doyle says, and Wes can hear a grin in his voice. The eyes close, and he shimmers before vanishing again. His eyes snap open, and then his body winks into view, solid and amazingly real-looking. He smirks down at himself, but when his body starts to shimmer again he glares at it. It solidifies, and he stares at his feet for an unblinking minute before, assured that he's going to stay solid, sends a sheepish smile at Wes. "Sorry… it's a little tricky to get the hang of. Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Wesley Wyndam-Price," he began to explain, but Doyle interrupted, a dazzling smile on his face.

"I know you!" he said. "You're the guy the came in just a little bit after I'd left. Wonderful man with books, I've heard. Not really the best in a social situation, but definitely a good man to have around."

"That's… how did you know that?" Wes demanded. "How could you possibly know that?"

Doyle grinned cheekily. "Dreams, man," he said. "Even when I was in the halfway place, I could still see dreams. Picked up lots just scanning them, which was easier because it takes work to actually get into one, but I'm out of the halfway place now and it's actually pretty easy. Cordelia, for instance, is dreaming about shopping at the moment. Big surprise there." His face got a faraway look to it, and Wes stared at him in fascinated shock as he continued. "She's picking out this really hot red number, looking at the price tag… oh, and there we go. I just put my face where the price is supposed to be and waved at her… oh, lovely, she screamed." His eyes refocused, and he cursed. "Damn, she woke up. Didn't used to scare that easily, I swear."

"She doesn't scare particularly easy now," Wes said absently, and then abruptly refocused on the man in front of him. "Okay, so let's see if I have this all correct. You died. Obviously. You went to a… how did you put it? Halfway place? "In limbo' is the term I think I've heard before, but I didn't realize you had a consciousness in there, or any abilities. And you got sent back as a ghost? Why? Your purpose seems to be pretty much fulfilled, and if you'd had any unresolved issues you would have either worked them out while in limbo or come back earlier. And I've never heard of any ghost having abilities linked to dreams. It's entirely unprecedented. Furthermore, why did you show up here? Why now? What brought you back? And-"

Doyle held up a hand, laughing at the flood of Wes-babble. "One at a time, man. One at a time. Yeah, the halfway place is similar to being in limbo, but that's where you wait to be chosen by either heaven or hell. The halfway place is for those who have no place, period- it's where you go where they try to figure out where to put you. Normally no one has consciousness in either place, but I was a Messenger to one of the more powerful warriors of the Light and died for the cause- I was special. That accounts for the link to the Dreaming, by the way. I didn't get sent back, precisely- I chose to return. No unresolved issues or anything- just wanted back. I'm not sure why I showed up here, because I don't even know where this place is, but as to why now and what brought me back- I got bored with the halfway place and wanted back in this realm, and asked the Powers that Be ever-so-politely if I might return. So here I am."

"This is Angel's hotel," Wes said. "Ours, technically, for our offices, but Angel actually lives here, so we all call it his hotel."

"That'd be why I was brought here, then," Doyle said on a sigh. "First person you think of when you're awake… you're dragged straight to them. Or to where they live, apparently, since I don't see him anywhere, and I can't feel him either."

"Feel?" Wes asked, bemused, but before Doyle could answer they both heard bickering voices outside the front door and getting closer- Cordelia working Angel over, as usual, and Angel trying in his half-hearted way to defend himself. Doyle quickly vanished out of sight, and then whispered in Wesley's ear as the two walked in.

"Don't let them know I'm back yet. There's mischief to be had yet, y'see, and it's been a while since I've been able to do any real mischief."

"I understand," Wes said, unfortunately just as Cordelia and Angel walked into earshot.

"Understand what? Wesley, who were you talking to?" Cordelia demanded, more than willing to take her irritation with Angel out on her co-worker. Wes just smiled blandly, a perfectly innocent look in his eyes.

"Oh, just to myself. I do that when I'm tired sometimes. I was up all night researching that demon. Cordelia, are you sure you described him right? I couldn't seem to find him anywhere…"

"Demon?" Angel demanded. "Did you see it in a vision?" Cordelia looked around, trying to come up with a plausible lie, and Wed grinned and sneaked out of the room while she tried to talk her way around it. Doyle, the whole mess that would come about by his return, and how to keep him a secret from his friends… that he would deal with later, when he'd had some sleep. For the moment, all he wanted to think about was his bed.

Chuckling to himself, he made his way out the door to his motorcycle, parked by the curb. It was untouched, even in this less-than-sterling section of town, thanks to a rather excellent anti-theft spell that delivered a nasty shock and an amusing little curse that covered the would-be thief's hands in boils for a few days. Just long enough for him to think twice about trying it again any time soon. Disabling the spell, he pulled on his helmet, swung one leg over the bike, and roared away.

Angel was dreaming; he knew he was. Doyle never came to him except in his dreams. But the dream was so real- Doyle was so real. He could actually feel him in his arms, taste him on his lips, and hear his panting breath. He knew that scent, the slightly spicy scent that no human carried but was all Doyle, and he knew those eyes- those pale green eyes, so clear and knowing. And loving. He could see the love in Doyle's eyes and he almost wanted to scream that it wasn't fair, that he could see and hear and smell and feel Doyle but he knew that he wasn't really here, that he was dead and never coming back, so instead he pulled the smaller man hard against him and crushed his mouth down onto Doyle's own.

The half-demon moaned, then gasped as Angel slid his mouth down across Doyle's jaw to his throat, then back up to his earlobe. Doyle wiggled happily on top of him, rubbing up against the vampire in a couple very interesting ways as he did so, and then took advantage of Angel's momentary distraction to slide down his body. His teeth and tongue teased on nipple while he stroked the broad pad of his thumb over the other, and then, sending a cheeky grin up at the entranced Angel, he slide further down, to his belly and beyond. His tongue flicked out, just barely touching the tip of Angel's cock, and then his head dipped to take him in-

He jerked awake, sitting straight up in bed and staring around wildly. Nothing, he couldn't see anything at all. Of course Doyle wasn't there- what the hell was he thinking?

Drenched in sweat and his erection aching, he leaned back into the comforting bolster of the pillows. He let his hand slide down his stomach to his cock, not wanting to be awake all night or worse, fall into another dream of Doyle. He thought his heart would break if he had another dream about the man he'd lost.

Invisible in the corner of the room, Doyle watched him with hungry eyes. Angel… Oh god, now that he was actually here… he hadn't thought his skin would burn this much just to be around him, not anymore, not considering that he was a ghost. But the skin he didn't have was humming, and the heart that didn't beat was thundering in his nonexistent chest.

He didn't have to be this close in order to enter his dreams- after months of practice, he could do it while carrying on a conversation with someone hundreds of miles away. But he found that once he'd seen the man, still dark and looming, broad shoulders still trying to carry the weight of the world even as his dark, agonized eyes flickered restlessly as he tried to find a way out of arguing with Cordelia… He couldn't do it. Couldn't stay away from this man for a second longer than he had to. He'd missed him so much… wanted him so much… that now that he'd finally found him again his nerve endings screamed with pain whenever he tried to leave his presence.

He watched as Angel finished jerking off and cleaned himself up, finally crawling back into bed and an exhausted sleep. Doyle waited to see if he'd enter the Dreaming again, but no- his mind was closed, merely sleeping rather than dreaming. Disappointed, Doyle settled for stretching out on his stomach in midair over the bed and watching Angel sleep. Another part of his mind was still in the Dreaming- part of his mind was always in the Dreaming- but he stayed out of Wesley's and Cordelia's dreams, merely scanning through them and sorting them into coherence before storing the important parts into another corner of his brain, keeping most of his thoughts reserved for the man sleeping beneath him.

Angel would say that he wasn't a man, Doyle mused to himself as he lovingly traced Angel's face with his gaze. He's say a demon, a monster perhaps, or just someone seeking redemption. But man or demon, Doyle loved him. This was what he'd really come back for. He could never touch him, not in the waking world, but just to be able to lie here and gaze at his face… it was worth everything he'd given up.

He'd lied to Wesley… he hadn't been in the halfway place. He wouldn't go so far as to say that he was in Heaven, but the place he'd gone… it was close enough to suit him. Just like this world, except better. He'd had the link with the Dreaming because he was a Messenger, even dead, and even though his visions had been passed to Cordelia he still had some form of them. But even with the Dreaming open to him… he'd always known that he'd request to return. The Heaven he was in was almost wonderful enough to never leave, except for one flaw. Angel wasn't there.

He'd never been able to resist him, Doyle thought. Not since the moment he'd seen him in the first, all consuming vision that seemed to last for hours, all of Angel's life in a long, fiery burst of pain. He'd wanted to get closer to Angel then, to get near him and crawl even further inside his head than the vision had taken him, to know the man inside and out. He just wanted him, period, the demon with the face of an angel who'd suffered so much because of the soul he valued so highly… always in torment, and doomed to lose every drop of caring, conscious, morality, and love if ever the torment ceased. Yeah, he loved every inch of him, and he'd literally given up Heaven just to be with him.

And somehow, he was sure that he'd never regret that decision, not for a moment. Just because he was Angel, and Doyle loved him. It was a simple as that.

He'd wanted to play mischief on his two old friends for weeks more before revealing himself, but looking down at Angel's sleeping face, he knew that he wouldn't be able to. He'd barely been able to last till Angel fell asleep this morning, and that was a period of only a few minutes. He knew that as soon as Angel was awake- probably only another hour, the hours his boy kept- he was going to show himself. He didn't know what was going to happen, and he half looked forward to it and half dreaded it.

Sighing, he let himself drift down onto the bed and stretched out along Angel's chest, just as if he were real and tangible instead of not really there. Angel muttered and shifted a little in his sleep, and to his surprise Doyle actually felt heat wherever his skin touched Angel's. This was… interesting. He couldn't touch anything, and yet he could feel the heat of Angel's body? Very strange. Especially considering that vampires didn't have body heat. Or at least, they didn't to a human's touch… who knows what they felt like to a ghost. There wasn't exactly a handbook he could refer to or anything.

But he was too tired to think about it too much, and so he just curled up, basking in Angel's heat, and shut his eyes on a yawn. He'd tell them in the morning… who knows where they would go from there. And as he slowly relaxed, one thought remained in his mind.

This was home.